Quietly, Quiggly stepped into the darkness as he stealthily approached and steeled himself for the fight. He took out a small knife to dispatch him, as he’d seen the werewolf do so many times before. A single growl was all that it took, and then the blackened werewolf came galloping toward him. He quickly jabbed the knife toward the werewolf, expecting that it would bite him as it always had. But the beast slowed down and stopped, almost as if bewildered by the action. “I was coming back for you, but you have the dagger,” the werewolf whispered. “I am going to have to kill you now.” He couldn’t see a wound on the werewolf. But this was something that had been done to him once before. He would know this feeling in his heart. He raised the dagger back to defend himself, if need be. But the werewolf fell to the ground, and when he lowered his hand, he saw blood pouring from his mouth. At this point, he realized why the beast had never tried to kill him before. It had just been following orders until the time that the witch decided to stop giving them. “I knew this was a mistake,” the werewolf whispered again, almost begging for forgiveness. “You are free now. You should leave. There is nothing for you here.” “We made a pact,” a voice said from behind him. “You and I.” Quiggly turned around, thinking it was the witch or one of the other werewolves in some kind of ambush. But he saw only one person with glowing red eyes who was creeping up behind him. “We did,” the man said. He had yellow eyes that seemed to glow like flames. His mouth was bloody from where the beast had bitten him, but he seemed unconcerned about it. “I never killed you,” Quiggly said, his eyes on the beast as it slowly closed its eyes. “We made a pact,” the man said. “And it was not for your life that you owed me. It was for the lives of your friends.” Quiggly shrugged his shoulders. “I was hoping to have a chance to ask you if I’m really to go back to my wife and family,” he said. “If they are okay, if I can help them. It is a short life in a world where there are men as powerful as you are. I would feel bad if I didn’t offer you something in exchange for that.” “The deal was struck,” the man said. “You may go.” He took a final step toward the werewolf, and then he turned and looked back at Quiggly. “And for your sake, keep what happened to yourself. Do not mention it to anyone, as they would want to know. I won’t say it twice.” As the man turned and walked away, Quiggly looked back at the werewolf and the blackness inside the beast’s eyes. He ran to his wife, hugging her tight as they both tried to calm each other down. Quiggly’s first instinct was to tell her that he had dreamed the story. But he had to be sure before he did that. He wanted to make sure that his wife really did dream that she saw her son, and that her son wasn’t just a ghost. He told her the story of what had happened at the river and how he went into the woods to look for her, and about the werewolf that had come out of the woods. He explained that he had never mentioned any of it to anyone, and he asked if she had ever seen any such person near their home. “No, I don’t think so,” she said. “Why would we have a werewolf if I saw them, and I never did?” “I don’t know,” Quiggly said. “But I felt like I had to tell you about it, for whatever reason. So don’t think about it anymore, because it was a long story. And I’m sure that you would’ve been very tired and worried and scared. And I am so sorry for having put you through that.” She touched his cheek, and he leaned in for a kiss. “And,” he said, the words catching in his throat, “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I have to go back again. And this time, I want to be with you.” His wife looked at him, tears in her eyes, and then she nodded and held him close. She told him she would go with him again when he needed her. He kissed her and she smiled back at him. Then he looked back up at the werewolf. “And if you have any part of me that ever wants to come back, just call my name, and I’ll be here, I swear.” She couldn’t help but think about the night that he was gone. She started to tremble just thinking about it, as she always had. But she knew that this time it was something different. She could remember the day she had held him in her arms and thought she heard him in his crib. She could remember her husband calling his name as she carried him from room to room with his head in her arms, and the shock she had felt when he was cold and still. She could remember him getting out of the car to go for a quick visit, and how all she could do was cry when he drove back in. She could remember. She could remember seeing a woman in her bedroom, a woman in white dress. She wanted to tell the story of that night to someone, but she knew that she was the only person in the house that night that would know what happened. She wasn’t about to tell her husband. She was tired of being in his shoes. She was tired of being torn apart by it. She knew that she would have to tell him one day, but not that night. “We are going to let it stay the way it is tonight,” he said. “Until we know for sure what happened. I want you to think about it tomorrow, okay?” She nodded and said that she would. And she felt the tears start to well up in her eyes again. She was almost afraid to move, because she didn’t want to see that night again. She held him close as he slept, and promised him that she would get some more sleep before she went to work. She couldn’t fall asleep. Not when she remembered that woman in her bedroom. Not when she couldn’t believe that someone was there and that she would still see her husband again. And not when she couldn’t believe that he had just disappeared like that. “I miss you so much,” she whispered, her voice almost a whisper. Then she knew why she couldn’t get her husband’s death out of her mind. It wasn’t really her husband at all. It was her son. She had never seen him when she was awake. It was as if he was the one being visited in her dreams, the one she talked to every night. It was as if he wanted her to keep remembering that he was there. And that he was alive. She couldn’t tell her husband about it. Not yet. He was still so young, and she wasn’t ready to tell him that he would never see him again. It was the same fear as the day she had held him in her arms and heard a voice in the crib. She could feel that same fear in her arms right now. So she kept the secret to herself. She would wait until the right moment, and then she would tell him. She started to feel better about it as she felt sleep rushing toward her. She couldn’t remember when she had last felt this tired. She felt so close to it now. But there was something waiting for her when she woke up the next morning. She was up in her kitchen, wearing the robe, when she heard the door open. The screen door slammed shut, and she knew her son was here. But there was something different about him now. She knew that when she saw him. She walked out of the kitchen, her eyes opening wide as she saw her son sitting in a chair across from the window. She had seen him many times before, always inside, always in bed. And he was the same. But he looked different. He had hair, just like her husband did. And he had the same eyes. “You did it,” she said. She hadn’t intended to say it, but the words were already out of her mouth. He nodded. “I did. I killed them all,” he said. “The witches, the werewolves, the beast… They didn’t kill him. I did. It was I who finished it.” “Is that what you wanted to ask me?” she said. “Was it really for your life?” “No,” he said. “I can’t leave here. I’m not coming back. I’ll stay in this place forever now. I’m not coming back. It’s better this way.” “I understand, son,” she said. She wanted to touch his face. “You’ve gone through