Sam entered the mansion behind him, forming his own theories as he went. The one in the lead at the moment was that he had stumbled upon some late-night LARP. Sometimes a particularly dedicated group of LARPers got so into it that it spawned a bubble of subjective reality for them to play in. They wouldn't realize it, of course. They would just be playing a game, and would remember it as such despite what happened to their avatars. It would also explain what had happened to the Jersey Devil. A being from one subjective reality bubble could not, generally speaking, enter another one. So it would be long gone by now.

Despite that setback, this was a fantastic opportunity. These bubbles, though powerful enough to turn a costume into wings and a big tent into a sprawling estate, were fragile. Anything that took a player out of the game was liable to shatter it. Say, for example, and unexpected third party suddenly showing up and asking strange questions. He never got to study these properly as a result. So, trying to keep as inconspicuous as possible, he slid in beside the doorman and asked "Could you direct me to the restroom?"