Lester’s spirits lifted as he spotted the unmistakable silhouette of Bernard hurrying towards the town hall. Had his brother changed his mind about trick-or-treating? He tried to run to catch up to him, but due to the weight of his costume, a fast walk was the best he could manage.

Bernard slipped around the corner of the old stone building, and Lester followed. He was about to call out to him but stopped. His brother was not alone.

The neatly mowed lawn at the back of the Giles Hollow Town Hall gradually sloped down to a short stone wall, marking the edge of the village’s oldest cemetery. The graves within were a sort of history of the town itself. There were markers of the very first families to settle here, alongside the final resting place of soldiers who’d gone off to fight in every major war since. The American Civil War alone was responsible for an entire corner, having nearly halved the town’s male population at the time.

At the center of this hollowed ground was a large, coffin-shaped monument commemorating those who’d never returned from overseas after World War II. And off to one side, dressed in their usual black suits, stood Mr. North and Mr. Poole.

Lester watched his brother join them, Bernard’s own dark attire making him look like a miniature version of the two men. Their father greeted him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. Then, after a brief one-sided conversation in which Bernard didn’t speak but nodded repeatedly, Mr. North called into the cemetery. Lester was too far away to hear what he said, but a moment later, a figure rose up from behind the monument.

Truck Boy stood alone among the gravestones, looking disheveled and scared.

Lester clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a gasp. Had Truck Boy been on the run since last night? If so, how had he ended up here? And why had he revealed himself at his father’s beckoning? For that matter, how had his father and Mr. Poole known where to find him?

Lester’s first thought was to make a silent retreat and run to fetch Amanda and Mae. But what if they couldn’t make it back in time? Even if they did, what then? Deciding he was on his own, at least for now, Lester began inching slowly along the back of the town hall. He had no clue what he could do alone but was hoping to get close enough to at least hear what they were saying.

Mr. Poole raised his hands in a calming gesture as Bernard and their father stepped over the low stone wall and moved cautiously into the cemetery. Approaching from either side, they closed in until the three of them formed a triangle around Truck Boy, who stood in the middle, looking confused and frightened.

Hugging the old building, Lester slid his way forward. Dusk had faded into night, and in the fullness of the dark, he failed to notice the metal electrical box bolted to the ground. A loud clang rang out as he stumbled into it.

Amanda’s father spun at the sound. With hawk-like focus, Mr. Poole scanned the emptiness in search of the source of the noise, and Lester froze as his piercing blue eyes fell upon him.

Lester opened his mouth to try and explain but stopped before any words came out. What possible reason could he invent for being there? What story could he tell to hide the fact that he’d been spying on them? No. It was no good. He was caught. No excuse was going to get him out of this one.

Then an odd thing happened. Inexplicably, without a word, Mr. Poole turned back around, his attention once more on the cemetery and Truck Boy.

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Baffled, Lester glanced down. He let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and gave a silent thanks to Mae Chase. Assisted by the growing darkness, her costume idea had acted as the perfect camouflage, keeping him hidden against the building’s stone exterior. Even better, it had allowed him to finally get close enough to hear.

“You don’t have to be afraid of the light,” Mr. Poole was saying. “It’s alright. You can trust us.”

Lester was confused. Why were they talking to Truck Boy about The Light? Was he one of them? Were they trying to convince him they could protect him if he switched sides? Was that why they’d been chasing him all this time? If so, it didn’t appear to be working.

Truck Boy began to pivot back and forth on the spot despite their reassurances. Like a cornered rabbit, he eyed each of his potential captures, desperately seeking a means of escape.

Mr. Poole continued to explain that they meant him no harm until Mr. North signaled with an expression Lester knew all too well. He’d seen it every time he’d tried to reason his way around one of the family rules. His father had heard enough. The negotiations were over.

Mr. Poole stopped talking, and both men slowly walked forward.

As the circle around him tightened, Truck Boy’s movements became more agitated. He began swinging his arms and lunging as though preparing to strike should any of them get too close.

Just as it seemed a clash was imminent, Bernard stepped forward, pulling something from his pocket as he went. Moving like he was trying to coax a stray dog with a treat, Lester’s brother gripped a square piece of tea-stained paper. When he’d drawn near enough, he held it at arm’s length.

Truck Boy, puzzled, carefully reached out and took it. Dark lines immediately began swirling in from every edge at his touch as though leaking into existence. They crossed over and under each other, the ink pulsating across the paper.

The pattern was hypnotic, and Lester found himself gazing as the lines came together to form the symbol from the mailbox. Watching from his hiding place, he felt a calming warmth wash over him, and the weight of his troubled mind lifted. The relief was so instantaneous that he had difficulty recalling exactly what it was he’d been worried about in the first place. But what did that matter? Surely it had been frivolous and silly to be so easily forgotten.

The relaxing sensation continued to grow. When Lester had first looked at the paper, it had been like stepping outside on a sunny summer day. Lost in its bliss, he’d been vaguely aware as the temperature increased, akin to sliding into a nice warm bath. Now, the image of a lobster sitting in a pot of boiling water flashed through his mind as some distant part of him registered an uncomfortable heat.

Lester knew he should be concerned about how much his skin was beginning to sting, but he found it hard to muster up enough energy to care. If Amanda were here, she’d make a game out of who could withstand it the longest, and like always, she would win.

Where was Amanda? Lester felt sure he was forgetting something important. Was he supposed to be somewhere? The clouds in his mind suddenly parted, and Lester forced himself to look away from the symbol on the paper. Then a sickening feeling ran through him as reality snapped back into place.

Flames were shooting from Mr. Poole’s hands, cascading left and right, creating a circle of fire as they joined with his father’s ungloved one. Both men’s eyes glowed red, and a blazing tornado formed in the center of the cemetery. It was the same as it had been in the alley behind The Mortician’s Eye, and trapped in the middle of it, stood Truck Boy.

Lester struggled to get closer, but the heat and weight of his costume made it impossible to move. He spotted his brother on the other side of the flames. Instead of the fear Lester expected to see on Bernard’s face from witnessing such a fantastic terror, he appeared disinterested, almost bored.

Before Lester could contemplate what this meant, the fire flared, and he was forced to close his eyes against the glare. He could feel beads of sweat running down his face as the rocks on his costume absorbed the heat, and a wave of dizziness washed over him. Lester wanted to cry out, to tell them to stop, but it was taking everything he had to remain upright. Then, just as he was wondering how much more he could stand, it all went black.