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through high school, where she was the captain of the cheerleading team in a busy Chicago public school, the captain of the drama club, and a county champion on the debate team.
    But all that had changed. On a single night, she had gone from a proud peacock, strutting and boasting of her beautiful plumage to all the world, to a voiceless raven, dark and hovering at the edges of life, hopeful that none would notice her. Her dress merely reflected her deep desires to remain anonymous and invisible.
    Invisible was good. The monsters couldn't find you if you were invisible.
    Lenore knew she was like a child, afraid in the night and pulling her covers over her head in the vain hope that the monsters that she suspected - that she knew - were out there would pass her by and leave her, this time, unmolested.
    The only people that she hoped would notice her now were the children. And to them - and them alone - she could come alive. She could show herself to them because, quite simply, at eight years old they were too young to hurt her, or even to threaten her.
    Of course, thoughts of hurt and threat immediately brought back memories that she would just as soon leave pressed deep within her. But almost worse for the moment were the more immediate thoughts, the more immediate reality: little Sean was dead.
    She found herself standing in front of his desk, and was quite unsure how he had gotten there. But she knew that she would have to deal with this moment sooner or later. It had been more than a week, and she was perfectly aware what was being whispered over the counter at the general store and behind closed doors in every house in Rising. She knew what every parent was telling their child as they ordered them to come in early, to keep close, to stay within eyesight: the Rand boy was gone. There had been no ransom demand, no sign of him.
    And, from what she had heard, there had been far too much blood in the Rands' basement to leave any hope that Sean had survived.
    Even so, she had obstinately refused to clean out the boy's desk; had clung to a vain hope that the evil that wandered the world had not come to Rising, had not found its way so close to her.
    Had not killed little Sean.
    Still, now that the funeral had happened....
    She reached into Sean's desk and began pulling papers out of it. They were drawings, crayon pictures mostly, each one proudly marked "by Sean Rand, 8" in the lower left corner. She touched each one with her hands as she removed it, knowing that this was as close as she was willing to come to saying goodbye, fighting back the tears that burnt her eyes and threatened to ruin her hard-fought composure.
    Then she almost screamed as a voice said, "Excuse me."
    She didn't scream, though, the part of her that was in charge of not screaming managing to successfully assert itself at the last possible moment. Instead she swiveled around and saw who it was. She wasn't surprised; had been expecting him to come by at some point, and had been wondering what to do when it happened.
    "Sheriff," she said. "You scared me."
    "Sorry," Sheriff Meeks answered. "Didn't mean to." He looked embarrassed, more like one of her students after a good chastising for failing to do his homework than one of the most important men in the small town of Rising. She knew why, too: a few years ago a mutual friend had determined that they would be a cute couple, and had invited them both to a movie, failing to mention to either that there would be a third party. Both she and the sheriff had been visibly mortified, though she was sure it was for different reasons. She knew that once she had been pretty, had been beautiful even. But that had been... before that one night; before she had lost what had once made her into a graceful and beautiful creature. Now, she was just plain old Lenore, struggling to stay anonymous, and was both angry that her friend had tried to set her up with Rising's most interesting bachelor, and terrified that Sheriff Meeks