"But you said-"

"I know what I said." Anna sighed, then went on talking. "I think Amos killed two of my children. I don't know anymore. Not after last night. But what's important is that I believed he did. That's one of the reasons I fell in love with Ben Findley. I blamed Amos for so much, and in Ben I found the parts of Amos I was attracted to, without the parts I hated. Can you understand that?" She paused, but Janet made no reply. "Anyway, I fell in love with him, and I got pregnant by him. And Amos knew." Slowly, her voice trembling with the pain she felt at reliving the story, Anna told Janet what had happened twenty years ago, when her last child had been born. "He had sworn he'd kill it," she finished. "He'd said he'd kill it, but then, when it came, he told me it was stillborn. He told me, and Charles Potter told me. But I didn't believe them. I believed they killed it, just as I believed Amos had killed my other children. I believed they killed it. And later on, I believed they killed Laura's children."

"But if that's what you believed-"

"Why did I stay? Because Amos was my punishment, and I deserved to be punished for my…" Her voice faltered. "For my sins. I stayed out of my own guilt, Janet. I hated Amos, but I stayed."

Janet felt sick. Sick and betrayed. "And you didn't warn me, either," she said, her voice suddenly bitter. Her eyes turned angry. "What about Michael? Did he beat Michael, too? And would you have stood by when my baby came, even though you thought Amos might kill it?"

Anna shook her head helplessly. "I don't know," she whispered. "I just don't know. But it's over now, Janet. Nathaniel-" She fell suddenly silent.

"Nathaniel!" Janet demanded. "What about Nathaniel? That's only a ghost story."

"Is it?" Anna broke in. Then her body seemed to droop. "Maybe it is, at that. But Michael doesn't think so. Nor do I. Nathaniel is real, at least in some ways. For me, he's real, and he's bringing me an odd kind of peace." She fell silent, then smiled softly. "I'm going to have another grandchild, Janet. I'm going to see Mark's second son, and Amos isn't going to kill him. It will be almost like having my own son back."

Janet had gone upstairs then, trying to puzzle out the meaning of all that Anna had told her. She had fallen asleep for a while, then awakened. Now, as she listened to the calming drone of voices from below, Anna's words seemed to fade from her mind. Perhaps, as Anna had said, everything would be all right now.

And then came the scream.

Anna jerked out of the half sleep she'd fallen into, and stared at the contorted face of her grandson. Shadow, his tail twitching nervously, was licking at Michael's face, but the boy didn't seem to notice. "What is it?" Anna asked, her eyes leaving the screaming boy and fixing on Ione Simpson. "My Lord, what's wrong with him?" Ione had been sitting on the floor studying the chessboard between herself and Michael, but was now crouched beside the boy, cradling him in her arms. "It's all right," she told Anna. "It's going to be all right."

Michael's screams subsided, and as he calmed down, so did Shadow. Finally, his weight still resting against Ione's breast, his eyes opened and he looked up into his grandmother's face.

"He killed him," he whispered. "It happened just now. He killed him."

"Who?" Ione asked. "Who killed someone, Michael?"

"Nathaniel," Michael whispered. "I saw it. Just now. I saw him in the barn, and he was hiding. And then Mr. Findley came in. And-and Nathaniel killed him."

Instinctively, Ione glanced toward the window, but the rapidly gathering darkness revealed nothing of what lay beyond the glass. Whatever Michael was talking about, he hadn't seen it with his eyes.

"All right," Ione said, automatically reverting to the soothing voice she'd cultivated during her years of nursing. "Tell us what happened. Tell me what you saw, and how you saw it. Can you do that?"

Michael gazed up at her for a moment, then his eyes shifted back to his grandmother.

"It's all right," she assured him. "Whatever you tell us, we'll believe you. Just tell us what happened."

Michael swallowed. "I was looking at the board," he said. "I was trying to decide whether or not to move my bishop, and then all of a sudden I got a headache. And I heard Nathaniel's voice." Ione frowned and started to say something, but Anna silenced her with a gesture.

"Only he wasn't talking to me," Michael went on. "He was talking to Mr. Findley. He was asking about the children. He wanted to know where the children were, and Mr. Findley wouldn't tell him. So Nathaniel killed him."

"How?" Anna asked. "How did Nathaniel kill him?"

Michael's voice shook. "The way Grandpa killed Dad," he said softly. "With a pitchfork."

Suddenly, from the doorway, they heard a low moan, and both Ione and Anna turned to see Janet, her face pale, leaning heavily against the doorframe. "I can't stand it," Janet whispered. "I just can't stand it."

"lone, help her," Anna said, but the words were unnecessary: Ione was already on her feet, offering Janet a supporting arm. But Janet brushed her aside, her eyes fixed on Michael.

"It isn't possible, Michael," she said. "You couldn't have seen anything like that." Hysteria began to edge her voice. "You were sitting right here. You couldn't have seen anything. You couldn't!"

Michael stared at his mother, his eyes wide and frightened. "I did, Mama," he said. "I know what I saw."

"No!" Janet screamed. "You're imagining things, Michael! Can't you understand?" Her eyes, wide with distress and confusion, flicked from Michael to Anna, then to Ione. "Can't any of you understand? He's imagining things! He's imagining things, and he needs help!" She broke down, her sobs coming in great heaving gulps, and now she let herself collapse into Ione's arms. "Oh, God, help him. Please help him!"

"It's all right, Janet," Ione soothed. "Everything's going to be all right. But you have to go back up to bed. You have to rest." Without waiting for her to reply, Ione began guiding her back up the stairs.

Suddenly alone with his grandmother, Michael looked fretfully at the old woman. His hands played over Shadow's thick coat, as if he were seeking comfort from the dog. "Why doesn't she believe me?" he asked. "Why doesn't she believe I saw what I did?"

"Maybe she does," Anna told him. "Maybe she does, but just doesn't want to admit it to herself. Sometimes it's easier to pretend things aren't happening, even when you know they are. Can you understand that?"

Michael hesitated, then nodded. "I-I think so."

"All right. Now, would you do something for me?"

"Wh-what?"

"I want you to call Aunt Laura and ask her to come out here. And have her bring Buck and Ryan, too." Michael's brow knitted into a worried frown. "Why?"

"To help Mrs. Simpson take care of your mother. You and I and your Uncle Buck are going to go over and have a look at Ben Findley's barn."

The enormous barn door stood slightly ajar, and an ominous silence seemed to hang over the unkempt farm like a funeral pall. The little group stopped in the center of the barnyard, Michael on one side of Anna, Buck Shields on the other, supporting her with his arm. Shadow, his tail between his legs, whined softly.

"He's gone," Michael whispered. "Nathaniel's gone."

"There's no such person as Nathaniel," Buck Shields said, his voice angry. Anna silenced him with a glance, then switched on the flashlight she held in one hand, playing its beam over the walls, of the barn. Nothing showed, nothing moved.

"Stay here with your grandmother," Buck said. "I'll go have a look inside."

"No!" Anna's voice crackled in the darkness. "We'll all go inside. Whatever's there, Michael's already seen it. And whatever's there, I want to see it."