A young filmmaker had created a movie called “Kid K.” The title character was a miniature child, a few inches tall but living in the normal size world. He had a miniature car he drove around to deliver miniature newspapers. Somehow it was recognized as a thing of great beauty and poignancy. I was gathered in a house, a kind of vacation cabin in the woods, with a group of people, maybe high school classmates at a reunion. There was a competition going on. It soon devolved into bitter feuding. The goal was to create something, and to prevent others from doing so. We broke into teams and mine entered a side room. Steel shutters appeared and closed automatically over the door and a large window into the main living space. It seemed like I’d conjured them out of my imagination, which of course I had. It now felt like we were in a horror movie. Creepy, supernatural things were happening, objects flying around, a sense of imminent darkness and danger. My team was preparing a tribute movie to “Kid K.” It seemed like the right thing to do.