“Do you see anything near it other than grave markers? Look carefully.”

I let my eyes rove around the trunk and the surrounding area. Several stones were close enough to be under the tree’s canopy, but I couldn’t see anything else. There was only the tree and a bunch of gravestones between us and Gil Jensen’s southernmost field, which abutted the church property.

“No, there’s nothing else there. Not that I can see, anyway.”

“Okay. Take a picture of the tree,” he said.

“This little flash isn’t nearly enough to light it.”

“Just get the trunk.”

Feeling a bit silly, I walked to within about ten feet of the trunk, close enough for the flash to do some good, and snapped a picture of it. Then I returned to Graham.

“Here you go. One tree trunk,” I said, holding the camera out to him.

He smiled and didn’t take it. “Look at the image. What do you see?”

I turned on the camera’s LCD screen. The image did show a tree trunk. It also showed a standing figure.

“There was no one there!”

“Oh, but there was,” Graham said, grinning. “That’s Bob.”

In the picture, a large creature was standing in front of the tree. He was furry, had long arms, and was very obviously male. He was smiling toothily and waving.

Goosebumps ran up my arms. My heart rate kicked into high gear, and my lungs seemed to close. An attack was coming. I sat down on the ground and snapped my rubber band. Surprisingly, Graham settled down beside me and put his arm around my shoulders, making soothing noises. That startled me, which actually helped. The oncoming panic paused and hovered, then receded. Thank god.

Once I relaxed, Graham scooted away from me a bit, giving me space. I looked up at him and found him watching me with a little smile. A number of seconds ticked by. I really didn’t know what to say.

“So,” I started, and then cleared my throat. “The abominable snowman lives behind St. Mary’s?”

Graham laughed. “Pretty close, actually. Bob’s a good guy. Never causes any trouble. But some of his people who aren’t so law-abiding do crop up in the Himalayas.”

Yet another thing for which I really had no response. I looked at the photo again. Bob was heavily furred on his torso, but the fur thinned out on his limbs, giving way to leathery skin. That skin was pale blue and marked with gray rings. His fur was white with gray rings. Doyle Shumaker had looked at my photo and joked about a “bagel monster.” Pretty accurate, actually.

I looked into the darkness beyond the flashlight’s glow. Bob the non-abominable snowman might be standing right next to me. He hadn’t just disguised himself as something else; he’d made himself invisible. So what else was out there that I couldn’t see?