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 work of great beauty and poignancy. Then I was 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 the 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.