You've been finding intricately carved bone knives laying around your house lately. You have no memory where they came from. There are more and more of them every day. You find them next to the cereal, besides the coat rack, inside the oven. They have started whispering to you, secrets that you had never known but realize have always been with you. The knives tell you they know what you should do, they call you by name, even when you aren't dreaming.