Afraid

Duncan didn’t mind being by himself while Mom worked late. He was ten years old, which was practically an adult. His mom used to insist that he have a babysitter, and the one she usually got was Mrs. Teller, who was all bent over because she was so old, and sometimes she smelled like pee. Duncan liked her okay, but she made him go to bed early and wouldn’t let him watch his favorite shows on TV, like South Park, because they said bad words, and she always wanted to talk about her husband, who died years ago.

Duncan didn’t like to talk about death.

After a long session with Dr. Walker, the therapist convinced Mom that Duncan was mature enough to stay home alone, if that’s what Duncan wanted. Which he did. Duncan knew what to do in the case of any emergency. He’d taken the Stranger Danger class in school. He had three planned escape routes if there was a fire. He knew not to let anyone in the house, and how to call 911, and to never cook on the stove or use the fireplace or take a bath while home alone. He thought Mom was being a little crazy about the bath thing, like Duncan would fall asleep in the tub and drown. But he listened to Mom anyway, and she trusted him, and for the three months he’d been without a babysitter it had worked out fine. Duncan hadn’t gotten scared once.

Until now.

“Woof!” Duncan yelled again.

Woof didn’t come.

It was possible his dog had gone outside, to do his dirty business. Or maybe he saw the Johnsons’ cat and went to chase him, even though the cat scared Woof a lot.

Or maybe something got him.

Duncan would never admit it to anyone, not even his best friend Jerry Halprin, but he sometimes believed monsters were real. He wasn’t scared of monsters, exactly. He loved watching monster movies, and reading R. L. Stine books with monsters in them, but deep down he thought maybe monsters really did exist.

He didn’t tell this to Dr. Walker, but when they had the car accident, and Mom thought Duncan was unconscious in the back seat, he wasn’t really unconscious. He saw what happened to Dad, how bloody he was. For weeks afterward, Duncan had horrible nightmares about monsters, biting and clawing and ripping up him and Mom, making them bleed and die. Since he got Woof, most of the nightmares had gone away.

But sitting in his bed, holding his breath and waiting for his dog to come, Duncan wondered if maybe a monster got Woof.

Then he heard it—the jingle of metal tags from Woof’s dog collar, just down the hallway.

“Woof!” he yelled happily. He tucked his legs under his butt so when Woof hopped on the bed he wouldn’t step on them, and he waited in the dark for his dog to come.

But Woof didn’t come.

Duncan listened hard, then called Woof’s name again. He heard jingling, in the hall.

“Come on, Woof,” Duncan urged.

The jingling got a little closer, then stopped. What was wrong with that dog?

“Speak, Woof!”

Woof, who didn’t really need to be told to speak because he spoke all the time, still loved to follow that command, because he usually got a treat afterward. But Woof stayed quiet. Duncan wondered if he was maybe hurt, which is why he stopped barking.

Duncan reached over to the light switch on the wall behind him. He flipped it up. It didn’t do anything. He tried flicking it up and down a few times, but his bedroom light didn’t come on. The electricity must be out, Duncan thought.

Or maybe a monster stole the light bulb.

“Woof!” Duncan said it hard, the way Mom did when Woof did his dirty business on the kitchen floor.

Woof’s collar jingled, and Duncan heard him pant. But the dog stayed in the hallway. Did Woof want him to come there for some reason? Or was he afraid of something in the bedroom?

Duncan peeled back the covers and climbed out of bed. The house was warm, but he shivered anyway. Mom made him wear pajamas when she was home, but on the nights she worked, Duncan liked to sleep in his underwear. He wished he had his pajamas on now. Being almost naked made him feel small and alone.

The room was too dark to see, and Duncan walked by memory, heading for the doorway to the hall, hands out in front of him like a zombie to stop him from bumping into walls. After some groping he found the door and stopped before walking through.

Woof’s collar jingled, only a few feet in front of him. The panting got louder.

“What’s the matter, boy?”

Duncan knelt down and held out his hands, waiting for the dog to approach. When Woof didn’t, Duncan felt goosebumps break out all over. He knew something was wrong, really wrong. Maybe Mom was right about leaving him home all alone. Maybe something bad happened to Woof, and Duncan wouldn’t be able to help him because he was just a kid.

Duncan stood up and reached for the hall light switch, but it didn’t go on. So he pressed the button on his dad’s watch and the blue bezel light came on, which was bright enough for him to see the man standing in the hallway, jingling Woof’s collar and panting.

• • •

Josh VanCamp moved through the woods at a quick pace, sweeping the flashlight before him like a blind man’s walking stick, navigating fallen trees and overhanging branches. He had no explanation for the events so far, but deep in his bones he knew something was terribly wrong.

The underbrush grabbed an ankle, and Josh pulled his foot free and paused, trying to get his bearings. There was less than a hundred yards between the crash spot and the Mortons’ house, but it was extremely easy to get lost in the forest, especially at night. He reached into the pocket of his khakis and took out a bubble compass on a leather swatch. Reorienting himself, he headed east, toward Gold Star Road.

Safe Haven didn’t have many emergencies. Even when the population tripled during the tourist season, Josh responded to only a handful of calls a week, and they usually amounted to overzealous campers with fire pits that exceeded safety standards or search-and-rescue operations for teenagers who snuck off into the woods to have a quickie. Though Josh became a firefighter because of a strong need to saves lives, he had never actually saved anyone.

Josh navigated through a copse of wrist-thin birch trees, and found his mind drifting to Annie, as it often did. He didn’t need grief therapy to realize she was the real reason for his vocation. Soon he would leave Safe Haven and move to Madison, or the Twin Cities, where firefighters actually did risk their lives and do real good for the world.

On his days off he took EMT classes in nearby Shell Lake, and he planned to take his National Registry Paramedic exam next year. Josh didn’t know if there was a statute of limitations on mourning, but if there were, his ran out at four years, three months, and eleven days. He had made a promise to Annie, but it was time to move on.

Josh set foot on the sand road and began walking south when he heard the scream. The Mortons were the only folks out here this time of year, and it came from the direction of their house. Josh sprinted toward the sound. Though the night had gone from cool to cold, sweat broke out on his forehead, neck, and underarms. The sand sucked at his shoes, and he almost lost his footing hurdling over a pile of scrap wood next to Sal Morton’s mailbox.

Josh jogged to the edge of Sal’s property just as the screaming stopped. Josh took a few gulps of air and then cupped his hands around his mouth.

“Hello!”

No one answered.

Josh wondered who was shrieking, and why. He had no doubt it had been a cry of pain. Had the person passed out? Died?

He looked to the house and saw the front door hanging open. That wasn’t right. Josh hurried to it and stuck his head in. Darkness and silence greeted him.

“Hello? It’s Josh VanCamp, from the firehouse! Does someone need help?”

The wall switch didn’t work. Josh went inside, his flashlight sweeping the living room. Empty. He’d been in