Mr. Snuggly came in the cat flap in the back door after Fiji had put on her nightgown and brushed her teeth. He ran into the room as she pulled down the sheets.

“He got home okay?” she asked the cat. Mr. Snuggly stared up at her without expression . . . naturally. “Of course he did,” Fiji answered herself. “Or you’d have come in a lot quicker. Well, let’s turn in, Snug. It’s been a long day.” The room was furnished with her great-aunt’s bedroom set, though Fiji had stripped the wood of its chipped varnish and painted it sky blue. The walls were painted white, and the throw rugs on the floor were bright and colorful. It was a cheerful room, and Fiji was always glad when the time came for her to sleep in it. She went through her usual nighttime routine before climbing onto the high bed, pulling up the covers to relax with a clean face and a fairly clear conscience. Mr. Snuggly jumped up to curl at her side. Fiji fell asleep with her fingers in the cat’s fur.

She remained asleep two hours later when something big brushed up against the outside of the house. Mr. Snuggly was awake, though, his golden eyes wide and unblinking as they followed the progress of the creature on the other side of the wall. When it paused outside Fiji’s window, Mr. Snuggly hissed, his ears flattened back on his head. But after a few seconds, the cat heard huge feet padding away. Mr. Snuggly lay awake for a few minutes, staring into the darkness, to see if the creature would return. When it did not, he put his head down on his paws and slid back into sleep.

The same creature visited every inhabited house in Midnight, sniffing at the air, inspecting the doors and windows. It spent the longest time giving its attention to the trailer in which Madonna and Teacher lived with their baby. There, it rumbled, deep in its throat. But no one woke.

23

The next morning, Bobo turned on the local radio station while he was making toast for breakfast. The big area news was about a fire outside Marthasville, and Bobo found himself standing, knife poised over the butter tub, while he listened.

“Arson investigators for Pioneer County are at the site of a blaze at a ranch house owned by Price Eggleston, thirty-two, of Marthasville. Eggleston said he and his friends used the house as a hunting lodge and that no one should have been in the building at the time of the blaze. Chief arson investigator Sally Kilpatrick said she’d turn in her findings to the sheriff as soon as her investigation is complete. In other news, rancher Cruz Vasquez, in the Cactus Flats community south of Midnight, reported that one of his cows was killed by a wild animal . . .”

Price Eggleston. He’d heard that name before, hadn’t he?