Look at this page.
Notice how white it is—pristine, unblemished—except for the words you're reading.
And except for that small black dot below.
Did you see it? It's there, perfectly circular, approximately one millimeter in diameter. A blemish on an otherwise flawless canvas.
Touch it with your fingertip. Feel anything? A slight coolness, perhaps?
That's how it started for Eleanor Walsh too.
Eleanor found the sheet of paper on Tuesday morning, slipped beneath her apartment door. A plain white sheet, letter-sized, with nothing but a small black dot in the center. She assumed it was an advertisement—some clever marketing ploy designed to capture attention. She placed it on her kitchen counter, intending to throw it away later.
But by evening, she found herself glancing at it repeatedly.
I should just throw it out, she thought, reaching for the paper.
As you're reading these words, look at the dot again.
Is it larger now? No, that would be impossible. Dots don't grow.
Try something: Close your eyes and count to five. Then look at the dot again.
1... 2... 3... 4... 5...
Has it changed? Even slightly?
Eleanor had the same thought when she picked up the paper Tuesday night. The dot seemed... different. Larger, perhaps? But that was absurd. She held the paper closer, studying the dot with curious intensity.