An unnatural silence seemed to fall over the night. Shadow, his growl dying on his lips, suddenly lay down on the ground, his ears up, his eyes still fixed on Amos.

Amos, too, sensed the change in the atmosphere, and suddenly felt his skin begin to crawl. Whatever was out there, he was suddenly certain, it was not Michael, and it was coming for him.

With shaking fingers, he pressed the switch on the flashlight and began playing its beam over the forest.

And then Amos saw him.

Standing perfectly still, his face a pale mask in the white light of the torch, his blue eyes wide and steady-the same blue eyes of all the Halls-the figure of the oddly dressed boy seemed to Amos to have about it the calmness of death.

"W-who are you?" he asked, forcing the words from his throat. Suddenly he was having difficulty breathing, and his heart was pounding with a fury that frightened him almost as much as the visage that glared at him with malevolent eyes from a few yards away.

The words suddenly filled the night.

"I am Nathaniel."

Amos, staggered. "No," he gasped. "No. Nathaniel's dead. Nathaniel's been dead for a hundred years. Who are you? Tell me who you are!"

Again, the same words: "I am Nathaniel."

Amos staggered, and the flashlight dropped from his trembling hands.

Michael, still rooted to the spot where Nathaniel had left him, watched as his grandfather sank to his knees, and listened as Nathaniel whispered to him once again:

Wish him dead.

Then, as Amos clutched at his chest, his terrified eyes still fixed on the spot where the apparition stood, Michael began to feel Nathaniel's power within him.

Die. Die. Die.

The word echoed in his mind, his lips silently formed it, the thought transfused his soul, and as he watched, his grandfather sank slowly to the ground.

You killed my father. Die. Die. Die.

And then, as the night sounds slowly began again, Michael knew it was over. Shadow rose to his feet and padded over to sniff at Amos's body. He whined a little; then, wagging his tail, he trotted toward Michael, sat at his feet, and licked his hand.

In the darkness, Nathaniel smiled at him.

"Go home now, Michael," he heard Nathaniel say. "Go home, and wait."

Michael hesitated uncertainly. "But what about Grandpa?"

"They will come and find him," Nathaniel said quietly. "It will not be very long. Go home and wait, Michael. I will tell you what to do."

With Shadow beside him, Michael turned and started back through the forest. Suddenly he turned back. "Nathaniel?"

But all Michael saw was the blackness of the night.

Nathaniel was gone.

Michael slipped his key in the lock of the front door, twisted it, then gently pushed the door open, silently praying that the hinges wouldn't squeak. As soon as Shadow scuttled through the narrow opening, Michael followed, and closed the door as carefully as he had opened it. Then he made his way up the stairs, testing each tread before putting his weight on it. After what seemed to him to be forever, he made it to the second-floor landing, and paused to listen. From behind the closed door to her room, he could hear the even sound of his mother's breathing. A moment later, he was safe in his own room. He undressed, then slipped into bed, where he lay wide awake listening to the night and waiting.

Suddenly he heard Nathaniel's voice whispering inside his head, and at the same moment, the quiet of the night was shattered by the sound of a gunshot. Obeying Nathaniel's instructions, Michael leapt out of bed, and ran to his mother's room. He pounded on the door, then burst inside.

"Mom! Mom, wake up!"

Janet's eyes flew open, and she sat up, reaching instinctively for the lamp next to her bed. As light flooded the room, she heard a sound, then another.

Two shots.

"There was another one," Michael told her, climbing onto her bed. "It woke me up, Mom. Someone's down by the river, and they're shooting at something."

Janet swung her legs off the bed, struggling to drive away the last vestiges of heavy sleep. A moment later she was at the window, peering out. All she could see was darkness, suddenly pierced by a light from the Simpsons' house, a few hundred yards away. A moment later, the phone started ringing.

"Go answer it, honey," Janet told Michael as she struggled to find the sleeves of her bathrobe and pull it on over her ungainly bulk. As Michael jumped off the bed and dashed out of the room, Janet followed him as quickly as she could. Another shot rang out as she took the receiver from Michael.

"It's Mrs. Simpson," Michael told her.

"Ione?" Janet asked. "Ione, what on earth is going on?"

"Then it's not coming from your house?" Ione asked.

"Our house? Ione, Michael and I were both sound asleep. And I don't even own a gun. Michael says it sounds like it's coming from down by the river."

"That's what Leif thinks, too."

"Maybe it's hunters," Janet suggested.

"In the middle of the night? Don't be silly."

"Then what could it be?" Ione hesitated a moment, then: "Janet, did you say Michael was asleep?"

Janet frowned, and her eyes went automatically to Michael. "Yes."

"Didn't Michael go out tonight?"

"Go out? What are you talking about?"

"Boys," Ione said in a weary voice. "It seems Eric and Ryan decided to have themselves a little midnight adventure. But I caught them at it. They said Michael was with them. Was he?"

Janet was silent for a moment, then: "Just a minute." She covered the receiver with her hand. "Michael, did you go out with Ryan and Eric tonight?"

Michael opened his mouth to deny it, but then changed his mind. "Yes," he admitted. "We-we were just messing around."

Janet spoke once more into the phone. "He was with them," she told Ione. "But what's that got to do with the shooting?"

"I don't know," Ione replied. "But the boys said they saw someone in Potter's Field. They-well, they thought it was Abby. But I've never heard of a ghost carrying a gun before." Then, before Janet could make a reply: "Hold on, Janet." There was a murmuring, then Ione came back on the line. "We're coming over there, Janet. Leif thinks it might be Ben Findley shooting, and he wants to find out. There've been stories of Ben shooting at kids before, but so far, no one's ever heard the shots." Ione's voice hardened. "I don't care what old Ben does, but if he was trying to shoot at the kids, he's in big trouble. And while we're at it we might as well find out from all three of the boys exactly what they were up to. Okay?"

Janet sighed. "Okay. I'll put on some coffee." She hung up the phone, and turned to confront Michael. "You are in trouble, young man," she told him. "You know better than to go out by yourself at night, and if you were trespassing on Mr. Findley's property, you should know that he would have been perfectly within his rights to shoot you." Then her worry overcame her anger. "My God, Michael, you could have been killed! Why did you do it?"

Suddenly Nathaniel's warning voice sounded in his head. "Not yet!"

"I-I don't know," Michael stammered.

Janet glared at him. "Well, you'd better figure it out," she told him. "And whatever you have to say had better match pretty well with whatever Ryan and Eric have to say. Understand?"

Michael nodded; then, as Janet started toward the kitchen, he sank down to the floor and slipped his arms around Shadow. "I'm scared," he whispered to the big dog. "What'll they do when they find Grandpa?"

Shadow nuzzled at his master, and his tail thumped against the wall as he wagged it. Then, once more, Nathaniel's voice came to him. "It will be all right. In a little while, it will be all right."

When the knock came at the front door, Janet hurried to answer it, opening the door wide in the expectation that the Simpsons and Ryan Shields would be on her porch.