Part One
"Tree frogs," Lisa answered, slowly inching backward, suddenly afraid, but not knowing why. He had asked why she was walking alone in the woods, and forgetting the dictum drilled into every little kid from birth--don't talk to strangers--she began a rapid-fire recital of her day's activities: her two cousins, who were spending the summer there, had gone off to look for tree frogs, and she had wanted to join them, as searching for tree frogs sounded decidedly like fun, never mind that they had made it clear that her presence was not welcomed.
"Little girls shouldn't walk in the woods alone," he said, voice monotone, "aren't you afraid?" Abel Lynch was the neighborhood weirdo, not exactly a stranger, but strange nonetheless, and she had always kept her distance, lest his oft-rumored peculiarities prove true. She didn't know exactly what these were; adults were inexplicably vague on this point. She just knew he was creepy. Abel was rail-thin, with greasy dark hair that barely covered his weirdly tumescent skull; thick, black-rimmed glasses magnified his rheumy eyes, and he wore his ever-present, three-sizes-too-big green army jacket, although it was late June and already balmy.
"I just want to find my cousins," she said, voice trembling, hoping he wouldn't notice, vaguely remembering something she read once about how animals can smell fear. Mostly, she hoped that he would be satisfied with her answer, go about his business, and let her go about hers. Instead, he said, "I'll help you look." Instantly, dread welled up inside her, but because she was raised right, as they say, declining his help, or--worse yet--running and screaming, seemed rude at best; he was her elder, this strange non-stranger, and she felt compelled to accept. As she started off down the narrow, overgrown path, she could sense his presence just behind her, trampling thick weeds and tangled briars, striking dead branches with the heavy, gnarled stick he carried, each whack making her jump.
