The officer behind the big desk lowered a sheet of paper he was reading. Seeing his features in full, Margot felt a shiver. And far in the recess of her young mind she asked herself, Does Wayne Sherman deserve this?

But of course he did. When the officer spoke his voice came deep and slow, like all their voices did. Margot’s mom said they talked like a pitch-shifted tape recording. Margot didn’t know what that meant exactly.

“What…is…it…little…girl?”

“It’s the bush guy,” Margot said, quickly, wanting this exchange to be over with, wanting them to be on their way already.

But the officer did not respond.

“That man who makes all the statues. The man who lives next to The Hedges.”

Now other officers slowly crept into view. Some peered their heads out from around corners. Some turned around in the chairs at their desks. Margot had mistaken their gray uniforms for the paint on the walls.

“Wayne…Sherman…?” the officer at the desk asked.

Margot had their attention. And no matter how weird the Goblin Police made her feel, she was going to be a legitimate Goblin hero by the end of this.

“Yes,” she said. “I was inside The Hedges. I got to the end.”

Now the other officers slowly rose from their chairs and advanced toward her; their lanky bodies moving snakelike.

Margot eyed them, waiting for them to say something. But it was clear they were waiting for more from her.

“You won’t believe what I found out there.”

3

While Margot spilled the beans to the officers at the station, Wayne was taking a little too long getting the hell out of his house.

He was in the bedroom. Sitting on the edge of his bed. Thinking.

He didn’t mind leaving his things behind. He didn’t mind leaving his house. Even The Hedges. But the rush of it all, the urgency, put a twist on things.

It was as if the little girl woke him up from a twelve-year space-out and when he looked at his hands he was stunned at how wrinkled they were.

You were young once and you built The Hedges, but you are older now and must run from them.

How quickly it happened.

Good for her, Wayne thought.

He looked around the bedroom, the weight of Time upon him. What did he really need to bring? Maybe a tent. His boots. A change of clothes. He kept some money under his bed. Five grand. He’d need that.

What proof would they have? Wayne thought. It’s the word of a nine-year-old girl. And by the time they get here, The Hedges will be empty.