“How haven’t I seen you before?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I’ve only lived here for a year.”

“Still. Strange I’ve never seen you around.”

We got to my road and walked up the hill, crossing the tiny bridge that spanned the stream. In the part of the field that lined the road, ten or twelve rows of corn still stood unharvested—the edge of the field the farmer hadn’t yet worked—and they ran along the road all the way up to my house. They seemed to move even when the wind wasn’t blowing, their voices dry and raspy.

Nysa was a beautiful place in the daytime, all rolling hills and patches of forest and that never-ending, crystal lake. But when the sun wasn’t shining, the whole island turned dark and gave off this aura of something asleep in the deep places of the earth. It’s hard to explain, but even with Mary that night, even feeling the approach of something like love, Nysa still gave me the chills.

Our feet were quiet on the road now that it was only the two of us. We barely made a sound. The night was somehow brighter each moment, illuminated by the stars, and our shadows stretched out in front of us.

“Shirley was fast,” I said, chuckling nervously.

Mary smiled. “She’s quick.”

We both laughed.

She stopped.

I walked past her, turned. “What?”

She reached out and grabbed my arm, pulled me back. I could barely breathe. She held me close and huddled against my body. I thought she was going to kiss me.

“Who’s that?” she whispered.

“Where?” I took a step back, pulling her with me. I didn’t see anything.

“Right . . . there. That person in the shadows.” She pointed up the road, into the darkness that rustled alongside the rows of corn.

Mary screamed.

I felt a pulse of energy, and my heart pounded so hard I thought I might have a heart attack. I wanted to run. Mary folded, put her hands over her face.

“Mary, I still don’t see anything,” I hissed.

“She’s gone,” she whispered. “She’s gone.”

We stood there completely still, terrified. Had this person Mary saw circled around behind us? Was she still waiting in the dark rows ahead? Could it have been one of my parents walking down the long lane?

“Who was that?” Mary hissed.

I had no idea.

The high rows of dry corn beside us exploded in movement, and three or four stalks fell down, bending out onto the road.

Mary screamed again.

It was Tom, followed by Shirley.

“What happened?” Tom asked, bending over, breathing hard. Shirley gasped for air beside him. “We heard you scream. Is everything okay?”

“There was a person standing in the road,” Mary said, her voice hollow. I could tell she was still thinking about it, imagining it.

“A man?” Tom asked, concern in his voice. He spun around, took a few steps up the road. I admired his courage.

“A woman. She pointed at me,” Mary whispered.