“Be quick children,” said the priest. “Hurry.”

We rowed the skiff inside the church and the priest pulled it down the aisle, splashing all the way. He pulled it right to the altar, a tall podium of stone and wood that had a sun and a moon painted on it. “Out, out!” he said. We hopped into the water. Then he pushed the boat through a hole in the back wall of the church. I started to say something but he shushed me with one long finger to his lips. The priest leaned in close and whispered in my ear. “She won’t get far. It’s all tangles and brambles behind there. It’s just the spot for her to hide, don’t you worry. Now for the children. Where shall the children be hid?”

He looked up above us, to the church rafters. Moss hung down from them, creeper vines dangled snakelike and there were birds too, a row of mournful brown owls like tiny silent monks gathered together to pray over us.

“Up, up!” said the priest.

The church wall was torn and chinked, with footholds aplenty, so long as you could see them. Tally made short work up to the rafters, her being part spider and a better climber than me besides. I had a tougher time. I kept falling off, splashing myself back in the water. The priest had to stand on a pew and grab me by the waist and boost me up. Tally pulled me the rest of the way. We crouched together on a crossbeam, praying like crazy it wouldn’t crack or snap or fall. I was wet and scared, shivering in the swamp heat. But the owls weren’t shaking, no sir. The owls looked on at us like they weren’t surprised one bit, like they’d been waiting here for us to show up their whole lives. I almost wanted to stick my hand out and introduce myself, see if they’d shake it. But I didn’t have time, because right then a skiff approached the doorway to the church, and I heard two familiar awful voices cutting through the rain and wind.

A tall skinny figure hunched over holding a lantern, and a squat thick pumpkin-shaped fella sat next to him. I felt like I knew the both of them well by then, ever since they busted in and wrecked my perfect night with Pop. I never quite seemed to be able to escape them, Cecily Bob and Mr. Hugo. They rowed right up to the church and stepped out into the flooded aisles. Cecily Bob tied the boat to one of the pews while Mr. Hugo peered up at the priest.

“Seen any children pass this way?” asked Mr. Hugo.

“Eh?” said the priest, cupping his ear. “I beg your pardon, sirs, but my hearing’s near gone at this point. Could ye speak up a little?”

“Have you seen any children or not?” hollered Mr. Hugo.

“Children? In a night like this?” said the priest. “What kind of children would be wandering about on such a night? Terrible parents, those children must have. The poor dears! Let us now say a prayer for them, that they pass safely through this storm.”