"Hush little baby, don't you cry," she sang tonelessly. "Shhh. Shhh. 'Cause Grandpa loves you and so do I. Shhhhh."

A sharp snick! of metal against metal stopped her under the blazing yellow light of a streetlamp. Night bugs flitted on its cover, drawn by the light.

She peered out into the blackness. Heart racing, pumping blood that maintained its steady course down her legs.

She knew the sound. Everyone in Barrows Bay knew that terrible sound by heart.

The knitting needles.

The Midwives.

An elderly woman's laughter. Echoed by a second.

Them.

She whirled, concrete biting into the soft pads of her heels. Her wide, tear-rimmed eyes chased the sound as she whipped herself round and round, the dizziness barely noticeable above the pain between her legs and the creeping dread.

Squinting into the darkness, she finally saw it. Two glints of light in the black. A hungry animal, lured by the smell of blood to prey on her helpless child? Or the cold, murderous eyes of her pursuers?

The light became wider, brighter. She heard the engine. Not eyes, but headlights. A car up ahead on the road—coming this way!

She laughed, joyful laughter for what might be the first time since she saw the dark brown ring on the in-home pregnancy test she asked Auntie Jean to purchase on her behalf, so as not to alert her father.

As she waved her free arm, the headlights caught her for a moment like an actor on a stage. Blood a stark contrast to her ghostly pale skin.

The station wagon swerved. It was still far enough away it seemed not to be caused by her being in the road but something else. One of them?

She waved frantically. "Please! Please help me!"

The engine grew louder, close enough she could hear the crunch of gravel under its tires.

In those few seconds as the familiar station wagon passed by, Rosalee recognized the look of sheer terror in his eyes and knew, she knew, he wouldn't stop—even though it was his duty to help her, as one of God's children, this man of the cloth, his white clergy collar visible in the streetlight as the young reverend's station wagon blew past.

Rosalee screamed after him, a desperate scream of fear and frustration. Having never let up his cries, Stephen became her chorus.

Laughter filled the silence left by the retreating vehicle, coming from all around her, several voices at once, filling her ears and entering her mind, a cackling chorus echoing between her ears.

She pulled Stephen close to her bosom, his tiny presence like a talisman against evil. She was afraid she was losing her mind.

"You can't have him!" she shouted at the darkness. "He's mine!"

A woman's voice, thick and gruff, called out, "You're wrong, sister! He belongs to the Mother!"

"I'm his goddamn mother!"

The heavy clunk! of wood on asphalt made her turn.

A figure in a white hooded cloak stepped out of the darkness into the circle of streetlight, materializing as if from the black void of a distant galaxy. A face made entirely of darkness and little glints of light in the eyes was bathed within the hood's shadow.