Michael took a deep breath and reached for what little patience he had remaining. "1 was just thinking that maybe we could figure out something to do."

Perry shuffled his cards suggestively. No one took him up on the unspoken offer.

"I know," Junior said, scrambling for his backpack. He pulled out a couple library books. Further searching turned up a small flashlight. He shoved the flashlight under his chin and turned the beam on. The golden light played across the planes of his face, turning his eyes into cavernous hollows.

"You're a pumpkin?" Flynn asked. "You want to play Halloween?"

"No, you cretinous moron," Junior said in disgust.

Flynn stood up, rising to his full, impressive height. "Talking like that is gonna get you thumped."

Junior flicked the flashlight off as if trying to vanish into the night's shadows.

"Flynn crush," Perry said, laughing derisively. "Flynn destroy."

Flynn shot Perry a venomous glare. "I get done here, I got plenty left over for you, geek."

"Not Halloween," Michael said, trying to bring the conversation back to the subject of distraction rather than destruction. "Ghost stories."

Junior flicked the flashlight on again, highlighting his face once more. "Bwah-haaaa-haaaaa!" he bellowed.

Despite his rough-and-ready act, Flynn was startled and jumped back at the outburst. The instinctive retreat caused Perry and Tiller to laugh. Michael grinned wider, but really wasn't looking forward to ghost stories, which he considered almost as boring as the argument between Flynn and Junior. Still, he was glad someone had thought of something to do.

"Think you can handle it, Flynn?" Perry taunted. "How many times have you been out in this part of the desert? They got all kinds of spooky things supposed to be rambling around out here."

Tiller joined in, obviously enjoying the challenge of rattling Flynn. "The Mesaliko Indians believed in shape-changing monsters with a taste for human flesh. And there are all kinds of stories about murders on trail drives and wagon trains rolling into California during the gold rush." He nodded at the hills surrounding the campsite. "Maybe you don't know what's really out there."

"You guys are full of crap," Flynn said. "I haven't been scared since I was in diapers."

"Let's see," Junior mused. "That would make it… last week?"

Flynn doubled his fists and started toward Junior.

Normally Michael wouldn't have stepped in, because he liked to keep to himself. Instead he was up and between Flynn and Junior in a heartbeat. Tiller had gotten to his feet as well, but he would have been too late.

Flynn glared at Michael. "You want some of this, Guerin?"

Michael kept his own hands up, fingers outstretched in a nonthreatening way, but he knew he could use his forearms to block anything Flynn tried to throw. "Me?" He shook his head.

"Then get out of my way."

"Can't do that," Michael said.

Flynn set himself, ready to punch.

"Think about it," Michael said. "You guys fight, maybe we lose the job. I don't know about you, but I can use the money we're getting paid." He eyed Flynn levelly.

Flynn glanced at the tent where Kurt Bulmer still labored.

"What about it, Flynn?" Michael asked. "You think maybe a good payday means you can put up with Junior another couple days?"

Flynn shot a harsh glance over Michael's shoulder. "Still gonna kick your butt after we get back to town."

Junior laid back, his hands clasped behind his head like the threat was nothing.

"I'm thinking ghost story," Michael said, not taking his eyes from Flynn. "What about you, Tiller?"

"Sure. I got half a bag of marshmallows left."

"Perry," Michael said, "you want to tell the first one?"

"Sure," Perry said, rifling his deck of cards. "I got a good one. I call it 'The Head-Eater.'"

"Terrific. Sounds like a winner." Michael stared up at Flynn. "We okay here?"

"Sure," Flynn said grudgingly. After a final stare, he turned and lumbered back to his sleeping bag.

From the corner of his eye Michael caught Junior making a gesture that would have probably gotten him killed if Flynn had seen him do it. Michael retreated to his own sleeping bag as Perry began his story.

"This all happened a long time ago," Perry began in a properly creepy voice. "A hundred years ago. Maybe more. Back in the days before the West was settled. Only the Mesaliko bands roamed the mountains and alkaline valleys out here those days, and they weren't friendly."

Doubt stirred within Michael. During the encounters they'd had with River Dog, one of the medicine men of the Mesaliko Native-American reservation outside of Roswell, Max had done research on the tribe. The Native-American group hadn't been extreme or harsh unless persecuted or threatened in some way.

"There was this one guy," Perry continued, "the tribe kicked out. His true name was soon forgotten by the tribe, or never used again because they considered him less than human."

"Why'd this guy get kicked out of the tribe?" Flynn asked, glaring at Junior. "Being some kind of pain in the butt nobody could take anymore?"

"No," Perry said. "Head-Eater got kicked out of the tribe for the same thing that earned him his nickname."

"Eating heads?" Junior asked in obvious excitement. His eyes danced behind his glasses.

"Yeah," Perry replied, warming to the story.

"Cool," Junior said.

Even Flynn lost part of the effort he was putting into ignoring the others.

"Seems Head-Eater got stranded in the mountains during one winter," Perry said. "He was with a hunting party when a blizzard came."

Michael only vaguely paid attention to the story. The tale followed the familiar patter of every ghost story he'd ever heard. He wasn't surprised by a whole lot of things that were crafted from mechanical artifices. Stories followed certain routes, and he'd even figured out the trick ending of The Sixth Sense.

Figuring out the ending had been okay, but telling Maria had obviously been a bad move. Actually, he still didn't understand what had been so bad about telling her; after all, she'd been dying to know what was really going on. But that had only been until he'd told her the trick. Then she was mad at him… again.

Perry strung the story out, building up the suspense and the gruesome horror of the grizzly bear that had attacked the trapped Mesaliko Indians and killed them one by one. The story was perfect camp tale fare, and the approaching storm added to the overall effect. Junior and Flynn were bug-eyed as they listened to Perry detail the bloodthirsty attacks by the bear.

Tiller kept to himself.

Too late Michael realized that with Tiller's dad committing suicide, ghost stories might not have been the best choice for an evening's entertainment. But there was nothing to do about it now that wouldn't make the situation worse by calling attention to Tiller.

"So Head-Eater's been lying there for days," Perry went on, "and he's getting hungrier than he's ever been. He starts looking at the dead warriors lying around him, and he starts thinking maybe they wouldn't taste so bad. So he starts a fire… "

"In the middle of a blizzard?" Flynn challenged.

Perry looked irritated. "The blizzards been over for days."

"What did he burn?" Flynn went on. "If there were any sticks up in the mountains, they'd all be covered by the snow."

"He found some sticks, okay?"

"Not in no blizzard," Flynn said.

"Besides," Junior said, "it would be better if the heads were raw. Grosser."

Michael reached for a nearby bag of marshmallows, took a couple out, and pierced them with the wire cooking utensil he'd used to fix hot dogs earlier. As the marshmallows caught fire, he thought about the way they looked kind of skull-like. He considered telling the others, but decided against it.