“No, Mr. Crawford, I…” He raised his hands to show he had no weapon of his own. “I’m too scared to go near it. The box…the box spoke to me.”

“My God, man,” Crawford said. “What have we done?”

A metallic squawk shook the room and Tom turned to the study door. He knew that particular sound better than anybody else in Goblin could know it.

The back door to the truck had just slid open.

Forcefully.

“How well do you know your history?” Crawford asked, the gun still trained on Tom’s chest. Crawford was sweating bad. The look in his eye suggested this was the end of a much more complex tragedy.

“My first kiss was in Goblin,” Tom said, arms still raised.

“Not your history,” Crawford barked. “Goblin’s.” He chuckled and shook his head. “But that’s how it always is here, isn’t it? People mistaking their own stories as adding up to one big one.”

“Mr. Crawford,” Tom began. “Who is that coming through your house?”

Crawford grunted.

“Would you believe me if I told you it was a corpse?” he said. “Would you believe me if I told you that what you hear in the kitchen now are the cold dead feet of a native long since double-crossed by the treacherous white men who forced him and his kind out?”

Tom was shaking. He lowered his arms and stepped deeper into the study. Crawford held the gun on the open door.

“Are you…talking about…Chief Blackwater?” Tom asked.

Crawford snorted surprise. “So you do know your history.”

“I…I kissed that girl…by the…Blackwater River…”

Crawford fired the gun into the empty space of the open door. Tom cried out.

“Not Blackwater,” Crawford said, cocking the gun again. “By God, the chief’s body was never found. But his son…”

“Why did you order this box?” Tom asked fast. His voice shook. Crawford didn’t hesitate in answering.

“We went too far, is why. We wanted too much. When I saw your truck pull up I changed my mind. Can you blame me?”

Eyes appeared in the study doorway.

“Hello,” Dean Crawford said. “Son of Blackwater. Back to gain retribution for Wes Farraline’s signature in sand?”

Crawford fired again.

A bullet tore a purple hole in the dead man’s chest, but the corpse advanced.

“Do not come any closer!” Crawford cried out.

But the silhouette advanced. Crawford gasped. It looked nothing like a native, after all. This wasn’t Chief Blackwater, Son of Blackwater, or anybody related to Mayor Blackwater, at all.

It’s a ghost, Crawford thought. It’s what Chief Blackwater warned his tribe about. It’s what drives Goblin mad.

Crawford fired again.

The thing was at the desk, an arm’s reach from the gun.

“You were here before any man stepped foot in Goblin,” Crawford said, his voice shaking. “You’re what makes Goblin—”