Rosemonde did not have to be back at work for weeks. Summer was supposed to be back at work yesterday but had not come home. Nor had she returned any of her calls or messages. Rosemonde began to worry.

Summer had always been a bit ditsy, especially when she met a new man. However, she had ALWAYS texted her back or returned her calls, whenever Rosemonde happened to remind her that she had been lax. It was usually something like: So sorry love, I completely forgot to let you know...I won't be home tonight. I'm safe and having fun and will be back home at -

And she would then turn up at the indicated time.

When it came to her job, Summer was both passionate and professional. She had gone from line cook to sous chef in no time. Rosemonde had never known her to be late for work — EVER. Unlike herself; not that her boss would particularly care. If she got the work done, Rosemonde could be as late as she pleased. It was a dream job.

Rosemonde was a History major who had found employment as an Archivist. Her current position, however, was the Personal Assistant to the retired actress, Mairead Wilson. She had been hired by Ms Wilson initially, on loan for three months, to catalogue her rare book collection. The institution had hoped that Rosemonde could somehow persuade Ms Wilson to donate at least one of the books to them. Instead, Rosemonde had stayed. She surrendered her position at her former workplace to work for the legendary actress full time.

Ms Wilson's son would be staying with her until the end of January. Drew Wilson had been at first touring and then recording with his band, Sign Ahead. Mother and son had not seen one another for eighteen months, so Rosemonde was given the whole month off.

Rosemonde nearly fainted when she first realised that her boss' son Andrew was THE Drew Wilson, lead guitarist from her favourite band since her high school years, and a major teenage crush. She had been with Ms Wilson for just over two years. While she had spoken to Drew several times on the phone, she was yet to meet him; which was why she was so surprised to find him calling her mobile.

"Rosemonde, it's Drew Wilson."

"Mr Wilson?" He had told her she could call him Drew but it hadn't seemed right, considering his mother had insisted on Ms Wilson. "Um, hello! Is everything alright? I'm not due to be back to work in a while. Is anything wrong? Is your mother okay?"

"Actually no, she's not. Your housemate, her name is Summer, right?"

"Yes, that's correct. Is she with you?"

"What? No. No, she isn't...but, she's left a cryptic message on my mother's answering machine. Look, I don't want to disturb your break, but this could be serious. I'll wait for you to get here first, but I think we need to call the police soon. Mum's had another one of her episodes and, well...you know her well enough to know that she's rarely wrong."

No. Oh please God no. I couldn't bear it... "I'm leaving immediately...."

Ms Wilson's home was in Arcadia. It was a semi-rural suburb on the outskirts of Sydney, but still close enough to get to the central business district, within an hour by car. It was idyllic. The actress adored animals and had a well-established menagerie of feathered, furry and woolly friends. Here, she had room for her horses, and an extensive garden. She grew organic fruit and vegetables and had access to fresh milk and eggs, which meant that she rarely needed to shop for groceries.

Rosemonde never felt as if she were coming to work when she was here.
Today, however, as her green Mini Cooper convertible turned into the long driveway, she was apprehensive. Drew had said that his mother had had an episode, but she maintained perfect health. No. Mairead Wilson's episodes had nothing to do with illness and were the real reason that she retired from public life.

Ms Wilson was psychic. Her visions had always come to her in dreams or through psychometry, but something changed when she was widowed a decade ago. She'd fall into a trance, and babble apparently nonsensically. The trance state was random. She had no control over when it happened, and usually no warning. More recently, however, as she was becoming more accepting of her condition, she would experience something similar, to what frequent migraine sufferers describe as an aura.

When a trance episode occurred on the set of her last movie, she decided it was time to leave the limelight. Luckily, she had been alone in her trailer when it happened. The paparazzi would have relished the truth — something that she would not let occur. Only those in her inner circle were aware of her secret. Rosemonde was one of those who protected her.

Drew Wilson answered the door himself. As a testament to the seriousness of the situation, Rosemonde did not swoon, despite seeing his dimpled smile and dark blue eyes up close. She was, in fact, barely cordial. After a very brief 'hello', she ran past him and headed straight for the library, where she knew his mother would be. Drew followed.

She found Mairead Wilson seated in her favourite wing chair, crying softly. She lowered herself to a crouching position beside her. Taking her hand, she said gently, "Tell me."

"I haven't felt such fear since..." Mairead paused and let out a sob. "If she still lives it would be a miracle. I pray that God is watching over that poor child."

Rosemonde's heart thundered in her chest. A part of her didn't want to ask, but she knew she had to, "What did you see, Ms Wilson?"

"Your friend, I remember her, Summer. She is in a room surrounded by people with completely black eyes, like snakes. The white part of the eye, it's gone. No sclera at all. She is begging for mercy but they are not listening. They are chanting. It's like something out of a horror movie."

"These black-eyed people what do they symbolise?" Rosemonde asked.

"No, you don't understand. They are not symbolic of anything. They are real, and they are somehow using Summer, draining her. They are like vampires, but they exist, here, now, in the real world."

"But-but Ms Wilson, that's not possible." She turned to Drew for help, but he merely shrugged.

"I searched 'Black Eyed People' online," he said. "There are websites that are actually set up to discuss sightings, and there have been many. The common theme among all the witness accounts is a crippling fear.

"Every account is the same. You must invite them in, or else they can't harm you. That's the thing that gives me hope. I don't know Summer, but why would she invite or allow such creatures near her?"

"I believe she did." Ms Wilson was adamant. "Let her listen to the message."

Drew nodded. Exhaling deeply, he played the voice message. Summer's voice filled the room. She was laughing, crying, or both. It was difficult to say and harder to listen to:

"Listen...carefully.... The painted whore dances in the asylum that is Summer's end. My essence is spent. You must understand...I'm nowhere because I'm everywhere at once. It is done. Late...too late for me...Summer is gone...but...promise me...you will dance in the asylum...for the end of Summer."

"Oh my God! What WAS that? She sounds drunk, or in pain, or both. I don't know what she is saying. The end of Summer? She can't mean...no! I don't understand it, but it is definitely her." Rosemonde felt nauseous.

"Yes, mum recognised her voice straight away, which is why I called you.... Now that you've heard it, I think it's time we called the police," Drew said.

Rosemonde nodded dumbly. She thought back to the last time she had seen Summer. It was at Max's New Year's Eve party. She had left with some guy called Con. He was a friend of Myrddin's. Where was Con now? Could Myrddin help her find him? Does Con know what happened to Summer?