I was outside, but not outside the mansion. I was on a sidewalk on a busy city street. There were people everywhere. Four- and five-story buildings stretched down both sides of the block. Cars were parked along every inch of the curb. The cars were none like I had ever seen before, not in real life. I had seen them in history books. They were old... old-timey old.

People passed me on the sidewalk. It was boiling hot, but the men all wore suits and the women wore long dark dresses. The children I saw were dressed the same way. No one took any notice of me, even though I obviously didn't fit in. It was as if they didn't see me.

I walked to the corner and examined the street signs, Ninth Avenue and Fourteenth Street. A ridiculously loud car horn startled me. I turned quickly in its direction and watched the car drive down the street. I and fixated on it until I saw him. The old gray man was buying a newspaper at a newsstand. He had a small enamel pail by his feet, a box of strawberries in one hand, and something wrapped in a red and white canvas cloth tucked under his arm.

He was not the scary man from the basement. It was him, but he was different here. By the looks of it, he was having a pleasant conversation with the guy at the newsstand. I worked my way closer to the two of them so I could hear what they were saying.

"Looks like you have quite a load there, mister," the newsstand guy said.

"I can manage," the old man replied. "Although you could do me a favor."

"How so?"

The old man took the canvas-wrapped package from underneath his arm. "I'm just going up the street to a friend's house for lunch. Could I leave this package with you and then retrieve it on my way back?"

The man considered the request.

"I'll only be an hour or so," the old man said with a wink.

The man smiled and nodded. He took the package from the old man and hid it behind the newsstand. The Flish patted the man on the shoulder, picked up his pail, and turned on his heels.

I stumbled back as his eyes fell on me. My heart began to pound. I worked to find my balance and then set out in a sprint to get as far away from him as I could. Three steps into my getaway I ran into a large man dressed in a black wool suit. Actually, I ran through him. The man took no notice of me. He continued as if I wasn't there. A girl of about seven came skipping down the sidewalk begging for her daddy to wait for her. In a single hop, she too passed through me. I wasn't there. I was a ghost, but I wasn't dead. I looked at the people on the street and in the shops and in their cars from another time. They were dead. I was in the Land of the Dead.

The old man passed me, and I glanced at his newspaper. The New York Daily News, June 3, 1928.

I watched him turn the corner and resisted the urge to follow him. I didn't want to know more about him. Everything about him told me he was evil, more evil than anything I had encountered so far. I had fought a bunch of monsters and man-eating freaks, but those things were imagined into reality by tortured minds. The old gray man was different. He wasn't the invention of someone's imagination. He was real, and he lived for only one thing: his need to feed.

A little boy came around the corner in the opposite direction. He was dressed in his Sunday best. His brown hair was plastered to his skull with a thick coating of oil. It took me several seconds to recognize him as the dead boy from the pool.

He stopped a few feet in front of me, but did not acknowledge me. He just stood there.

"Can you see me?" I asked.

He turned and walked back the way he had just come.

"Why am I here?"

He stopped and turned to me, but still did not look at me. I couldn't be sure, but I think he wanted me to follow him.

"I don't want to go that way."

He looked me in the eyes. I had to follow him. I nervously tapped my hand against my leg, and then finally took the first step in his direction, followed by another and then another. Before I knew it, the boy and I had rounded the corner and we were headed up the street.

I couldn't see the old man anymore. I was relieved until I heard someone knocking on the door of a house just in front of us. The Flish stood on the front stoop, posture stiff and dignified, the paper under the arm where he had kept the package, the small crate of strawberries in his hand, the pail on the porch next to him.

The door opened and I heard a man's voice singing something about my blue heaven. I saw the silhouette of a heavyset woman standing in the doorway.

As if I were standing next to the old gray man, I heard him say, "Aw, Mr. Gene Autry and My Blue Heaven. This is the picture perfect day for such a melody, Mrs. Budd." He bent down and picked up his pail.

"Mr. Howard, so nice of you to come." She backed away and let him enter.

"Brought some of my favorite pot cheese and strawberries."

She closed the door.

It was only then I realized I was holding my breath. I let out a sigh. If only she hadn't let him in, I thought. She let the monster in.

The boy moved up the walkway to the apartment building and made his way to the front window. I milled about, not wanting to follow, but knowing I had to. I cleared my throat and joined him.

The old gray man sat in a cushioned chair across from a mild mannered man. The two men chatted while a five-year-old the woman called Beatrice read a picture book.

"How goes the farm, Mr. Howard?" The younger man asked.

"Busy, busy, busy, Mr. Budd. I'll be glad to have your boy helping me out this season."

"Well, Eddie's excited about having the work and earning some money. Good of you to make the trip out here to escort him out to the country."

"Nonsense. Glad to do it. Looking forward to Mrs. Budd's cooking."

"His name's not Howard," I said to the dead boy.

He didn't answer. He just shook his head.

I heard footsteps coming up the sidewalk and turned to see... her. The little girl from the basement. Grace. Only like the old gray man, she was different. She was happy and carefree. She hadn't seen horrible things. Hadn't lived through hell. She opened the door and entered the house.

The old man perked up when he saw her. He grinned an awful grin and stood up. "Well, who's this?"

"This, Mr. Howard," said Mr. Budd, "is our top angel, Gracie."

The old man went into a spooky trance, and stared at the girl. Grace smiled and looked away.

Mr. Budd broke the uncomfortable silence. "So, you got twenty acres do you, Mr. Howard?"

"Hmm, oh yes, twenty. Gorgeous if I do say so myself. Milking cows, Rhode Island Reds. Even got me a Swedish cook. He speaks about four words of English, but he cooks like a master chef. Got a small crew of people working for me. Don't mind telling you I've had some of them going on ten years. I try to create a family-like environment on the farm. We have picnics and potlucks. Even kin is invited. It's important to me for my workers to feel like my home is theirs."

"He came for the boy," I said.

Again, the dead boy didn't answer. He continued to shake his head.

"But he'll leave with the girl." I backed away from the window. "I don't understand why I have to see this."

The boy took my hand and tugged. In an instant, we were standing in the family's dining room. I could not tell you how we arrived there if you tortured me with a thousand needles to the eye. We were just there in a flash. The air was filled with the heavy stench of cooked cabbage. The Budd family, minus Eddie the son, and the old gray man sat at the table and clanged silverware against porcelain as they scooped up potted cheese, strawberries, ham hocks, and sauerkraut.

The old man politely ate. He had no interest in the food. Not that food anyway. He continued to stare at Grace. The family didn't seem to notice. They were so wrapped up in their food, they all jumped at the sound of the old man's voice.

"Come here, little Grace," he said, "and sit on an old man's lap." He pushed his chair away from the table.

Grace looked at her mother who in turned looked at the man she knew as Mr. Howard. He smiled warmly. She nodded to her daughter to do as the man asked.

Grace stood and slowly approached the old gray man. He reached down, picked her up, and placed her on his lap. He looked like he was about to drool all over himself. For the first time, I wished I could do more than just watch. I so wanted to belong to that time so I could deck the old man. Beat him within an inch of his life. I couldn't believe her parents just sat there and took it in. Didn't they see that their daughter was in the hands of an evil monster?

The old man reached in his pocket pulled out a stack of cash. "Sweetie, do Uncle Howard a favor and count out the money for me." He laid out the money on the table. "Hold on. Got some pocket change, too." He let the coins fall on the wood surface of the table.

Grace's eyes opened wide at the sight of so much money. Her parents stopped eating mid-chew, and watched with anticipation as Grace counted out the bills. Mrs. Budd even managed a smile, although I'm not sure she was aware of it. No one in the Budd family had ever seen so much money.

"Ninety-two dollars and fifty cents," Grace proclaimed.

"Well by golly, that is fifty cents too much."

"It is?" Grace asked.

"Got plenty I can do with $92, but I can't think of one thing I can do with that extra fifty cents."

Grace considered the matter. "You could buy some candy."

He chuckled. "I suppose I could, but these old teeth of mine can't handle candy. If I only knew someone with young enough teeth that liked candy."

"I like candy," Beatrice barked.

"And her teeth are the youngest here," Grace added.

"Now that's an idea." He winked at Mrs. Budd. "I tell you what, Grace. Why don't you take those coins and buy some candy for you and your sister down at the corner store."

Beatrice sat up straight like she had been shocked to life. Grace looked at her father for permission.

"Do as Mr. Howard says," Mr. Budd said. "Take Beatrice with you. Mind the streets and stick to the walk."

Grace jumped off the old man's lap, but he grabbed her skinny arm before she could get too far away. "Give Uncle Howard a little kiss on the cheek."

Grace recoiled and then relented. She quickly leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek.

The old man's eyes lit up.

Grace pulled away, took her sister's hand, and bolted for the front door.

The children gone, the adults settled into a series of friendly conversations about farming, about Mr. Budd's job as a doorman, about church and God and a trip to China Mr. Howard had taken years ago.

"Awful country, that," he said sipping some coffee.

"Really? I always find the Orientals so pleasant," Mrs. Budd said, spreading some sweet cheese on a hard roll.

"The ones in this country, I agree," the old man said. "But over there, the economy is in such a state, the poor people are forced to live like animals."

"How so?" Mr. Budd asked.

The old man cocked his head to the right. "I'm afraid most of what they do I can't repeat at the supper table, especially one as fine as this with such lovely occupants." He gave a nod to Mrs. Budd causing her to blush.

"Come on now, Mr. Howard," Mr. Budd pleaded. "The Mrs. and I haven't had much opportunity to travel abroad and most likely won't ever get to. Share one fact with us."

The old man began to speak, but stopped abruptly. He turned to Mrs. Budd. "Only with the lady's permission."

She seemed taken aback by his refinement. I wanted to puke because I knew it was an act. She blushed again and nodded.

"Very well." The old man leaned back. "Wages are small and meat is scarce. People are literally starving to death. It's an ugly way to die, Mrs. Budd. I wouldn't wish it on anybody. I suppose we can't judge them too harshly for what they've been reduced to doing." He gulped his coffee and didn't continue.

"What would that be, Mr. Howard?" Mr. Budd asked The old man had gone into a trance state again. He shook iit off. "Hmmm, oh no, Mr. Budd. It's too horrid."

Mrs. Budd looked as if she were preparing herself to be repulsed. Her brow was furrowed and eyes had narrowed. Her head was turned slightly to the right as if she was trying to minimize the impact of the ending to the old man's story. "You may continue, Mr. Howard. I'll be all right."

He reached out and patted her hand. "Just remember, I'm telling this story against my better judgment."

"We will hold you blameless, Mr. Howard," Mr. Budd said. "Rest assured."

The old gray man cleared his throat. He surveyed the room and fixed his gaze on me. My mouth went dry. Surely he couldn't see me. I was standing behind Mr. Budd, so maybe it just seemed like he was looking at me. I saw a small smile form on his face and then it quickly disappeared.

"They sell children under twelve as meat."

The sentence cut through the air and shattered the innocent feel of the Budd house. Nothing so evil had ever been spoken in the home before. Mrs. Budd covered her mouth with her hand.

Mr. Budd fidgeted in his chair. "That can't be true," he said.

"I'm afraid it is. A business associate saw it with his own eyes."

"Saw?" Mrs. Budd reflexively asked.

"Walked into a butcher shop to order veal."

"So," Mr. Budd said.

"The door to the back room opened and he saw... a boy, cut in half hanging from a meat hook like beef cattle."

Mrs. Budd screamed.

The old man reached out and gently grabbed her hand. "I warned you it was ugly. I'll have you know I went to the authorities there and reported the incident. I was as outraged as you are now."

"What happened?" Mr. Budd asked.

"I was escorted to the nearest port and put on a ship to New Zealand."

"I don't understand," Mrs. Budd said.

"The Chinese government knows about the deplorable practice, Mrs. Budd. They allow it to go on. I've written the governor of New York, my congressman, even sent a telegram to the president. I've never gotten a response. I suppose they think it's too sensational to be true." He sipped his coffee.

"What about your business associate?" Mr. Budd asked. "If he were to back up your claims..."

"That isn't possible, Mr. Budd."

"Why?"