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Eisa’s not but five or six years old. One day Eisa went out to play and she didn’t come back for almost eight hours. My aunt was frantic. Couldn’t get hold of her husband, and they have to go five miles to the nearest phone. Said she damn near went crazy with worry. But then that little Eisa just suddenly reappeared. Poor little thing didn’t want to talk about it at first. But then she began having nightmares and Myrtle got the story out of her.”
    â€œShe wasn’t just off playing?”
    Hervey shook his head solemnly. “Not hardly. Eisa told my aunt she had made a new friend. She said the new friend walked her clear across the Everglades. She said the friend was tall as a tree and covered with hair. She said her new friend never said the first word—just carried her off. My granddaddy says it’s the way of the legend. The Swamp Ape never speaks. . . .”

4
    In the silence which followed, I watched my friend closely, trying to decipher exactly how he felt about the story he had just told me.
    But his face gave away nothing. His was a broad, sun-blackened face matted with beard. Unlike April, who looked much like an Indian, only Hervey’s stoicism suggested his heritage.
    â€œHervey, you don’t really believe that, do you? You don’t really think some half-man, half-animal carried your niece off?”
    He snorted. “Do I look like one of those UFOLOVING loony tunes to you? Hell no, I don’t believe it. If I did, I’d just recommend my folks get the hell out of there while the gettin’s good. What I believe is, someone wants them off that property pretty bad—bad enough to play some pretty crazy games. They kidnap my niece for an afternoon. What does that prove? It proves that if they can take her for eight hours, they can take her for eight days. And if they can take her for eight days, it’s time enough to do anything they want with her. And that’s pretty scary.
    â€œBut there’s more than that going on,” he continued. “Fire’s a pretty normal thing in the Everglades during the winter months. Especially since the developers around the ’glades started digging their canals so they could sell their puny little lots as waterfront property to the tourist folk. They’ve been draining the Everglades to death for eighty years, and they still don’t know no better. But by May the rains start putting the fires out, and by September, which it is now, the place is soaking and there should be no fires at all. But there’s been all sorts of fires around my folks’ place. Not natural fires, either. Someone’s been setting them.”
    â€œNo swamp monster would do that, obviously.”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œDid you tell your aunt that?”
    â€œI did. She wants to believe it, but she’s so mixed up and scared now that she don’t know what to think. My granddaddy refuses to believe anything else, of course—or so she says. He won’t talk on the phone.”
    â€œAnd what does your aunt’s husband think?”
    â€œI only met him once, but he’s not the type to do much thinking at all—not without a bottle of whiskey in his hand, anyway.”
    â€œSo what do you think we ought to do?”
    Hervey smiled. “Does that mean you’ll help?”
    â€œYou know I’ll help. Besides, you’re too old and slow to be much good on your own.”
    He chuckled at my kidding and showed histrionic fierceness.
    â€œHow’d you like this slow old man to waltz you around the room a few times?”
    â€œNo thanks,” I said quickly.
    And I meant it. Even well into his forties, Hervey Yarbrough would be one bad man in a fight.
    â€œWhat I think we ought to do is go on up to the Everglades and sniff around some. If nothing else, it will give my aunt some comfort.”
    â€œThey won’t mind me, an outsider, coming in?”
    â€œNot if