He walked down the village street. The sun still rode high in the sky. The place looked deserted. A ghost town.

Then he saw the cause of the road closure. A truck stood in the middle of the street.

White powder had spilled from the back of it all across the blacktop creating an arctic-white scene. A lone workman attempted to clear the roadspill, working away with a long handled broom. But he made little headway. In fact, he seemed to make matters worse.

John walked by the dazzling white blanket of powder.

"I'll be d.a.m.ned," he said to himself, pausing. This was no accidental roadspill. This was deliberate. Walking into the road, grains of white crunched like snow beneath his soles. He reached down, touched the grains, then licked his finger.

Salt. The frightened people of Skelbrooke were using the oldest protection against evil in the book. Salt scattered all over the d.a.m.ned place. Salt for the Devil's eye.

The workman wasn't sweeping up. He was spreading it.

Ahead, he saw a girl that seemed familiar. Black hair, dark, Latino eyes. The face clicked in his memory. Miranda Bloom. She was back home? Why? Why, when her mother had sent her away in a panic after receiving the letters, why had Miranda returned?

Miranda had seen him. Straightaway, she ran across the salt covered street.

"Mr. Newton?"

He nodded and saw that she'd been crying.

"I heard about Paul's accident," she said. "How is he?"

"It's serious," he said, suspecting he was on the brink of finding out a truth he was frightened to know. "He's in a coma. The doctors say the next few hours will be crucial." He didn't sugar coat this bitter pill. "They don't know whether he'll live or not."

As if he were carrying some infection she fell back from him as he pa.s.sed. Ahead stood The Swan Inn. Not a soul was in sight. But he knew the villagers would be in there. Sheltering together for some imagined protection. Waiting for this particular storm to pa.s.s.

Once more he walked across the blanket of salt. The workman watched him. Said nothing. And continued sweeping salt out in a gleaming wash across the blacktop.

He intended walking straight into the bar as he'd done before, then challenging those frightened sheep in human clothing to tell him everything they knew.

John Newton never reached the pub door.

An old man walked out of the building to meet him halfway across the street. They stood in the blazing sun, watching each other for a moment. The old man's white hair shone as bright as the salt beneath his feet.

"John Newton," he said. "You don't know me. I've lived all my life in this village. My name is Joseph Fitzgerald. I'm ninety-two years old."

John tilted his head to one side, his expression grim. He didn't speak but waited for the old man to say more.

Fitzgerald looked levelly at John. "I was a colleague of Mr. Kelly seventy years ago when he received his letter. Now I'm here to tell you your duty."

3.

Chance echoed the image of two gunfighters facing each other along the street of a town from the Old West. The roadway, even if it was salt, not Texan dust, played its part.

Sun reflected from the white road narrowed the old man's eyes to slits.

"Mr. Newton. There's no easy way. But you must do it."

"Do what?"

Instead of answering, Fitzgerald said, "Seventy years ago Mr. Kelly at the Water Mill received a series of letters. People down here in the village received similar ones. They asked for trifles-chocolate, beer. Nothing much. Then Mr. Kelly received a demand from-"

"Baby Bones?"

"From something that's had different names down the years. This last letter demanded he leave his daughter in the cemetery on a given night."

"I know," John said levelly. "I've read the copies Kelly made."

"Mr. Kelly fought it. He delayed taking Mary Kelly to the cemetery. He refused to accept responsibility for the consequences. There was an outbreak of influenza in the village. A lot of people died."

"Herbert Kelly was a strong man, Mr. Fitzgerald."

"He was obstinate. Dangerously obstinate."

"Heroic, I'd call him."

"I was a junior member of his teaching staff. I believed he thought highly of me, and people here figured I could persuade him of his responsibilities to his neighbors."

"I hope he ignored you." A dangerous anger was spilling through John now. He knew what was coming.

"He did ignore me. And as I returned home on my motorcycle I blacked out and the machine ran under a tractor. I paid the price for Mr. Kelly's obstinacy." He raised an arm. The sleeve slipped back to reveal a forearm with no hand, merely a shriveled stump. "Mr. Kelly was an intelligent man. He believed his intelligence would allow him to beat something that had been here five thousand years or more."

"And what is that something exactly?"

"No one can say. Anymore than you can detail the anatomy of G.o.d. But it can make demands of us periodically. And it can punish if we don't comply."

"Well, your filthy little monster isn't going to dictate s.h.i.t to me!"

"Mr. Newtona John. I am sorry. I truly am. But the last letter's come to you. It has demanded your youngest child, hasn't it?"

"You know a lot, don't you?" John clenched his fists in fury.

"Believe me, John. I would willingly take her place. But It demands what it demands. There's no escaping it. You must do what is best for the village. You musta"

"No."

"You don't have the luxury of choice. There has been an outbreak of meningitis in the neighborhood. Ten children are in the hospital. Now their lives hang in the balance. They will recover if you meet the demands of the letter. If you don't the children will die. They will be followed by more. You and your family will not be spared. This has all happened before. You can not break the cycle."

"Oh, but I can. Do you know something, Mr. Fitzgerald? Stan Pricea you might have heard of him? Old, senile Stan Price fought hard to get his wits together again, and he came up to see me at the Water Mill. He brought me doc.u.ments that prove Kelly was fighting the monstera with this." John stabbed a finger at his own head. "He fought the monster with his own brain, Mr. Fitzgerald. Now I intend to do the same!"

"No, John. He tried. He tried hard. But in the end he had to admit defeat. He took his daughter to the graveyard at midnight and left her there."

"Wrong again, Mr. Fitzgerald. Kelly took Mary to Canada. He found a way to beat this thing. Now I'm going to do the same."

Burning with rage, John turned away from the old man's pleading eyes. He walked back to the car. He didn't look back.

The time had come. No more prevarication. He'd drive to the airport, then take the first available flight to anywhere that lay over an ocean.

The clock in the Necropolis funeral chapel struck eight. Four hours to midnight.

OK, so he was sitting on a time bomb. Zero hour approached.

But he and Elizabeth wouldn't be here when it did.

CHAPTER 38.

1.

After the showdown with ninety-two-year-old Joseph Fitzgerald John returned to the car to find Elizabeth standing on the sidewalk watching him.

"Elizabeth? I thought I asked you to stay in the car?"

"What did that man want? And why is there sugar all over the street?"

"It was a very old man. I think he's confused. And it isn't sugar, it's salt. Get back in the car, Elizabeth, we're in a hurry."

She did as he asked, perhaps figuring they were on the way to the hospital to see Paul.

John noticed people leaving the pub as he U-turned the car back home. In the rearview he saw them watching him go. They looked like a bunch of lost spirits.

As he turned onto the main highway he saw Miranda waiting at the bus stop. She watched him, too. Fear enlarged her eyes into discs that glittered in the sunlight.

"If it gets any hotter," Elizabeth commented hollowly. "We're all going to burn up into smoke."

John swung the car onto the old lane then powered on up to the Water Mill.

"Wait here," he told Elizabeth. For the first time that day he was clear headed. He knew what he must do now. He picked up the holdall containing the pa.s.sports, then, after locking the house, he ushered the dog into the car's back seat. For a second Elizabeth laughed her delight at seeing Sam. Then she frowned.

"Dad. We won't be allowed to take Sam into the hospital, will we?"

"He's not going to the hospital. I'm dropping him off at the boarding kennels."

She was thinking fast. "Where are we going, Dad?"

"Away for a few days."

She spoke in a low voice but emotion made her tremble. "Don't make me go, Dad. I haven't done anything wrong, have I?"

"No, of course not." John was startled. Had she really thought he was taking her away as punishment? "We'll be gone a few days. Tops."

"I don't want to go. I want to stay here and make sure that Paul's-"

"Elizabeth. I'm sorry. But it's out of my hands. We have to make this trip."

"Are you breaking up with Mum?"

"No, hon."

"This is what happened when Lee's parents divorced."

"There won't be any divorce, hon. Your mother and I love each other. It's just important we go on this trip. I can't explain it yet. Just trust me, sweetheart. OK?"

He leaned across to hug her. She hugged him back. His ribs grated, shooting a pain from one side of his chest to the other, but this time he didn't flinch. He squeezed his daughter tighter, telling her how much he loved her, that everything was going to be all right. "You just see," he told her. "In a few weeks we'll start work on that swimming pool. Then we can have a big opening party with all your friends."

"Can we have a barbecue?"

"Of course. We could even hire a disco."

"And have fireworks."

"Biggest and the best." He smiled.

"And Paul will be home?"

"He will and he'll be back to his old mischievous self." Mentally, he added Touch Wood. In the car there was no wood to touch. Was that a bad omen?

It was approaching nine o'clock. Now he was conscious of time racing them toward midnight. Again the image came of the time bomb ticking down to zero hour. A dirty great time bomb that could take out this village. The moment he started the engine the mobile rang. He answered, his heart pounding. It would be about Paul. Bad newsa "Good evening. Mr. Newton?"

The voice was as hearty as it was recognizable.

"Mr. Gregory?"

"Yes. Bit of a problem. Sorry to bother you, but Stan's gone walk about again. As he came up to the Water Mill last time he disappeared I wondered if he was with you?"

"No, he's not, Mr. Gregory. I haven't seen Stan at all this evening."

The annoyingly hearty voice vibrated the mobile in John's hand. "I see. But if he should come up to your house will you telephone us? Cynthia and I are beside ourselves with worry."

"Of course I will." John didn't feel like explaining that there'd be no one home. All he wanted to do was get out onto the road and drive h.e.l.l for leather to the airport. Barring turning the car over in a ditch, then everything should be just fine. But the monster in the hill did have a long reach. Might it have the power to make a plane fall out of the sky? He closed off the thought, focusing instead on the voice in his ear.

"I'm going out to look for Stan myself now," Gregory boomed. "But Cynthia will wait by the phone."