He wears no gloves, and he isn’t carrying a knife. Does that mean he is here merely to case the joint, as the saying goes? See if this is where Rose has gone to ground after fleeing the MCU and, perhaps, Applegarth?

The man pauses for a minute, looking both ways, then makes a beeline for Rose. Her spectral self leaps to its feet and flees. Her corporeal self does not. There is no way he can see her. He must just be heading for the darkest, blindest side of the house, as she had done. Rose eases backward until she can no longer see him. Whipping around like a frightened snake, she continues down the slope crawling on her belly. The knoll isn’t high enough to eclipse an upright human being.

She is less than an alligator-length from the hobbit gate when she is hit with a gust of laughter. This horror is followed by the joyous sound of young voices outside the gate. Mel is back. The gate bangs open, and a pale oval flashes as Mel lifts her face, catching the light.

Chuff, chuff, chuff, train sounds, as if an engine huffs uphill. Rose staggers to her feet. Resting has been a mistake. She can hardly stand, let alone run. The knifeman’s round head appears from the street side of the slope, dark moon rising. He is coming fast, his deck shoes eating up the distance.

“Go!” Rose shouts. Mel flinches, startled, then, suddenly as if she’s a magician’s assistant, is whisked from view, gate still agape. Vision narrows until all that Rose can see is that black rectangle in the dark wall of fence. Sucking breath in choking gasps, legs turned to jelly, she propels herself through the gate.

Mel is coming toward her through the dark tunnel of shrubs.

“No!” Rose wants to yell, but only manages a strangled whisper. She yanks the gate closed behind her. “He’s coming,” she breathes as she drops to hands and knees. Flailing in the darkness, hands clawing through the duff. Her fingers close around a sad excuse for a stick, a foot long and no bigger around than a broom handle. On her knees, Rose shoves the stick through the hobbit gate’s handle, letting it protrude on both sides in a makeshift crossbar. Bracing her spine against the gate, Rose digs her heels into the ground, a human barricade.

“I’ll hold the gate,” she gasps. “You go.”

Mel grabs her arm.

“Go!” Rose pleads. “I can’t run anymore.”

“C’mon,” Mel urges.

Fighting her granddaughter is only putting the girl in greater peril. Rose forces her protesting body away from the gate and, Mel pulling her arm, stumbles forward.

The knifeman crashes into the gate.