Lester’s stomach woke before he did. Standing barefoot on the hard kitchen tile in the light of the refrigerator, he ate leftover fried chicken and drank milk straight from the carton. When he finished, he decided he was too awake to go back to sleep and quietly got dressed in the dark.

There was a chill in the air, and Lester’s breath puffed out in front of him, as he wheeled his bike into the driveway. Summer was rapidly fading into memory as autumn took hold, and he zipped his sweatshirt, pulling the hood up against the cold.

“Good morning, Mac,” he said to the shaggy brown dog. “You up early too?”

Mac gave his familiar growl as clouds of steam escaped from between his bared teeth.

Lester reached down to give the dog a pat on the head but stopped. Something was wrong. The hair on Mac’s back was ruffled and standing on end, and a line of foaming drool dangled from his chin.

“What is it, boy?” Lester looked around, expecting to see the neighbors cat cutting through their yard on its way home from a night of hunting. But there was nothing there. “Are you okay?”

He was beginning to worry the dog might be hurt or sick when Mac gave a sharp bark and lunged. Lester pulled away but too slow, and the dog’s foaming jaws clamped down on his hand. Pain shot through his arm, and he cried out. This seemed to surprise Mac as much as Lester, and the dog quickly let go.

Stunned, Lester held his arm against his chest and examined his hand. A semicircle of deep red indentations shown down one side. The bite hadn’t broken the skin, but it hurt, and he was sure to have a nasty bruise.

“What is wrong with you,” said Lester angrily.

Mac had been good-naturedly harassing him for the better part of a year, ever since he’d started his paper route. The dog would wander down from the farm, give a growl or two, and Lester would pretend he was frightened by the vicious wild beast. Satisfied he’d done his duty, Mac would then go home, and Lester would make his deliveries. It had become their thing. He’d never seen him act this way before.

Lester was considering whether he should go to the trouble of getting an ice pack for his hand when Mac began barking loudly.

“Quiet! Stop it! Bad dog!” hissed Lester, afraid the commotion would wake his parents. He tried to shoo Mac away by waving his arms and stomping his feet, but the dog just crouched lower and showed more teeth.

Lester’s swollen hand throbbed, and Mac’s barks became sharper and more frequent, intent on alerting the neighborhood to the danger lurking in their midst. Risking another bite, Lester leaned down until he was level with the dog and spoke through gritted teeth of his own.

“MAC — GO — HOME!”

Both the boy and the dog froze. The words that had left Lester’s mouth had been in a voice not his own. This one was thick, low, and guttural. It sounded like a slowed-down recording played through a bad speaker. They stood in surprise, looking at one another. Then the dog suddenly yelped as though hit and bolted off across the street, tail tucked between his legs.

Stolen novel; please report.

“Mac, I’m sorry!” Lester called after him. “Come back!”

But the dog was already out of sight.

Cradling his wounded hand, Lester headed off too. It was lucky he’d gotten an early start because the morning’s paper route took twice as long as normal. He wasn’t used to using his other hand and had to chase down more than a few errant throws.

As Lester pedaled past the forest, he kept an eye out for Mac. Shafts of sunlight shone through the canopy, casting shadows that moved as the trees swayed in the breeze. For a split second, he thought he saw a long dark coat weaving among the gnarled trunks. His heart pounded, but then it was gone. Breathing deep, he rode on. While the dark wood was far from welcoming, there was no sign of the dog or the old woman.

The wide grooves the runaway truck had carved into the Ditch’s lawn had been raked flat and covered in a scattering of loose hay. This was meant to keep birds from eating the grass seed before it had a chance to grow. A system that seemed thoroughly lost on the crows eagerly pecking through it for breakfast. The battered mailbox was comically duct-taped onto its post, and the stone wall, except for a streak of blue paint, appeared none the worse for wear.

Back in town, Lester coasted his bike to a stop in front of a cute white house with colorful trim.

The Darling Place, named after its original owner, Daniel Darling, had stood proudly at the corner of Norris Road and Main Street since before the American Revolution. For over two hundred years, it had been handed down from Darling to Darling until the most recent descendant had put it up for sale and moved out west. Unfortunately, this had coincided with the construction of a new Town Office. Despite Giles Hollow only having three employees, the building was surprisingly large and located directly behind The Darling Place. Unsurprising to some, the contractor had been none other than Council Consulting, Inc.

Lester stared up at the new modern-looking monstrosity with its tinted glass and gleaming steel. It towered over the little cottage like a castle to a guard shack, and Lester guessed this was why it had sat unsold and empty for so long. Therefore, he was intrigued when the address showed up as a new customer on his paper route.

Lester walked up the front steps, a rubber-banded copy of the Giles Hollow Mosquito in hand, and was about to knock when the door swung open.

“I’ve got it, Mom!” a boy about Lester’s age yelled back into the house. He had blue eyes and messy blonde hair, arranged in an I just got out of bed style, which Lester suspected required a lot of time in front of a mirror. “Can I help you?” he asked Lester.

“Hi. I’m Lester North. I live in the house up the street, and I’m your paperboy.” Lester stuck out his hand, but the blonde kid made no move to take it.

“Is that so?” the boy said flatly. He spoke with a slight accent that Lester couldn’t immediately place. British maybe? “Aren’t you meant to just toss it in the driveway?”

“Oh, yeah. That’s what I usually do, but I figured I’d introduce myself and —”

“Excellent,” the boy said, as though the word were synonymous with boredom. “Carry on then.” And with that, he turned and closed the door in Lester’s face.

Back on his bike, Lester looked up at the house. All the shades were drawn, and there was no sign of movement from inside. He made a mental note not to expect a tip from The Darling Place during the holidays.

Coasting down the driveway, Lester gave a sudden start at the sight of a figure approaching. Squinting against the glare of the rising sun, he could make out the silhouette of a woman with long hair, and — was that a black coat? Panic flooded through him. While he had no reason to fear the old woman from the woods, he was in no hurry to have another encounter with her either.

Lester tried to slow his bike, but his feet felt sluggish and clumsy and missed the pedals. The crunching gravel below his wheels grew louder as he picked up speed. Realizing he was on a collision course with the figure, who now appeared to be waving at him, he thrust a foot to the ground. The world jerked sideways, and for a brief moment, Lester was weightless as he sailed through the air.