It had left his house, and that was frightening enough, but its connection to the bank was what really sent a chill through his bones. Because once again, something about the shadow reminded him of that figure he’d seen through the window of the empty storefront that had become First People’s. And while he’d never thought it through or fully articulated it in his mind until now, there seemed something demonic about the shape, with its three arms, its too-long neck, its overlarge head with the spiky top. What’s more, it still had that strange quivering quality, as though it was actually alive, and Nick slowly began to back away from it.

“Oh, Nick!” Mr. Worthington called.

He needed to escape the library. The shadow was wavering against the door, so he definitely wasn’t going out that way, but he didn’t know if there was any other exit.

Where was Ms. Swanson? Where were the other students who were usually in here?

He turned, moving a little to the left, and thought he saw a tall figure standing halfway down one of the aisles between bookcases.

“Nicholas!”

He could hide in the bathroom, Nick thought, but he might get trapped in there. He could feel himself starting to panic. The impulse to flee was almost overpoweringly strong, and he willed himself to fight it. That was the mistake people made in movies when trapped in an enclosed area—running. It allowed them to be chased and, eventually, caught. He was close to the door right now; anything he did would move him further away from it.

Maybe he could lure the shadow away from the door.

He had no idea how he would do that and was afraid to even try. As much as he wanted to avert his gaze, he kept glancing at it, and each time it seemed to him darker and more there.

What if he tried calling 911? Or called the office and told them to send someone over because he was trapped here in the library?

“Nicholas!”

He glanced down the aisle and saw that the figure was closer. It was definitely Mr. Worthington. Nick could see him now, though he was mostly still in shadow, and the banker was grinning widely, teeth unnaturally white in his semi-shaded face.

There was no time to call anybody.

The banker was closing in.

He might be terrified of the shadow, but it was, after all, just a flat silhouette. Mr. Worthington was real, and before he had time to analyze or think through his action, Nick sprinted forward, arms outstretched, shoving open the door and running outside. His hand touched the shadow, and his fingertips experienced a cold tingling, but it might have been his imagination. Then he was outside and dashing through the quad. Students were dispersing, heading to classrooms, and while he hadn’t heard the bell ring, he realized it must have.