I demand quiet. The writing demands quiet. Everything demands quiet. Except the quiet. The quiet doesn't like being noticed. It lives in the basement rec room below the main house. 

A dream, yes, that's what the quiet reminds me of. An old woman in an old farmhouse. All feared her. I sought her out; I don't know why. All feared her. 

There was swimming also. Perhaps the falling rain in the waking world influenced my dream. Ah yes, the woman could steal faces. Not forever, but any amount of time without a face was...unsettling. For everyone.

The pool was in the center of a small field. Houses surrounded the green space, spaced generously apart, and beyond them was the woods.