“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

October 10, 1984. Both of us had jobs at the large hospital in my home town of Sayre, Pa., eighteen miles southeast of Elmira, N.Y. The setting and the buildings weren’t like those of the “real” hospital in Sayre, though. It was a gorgeous summer day. Jane was much younger than she’d been when she died at the age of fifty-five. She still had her long jet-black hair, slim active figure and exuberant personality. I could have been my own age, sixty-five. We relaxed upon a large, sloping, very green lawn beside a brick hospital building that was several stories high. Then with great surprise I saw that on top of the near end of the building there sat an old, flat-sided, two-story house with steep roofs, weathered a drab gray and with all of its windows shuttered. Caught in one shutter was a filmy pink garment like a negligee, fluttering in the breeze. Curiously, Jane and I stared up at the house perched so incongruously there, and we talked about trying to get up into it to see what it was like inside.

Then the images dispersed, and for a very brief moment, there seemed to be a gray fog, and through it I seemed to see the town in a still more distant past. “The town had been there for at least 350 years. [...]

[...] Then I seemed to be above the town again, looking down, but dimly. [...]

“I wonder if my town was real. [...]

“Our road map does not list a town called Decatur in either North or South Dakota, nor any town with that high a population in that area. [...]

[...] She knew the clerks in the town, and that was all. [...]

[...] Nor was he a close friend, merely a good acquaintance who lived out of town and visited Elmira only when his business required it, about once every six weeks.

[...] After it was over, and our salesman friend left for his motel in a nearby town, Seth came through with a few personal remarks for Rob. [...]