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arm and asked him what it was that had disturbed him.
    “ ‘I heard someone calling my name,’ he said. ‘It was not Screech and it was not Lurker, I’m certain of it. The voice was not that of a man. And it wasn’t the voice of a woman. What’s more, it seemed to drift in here, as if from a very great distance. You’ll think me crazy, Rapscallion, but I’m certain it was the wind, speaking to me.’
    “ ‘Nonsense,’ I said. ‘You were dreaming, obviously. Not that I’m in the least bit surprised after that silly story Screech told us.’ I took hold of the man’s hand and squeezed it. ‘He’s got us well and truly spooked. I just had the most peculiar dream myself. I was convinced that someone or some
thing
had come into this tent with us. It was quite real. My heart is still beating wildly.’ I tried to laugh it off but my laughter had a very hollow tone, for there was no humor in it, only fear.
    “ ‘Perhaps it wasn’t a dream at all,’ said Tremor. ‘Perhaps it was real.’
    “And then we heard it. Quite distinctly. It was the sound of Tremor’s name carried floating on the wind from a great long distance away, exactly as my now-trembling friend had described. A high-pitched whine of a voice that was neither a man’s nor a woman’s. Indeed, Tremor’s own surname was the only thing human about it.
    “ ‘Trem-or,’ it said. ‘Trem-or.’
    “ ‘There,’ he said. ‘Do you hear it?’
    “ ‘Yes, I heard it.’
    “And in the dark his strong, hairy hand gripped mine more tightly, as if he was suddenly very afraid. He had a heck of a grip, it seemed to me, but then fear makes a man appear stronger than he is, sometimes.
    “ ‘Yes,’ I told him again. ‘I hear it. The voice seems to be coming from down by the river. Look here, it must be Screech, messing about. Trying to frighten us.’
    “ ‘You’re right,’ said Tremor. There was a note of anger in his voice. ‘Where’s the flashlight? I’m going out there to speak to him. And if I find it is him fooling about, then I’m going to punch him on the nose. It’s one thing to scare a man around the campfire. It’s quite another to scare him half out of his wits while he’s asleep. Now where did I leave the flashlight? Yes, it must be in my backpack. By the flap of the tent.’
    “In the dark I heard Tremor get out of his sleeping bag and crawl toward the tent flap and the backpack. I heard him fumbling crossly for the flashlight. And it was then that I realized, to my mounting horror, what seemed to me at once a thing impossible: that I was still holding Bill Tremor’s hairy hand in my own. And yet how could I be holding the hand of a man who even now was six or seven feet away, on the other side of the tent, fumbling inside his backpack? Whose bony, cold, half-human hand had I been holding for several minutes? Whose was the hairy hand that still held my own?
    “ ‘Don’t switch on that flashlight!’ I yelled. ‘Don’t for pity’s sake turn it on.’
    “ ‘What are you talking about?’ Tremor said angrily. ‘I’m certainly not going out there without a flashlight. It’s pitch-dark. There could be anything waiting for me in the forest. Some horrible creature. A monster of the night. A beast of the wilderness.’
    “It was then that I noticed the smell. Something strong and hardly human. The hand holding mine tightened so that I could feel the fingernails digging into my skin and flesh. Only these weren’t fingernails. These were claws, surely. And yet the hand, strong as it was, had fingers. Long, thin, bony fingers.
    “ ‘Whatever it is,’ I told Tremor, ‘it’s not out there. It’s in here. It’s in the tent and it has me by the hand. And if you switch on that flashlight, I know that I will see it and die of fright, do you hear?’ All the time I heard my voice rising. ‘Don’t do it, Tremor. Please.’
    “ ‘What are you talking about?’ demanded Tremor. He switched on the