I backed away. Was he talking to me? Could he see me?

He picked up a bigger knife and placed it in the box. "Utility knife."

"What..." I started but stopped when he interrupted me with a blood chilling snicker.

"My favorite," he said picking up a knife that looked like a small machete. "Cimeter knife. Great for cutting up meat. Young meat is tender. Gives way to this blade with beautiful ease. It's poetry."

Billy G peaked over the portal leading to the roof. "Mister, where's the party?"

"Be right up, boys." He hurriedly gathered up the rest of the tools: a small bone saw, a sharpening steel, another knife, and a pair of scissors.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked.

He acted as if he didn't hear me. Every tool back in the metal box, he closed it and wrapped it in its fabric cover. He climbed up the ladder, and just before he stepped through the portal to the roof, he looked down and said, "I'm hungry."

I looked at the dead boy. He cast his eyes down. "Why aren't we following?"

He didn't answer of course.

I wanted to slap him, but knew it wouldn't do any good. He was ashamed. He slowly started to walk down the stairs.

"No," I barked. "We can't just let him do this. Help me stop him!"

The boy didn't acknowledge my plea. He continued down the stairs.

I growled. I wasn't going to let this happen. I zipped up the ladder quicker than I had ever climbed anything in my life. Standing on the rough sheets of roofing, absorbing the brisk breeze, I spotted the Flish and the two boys near the edge of the building. I hurried towards them. The old man was in perfect position. I could rush him and send him tumbling off the roof. I had lost count of the floors as we followed them up the stairs, but I guessed we were six or seven stories up.

He must have read my mind because he looked at me and said, "You can try if you like, but it won't do you any good."

"Says you," I said. I reached him with my hands balled up in fists ready to take him out any way I could.

He looked down at my hands. "Fine. Hit me."

"What?" I asked.

"Take a swing. Go ahead."

I thought over the request for a split second and then threw a punch before he had time to change his mind. My fist went right through him. I threw another punch and then another and another. Each time it felt like I was striking cold air. I took a step back on the verge of tears. There was nothing I could do. I turned to the two Billys. I could plead with them to run, but it was obvious they had no idea I was there. The gray man was the only one who could see me.

"We gonna get baseballs, mister?" Billy B asked.

"You bet boys. I got a lot of great surprises in store for you two."

I scrambled to think of what to do. I couldn't stop him, but maybe I could get inside his head. "The older boy saw you."

The old man smiled. "Then I'll have to find him and introduce myself."

"No," I said. "He didn't see anything. Leave him alone."

"You're looking at this all wrong."

It was such a crazy thing to say I would have laughed if I hadn't been so angry and panicked.

"They're just meat."

"They're kids. They've got parents. They're part of a family."

"A calf has a mother. Children on farms think of cattle as their pets. No one would arrest me if I butchered and ate a calf."

"These are people," I said.

"People are animals, Oz."

My blood boiled. "Never use my name."

He frowned. "We're going to be friends, you know. We're the same. We're bad people."

I couldn't argue. I was bad. I had destroyed the world. I started to back away.

"Don't go," he said. "I'm going to make a delicious stew."

I turned to sprint back to the ladder.

"Stop," he cried. "I'll let you pick one."

I swallowed and said, "Pick one?"

He rolled his eyes. "You can pick one. Do whatever you want with him."

"I don't want to do anything," I said.

"Not even save one?"

My mind nearly split apart just processing what he had just said. Save one. I turned it over and over again in my head, and finally said, "I want to save both of them."

"One or none," he giggled.

"But I can't choose..."

"Fine," he shrugged. "More meat for me."

"Okay," I yelped. "I'll choose... I'll choose."

He smiled. "You have until the count of three."

I looked at the two boys.

"One."

They were so young. They had no idea that they were with a monster.

"Two."

Billy B was three and Billy G was four.

"I say the last number and the deal's off."

"Billy B," I yelled. "Billy B. Billy B."

The old man frowned. "Darn. He's the chubby one. Lot of good fatty meat on that one."

I felt numb. It didn't matter that I had saved Billy B. I had ensured that Billy G was about to die a terrible, tortuous death. "I'm going to find you," I said calmly. "I'm going to find you and torture you. I'm going to make you pay for all this. I'm going to make you feel their pain."

"You see," he said smiling, "we really are alike." With that he knelt down. "Boys, do you know why I brought you up on the roof?"

"A party?" Billy B asked.

"No," the old man said pulling the cover off his tool box. "I brought you up here..." He opened the box and pulled out his favorite knife. "Because I'm the boogeyman!"

DAY 3.

FOURTEEN.

I woke up leaning against the wall in the back of the closet. Believe it or not, I felt rested, more so than I had since my world ended when I was thirteen. I stretched and yawned and felt something shift on my lap. Instinctively, I reached down to readjust whatever it was. My hand landed on a manila folder labeled "General Estate Maintenance Records: December, 1934." I hadn't remembered pulling it from the filing cabinet. I flipped through the thick folder. None of the contents struck me as particularly important. I was about to close it and never give it another thought when a signature on a form caught my attention. I brought the form closer to my face. It was a bill of sale for paint and, according to the signature, the supervising maintenance director was Nathan Bashir.

Bashir. I processed the information. The name of the doctor in Buffalo who treated Stevie and other patients with Down syndrome was Dr. Bashir... I was almost certain. My mind was a little muddled, but I remembered the name. One of the Destroyers was even named Bashir in honor of Dr. Bashir. Dr. Bashir created the Storytellers. He taught his patients Hyper Mental Imaging, how to create the world around them through intense visualization practices. He taught them... forced them even... to get back at those of us who taunted and tortured them. His patients created monsters that crawled out of their imaginations and destroyed the world.

This couldn't be the same Bashir, could it? It was a coincidence. If it was the same guy, he would have been in his nineties when he treated Stevie and the others. Not impossible, but not likely either.

Curiosity got the best of me. I examined the rest of the contents of the folder more closely. It seems there was a significant amount of painting that occurred in the latter part of 1934. More than 100 painters were employed. Lists of hirings and firings filled up a small notebook. I scanned through the names. I came to a sudden stop on the fifth page. Hire number forty-three, Albert Howard Fish.

I unknowingly gripped the edges of the folder more tightly as I soaked in the information. He was here... when he was alive... in this mansion. I hurriedly shuffled through more papers in the folder. Eventually I uncovered something called a "Notice of Termination" with Fish's name on it. The date was December 24, 1934. The name of the person who filled out the form was Nathan Bashir. The reason for termination was scribbled on the page. It was almost impossible to make out. I peered closer and concentrated on each letter. Finally I deciphered it. "Inappropriate behavior around the staff*s children."

"No kidding," I whispered to myself.

I flipped the paper over and there was something written on the back. The handwriting matched the chicken scratch on the front.

"Mr. Fish has made inappropriate remarks to many of the children of staff members. He terrified one particular child with stories of a boogeyman who eats the meat of youngsters. This child remarked that Mr. Fish tried to force him off the grounds and into the woods that lay beyond the property. When questioned about these accusations, Mr. Fish grew violent and unruly. Police officers were summoned to escort him to the train station."

The train station? I thought. Hopefully, they threw him under the train. They didn't, I know, but I couldn't believe they'd just let him go. They knew what he was. I found other forms in the folder filled out by Bashir, and they were all neatly written. I read those notes with no problem. The termination form was the only form that was barely legible. I read the note to myself a few more times. He was scared, not of Fish. No, he was scared that a man like Fish could even exist. I took the notebook and termination form and put the folder back in the filing cabinet.

I left the closet and walked. I had no idea where I was going. I just walked and considered the new information carefully. We were at this mansion for a reason. The old gray man had some unfinished business here, and we were here to make sure he didn't finish it.

I was standing at the entranceway to the fourth floor observatory room before I knew what hit me. I didn't even recall walking up the stairs. I didn't even remember exiting the bedroom on the second floor.

My stomach knotted up, and I knew Archie and Billy were nearby. Kimball sauntered into the middle of the room and laid down. He was exhausted. I imagine he had stood watch over me while I visited the Land of the Dead.

I was tired, too, but I couldn't rest. I was hungry, and being so close to... meat...was driving me crazy. I forgot all about the paper and pen. Leaving Archie and Bobby a note was impossible.

I dropped to one knee and quickly went through the contents of my backpack until I found a long-sleeved shirt. Sitting in a nearby chair, I tied one sleeve to my ankle and the other to a leg of the chair. It wasn't enough to stop me, but it was enough to slow me down.

"I know you're in here," I said. "I can smell you."

Bobby was the first to step out of the darkness. He stood stiff and nervous. "Where's the Flish?"

I shook my head. "I don't know."

Archie stepped out of the same darkness that had concealed Bobby. He was holding the toddler who had once been Tall Boy. "You in bad shape?"

"No," I said. "I'm much worse than that."

"The others?" Archie asked.

"We've all had better days." My mouth began to water just looking at them. I closed my eyes. "We've made a pact."

"Yeah," Archie said, "what kind of pact?"

I snickered. "We're going to give each other space."

My two-way radio screeched and Wes's voice crackled through the small speaker. "Oz? You there? Oz..."

I sighed and clicked to talk. "Go for Oz."

"Where you been, boy? Lou said we were supposed to check in every hour to let everyone know our locations."

I grimaced. "Yeah, I forgot. Got a little sidetracked."

"Pact ain't no good if everybody don't follow the same rules," he answered.

"Couldn't be helped," I said.

"Tell me about the pact," Archie insisted.

I rolled my eyes. "We're going to stay out of each other's way and work on a way to get out of here."

"Flish won't let you leave," Bobby said rolling his eyes at me.