“I’m not only protecting my tribe,” he howled, “I’m protecting you, Pale Shades, from the same nefarious spirits!”

Again, he flipped the switch and pulled the blanket aside.

Then he did it again.

And again.

And beneath him, through his Plexiglas bed, Kamp saw a face looking back.

He covered his bed, turned off the light. Then removed the blanket and turned the light back on.

Again.

Again.

Yes, a face, looking up at him.

Did it look like…Mom?

Oh my God.

FLASH!

It’s got the same face as Mom…

(pull it aside, put it back, pull it aside, put it back)

FLASH!

“Waaaaaaaaaalter?”

A voice…behind him.

“Mom!” Walter cried, turning the light on and off, on and off.

But it wasn’t Mom. No. Couldn’t be. Because Mom never wore war paint. Mom never looked like a native chief dying out in the West Fields, nobody there to nurse him.

FLASH!

He sat up. His back erect. Still, on his knees, pulling the blanket aside, putting it back.

“Mom, it’s not you! It’s…it’s…”

He was breathing too hard now, the veins coming to the surface in his forehead, the atonal cries of the alarms and that great Goblin rain thundering about him.

And his name, too. His name called out by a voice as old as Goblin.

“Waaaaaaalter?”

“IT’S BLACKWATER!” Kamp howled. “HIDING BENEATH MY BED!”

Kamp howled and the face of the chief howled back.

Then Kamp felt something tug below his throat. His eyes bulged.

He dropped the line-switch. He clutched his chest.

“Oh God! It’s happening. I’m dying. I’m scared to death!”

He stumbled forward on the bed, still gripping the blanket.

I saw it, he thought—relieved, it seemed. I saw it…

He fell forward and rolled off the bed, pulling the blanket with him. His body shook his rooms as it fell to the wood floor.

The alarms rattled on the dresser. The television monitor shook.

And was it so bad? he asked himself. Being scared to death?

“Waaaaaaaaaalter?”

Whatever it was still beckoned him, calling his name in an old, historical voice.

He rolled onto his back. He started to drift.

Mom, he thought. I can’t wait to see you!

The last thing he thought of before he died was the story of the girl who was found in the North Woods. The one with her chest exploded.

She saw a ghost, he thought. She ran into a ghost big enough to scare us all.

Goblin. And the word, the name of his city, still shone.

The last thing he saw was that debate team trophy reflected in the knife beneath his bed. The knife he didn’t remember throwing there.

His grip on that blanket loosened.

The alarms sounded like the Goblin Police, driving by fast, chasing someone down on Lily.