Even though the sun shone brightly, shadows collected around the dark man so that Billy couldn't get a good look at his face. He knew the importance of getting a good look at a bad guy's face, because when the cops came, you had to describe him. He saw it on the cop shows on TV sometimes after school. Whenever a crime was committed, the victim was taken "downtown" and someone called "sketch artist" would sit there with a huge pad of paper and a pencil and draw while the victim described what the bad guy looked like. After a few minutes, the "sketch artist" would turn the pad around and there would be a drawing that looked just like the bad guy, and the victim would cover her mouth in horror and say, "That's him! That's him! I'll never forget those beady eyes!"

Billy liked to draw. He was pretty good at it, and sometimes thought he might grow up to be a sketch artist. But if he had to draw the dark man, which he did later with crayons in his bedroom, all he would remember was a vague human shape with lots of black.

What creeped Billy out more than the dark man was that no one else seemed to notice him. The other kids played and ran and squealed happily. The old lady sitting next to the dark man on the bench didn't seem to realize she was sitting next to a living shadow. Even the pigeons, which usually flock around anyone with the hope of getting some crumbs, acted like he wasn't there.

Billy tried not to pay too much attention to the dark man, even though he could feel the dark man's eyes on him, even when his back was turned to the bench. Blessedly, Billy was still innocent enough to be ignorant of the concept of a child molester, or else his unease would have been even greater. To Billy, this dark man was just some creepy old stranger, maybe a psycho, but as long as he was around a bunch of other people, Billy felt safe enough.

For the dark man's part, he had no desire to molest the boy, at least not in a sexual way. The dark man's name was Maleficious. He needed no last name; his reputation as the boogey man of Flint, Michigan, made damn sure of that. Children spoke of him in hushed tones after the lights were out and the chill fingers of night crept out of the corners of bedrooms. Parents had warned naughty children of him for over a century in this industrial town. Tales of Maleficious abounded around campfires, at slumber parties under blankets, even at some bars by adults when there had been too much drink. He had built up his reputation through hard work over the past hundred years or so by carefully selecting special young children and haunting them. His bright young victims all had fertile imaginations -- perfect for the traps he laid for their fragile little psyches through late night appearances at their windows, or from out of their closets, or through careful enchantments and the introduction of creepy-crawly chimera and nervosa into their bedrooms in the middle of the night.

He nurtured their fears slowly, carefully, until the children became full-fledged paranoids, jumping even at the sight of their own shadows. Most of his victims went insane before he finished with them; some even committed suicide. So long as he was able to reap the sweet Glamour they radiated towards the end of their sanity, he could care less what happened to the little brats.

The boy in the park on that sunny afternoon was special, more special than any child before. This little one was a pre-Chrysalis Changeling, so far unclaimed by any other Kithain as far as he knew. By frightening this one into Chrysalizing, gods, the Glamour he could reap! Maleficious licked his papery lips in anticipation. If it worked, he'd have to dispose of the child, of course. If the child Chrysalized and lived to tell the other Fae of the Court of Carriages his story, well, death would be too sweet a fate for Maleficious to hope for.

Maleficious knew that the boy sensed him; he saw from the way the boy played that he was trying too hard to ignore the predatory dark shadow nearby. Maleficious also knew that no one else in the park would pay him notice; careful use of Cantrips and reliance on the all too human trait to ignore that which didn't concern one made sure that he would remain anonymous to all but the young boy who would be his next victim.

The boy finished his game, and convinced a few of his playmates to walk him home. This didn't matter to Maleficious; he brazenly followed the group of boys at a leisurely distance, not even attempting to hide. He wanted the boy to know that he feared not the light, or the parents, or the police. He desired those first doubts in the boy's mind as to his lack of safety. Maleficious wanted to prick the primordial part of the boy's mind that warned of danger, and he wanted that part of his brain to stay on constant alert.

It worked. Billy felt very ill at ease as he walked home with his friends. They asked him what was wrong. He mentioned that he thought that dark man behind them was following them, that he was a dangerous stranger. His friends looked back, but, of course, didn't see anything. They slugged Billy in the arm, and told him to quit trying to creep them out.

Billy wanted desperately to cry, but didn't dare in front of his friends. He gladly chose to suffer silently rather than show a sign of weakness for his friends to exploit. Thoughts of the Indian burns, wedgies, and bruises suffered by crybabies overpowered the cold sickness swimming around in his stomach. Besides, he'd be home soon enough, and home meant "safe". He'd shut the door behind him, lock it, and go into the kitchen where his mom would fix him a lemonade and some Rice Krispie bars and make everything better.

He waved goodbye to his friends when they reached his walk. He almost (but not quite) forgot the dark man. He jumped the first two steps up his porch like he usually did, then raised his right foot to take the final step up to the front door.

Something cold and wet (the image of dead fingers flashed across his young mind) brushed across the back of his left calf. Billy screamed, and nearly peed his pants. He fell forward onto the porch, quickly yanking his legs up behind him, scraping his left knee pretty good in the process. He scooted on his butt across the porch and backed up to the door. His eyes darted back and forth across the front yard for the dark man, but he wasn't there. That left only one option.

"Under the porch," he whispered to himself in fear. "He tried to grab me." Billy's mind hadn't matured enough to rationalize the fear away, to suggest that perhaps the dark man wasn't stalking him, that perhaps he'd turned down a side street or into the corner store to make a purchase. To the six year old, the only logical explanation was that the dark man had beat him home and hid under the porch, waiting there to grab him and drag him off to a dark cave somewhere to eat him.

Something started shoving against Billy's back, which made him scream again. The monster had somehow circled around him. It was all over for him, Billy was sure. He was a goner. D-E-A-D: dead.

"Billy?" he heard his mom's voice ask. "What's the ruckus?" Billy let out a sigh of relief. His mom was there to save him. He looked up and behind him; the screen door was shoving into his back. His mom tried to open it to see what he was screaming about.

Billy jumped to his feet and scrambled for the door. "Mom! Mom!" When she opened the door, he jumped into her arms and started sobbing hysterically.

"Honey, what is it?" she asked in a soothing tone, stroking his hair as she cradled her son to herself. "What's wrong?"

Between sobs, all Billy managed to say was, "D-dark m-man... after me..."

Once she got Billy into the house and calmed down, she got the story out of him. Concern lined her brow as her son explained about the dark man who had been watching him at the playground, and then followed him home. She was all too aware of the weirdoes freely roaming the streets nowadays. It was probably some pervert planning to make her son his next victim.

"But mom," Billy explained further. "He's under the porch! He tried to grab me before I could get into the house! He wanted to get me and take me away and eat me up!" He was growing more agitated, so she decided to go look under the porch to prove to him that this "dark man" was not under their porch.

Billy stood nervously inside the door and watched. He dared not go out and help, because he knew for sure that the dark man had to be under the porch; he had to be! What else could have tried to grab him as he came up the step?

Billy's mom climbed down the steps, then turned around and bent over. She peered under the porch, and kicked the steps. "There's no one under the porch, honey," she reported. Billy sucked on his fingertips nervously as he watched.

"But mom," he whined, "I felt it! Someone tried to grab me! Something cold..." The words "and dead" were what completed the thought, but he couldn't say them. His mother sighed, and was about to assure him that he was just imagining things when something caught her eye. She bent over and leaned forward, momentarily leaving Billy's field of vision. He heard a "snap" and the bushes to the left of the porch shook. Billy shrieked, sure that when his mom stood up, her head would be gone, because the dark man had cut it off.

She stood, smirking. In her right hand, she held a leafy branch. "I think this is your boogey man," she said as she came up the steps. Billy took a closer look at the branch; the leaves were wet.

"This little branch from the bush was sticking out across the top step, Billy," she explained. "It's wet and cold because it was in the shadow of the porch all day." She opened the door and brushed the branch across Billy's arm. It was cold and damp.

"There," she said, tossing the branch back out into the bushes, "does that feel familiar?"

Billy nodded, and said, "Yeah, I guess so." He felt embarrassed, like a little kid, instead of a big boy, which he was supposed to be. He'd almost peed his pants because a tree branch brushed up against his leg. He would most definitely not tell his friends about this. It would be Noogie City for Billy if they found this little fact out.

"Come on, Billy," she said, "Let's go in the kitchen. I'll bet that little adventure made you pretty thirsty, huh?" She ushered Billy in through the door, and only cast a worried look back over her shoulder after she was sure he couldn't see her.

A wet branch? He wished he had thought of it. That would have been clever, even for him, thought Maleficious. He reveled in the thought of the rich Glamour he would reap when he was done with this boy. Ah, but his work was only beginning. He had so much to learn about this boy. Maleficious like to personalize each haunting. It made his prey's fear all the deeper if they believed that Maleficious knew them better than they knew themselves.

He went back to his laboratory to begin his investigation into this boy. A few days worth of phone calls, trips to city hall, and the odd Cantrip would give him much insight into this boy's mind.

Billy sat at the kitchen table, strategically positioned so that he neither had to look out the window directly, nor was it at his back. He was snacking on lemonade and home made Rice Krispie treats, just as he had known he would do earlier. He had a pretty predictable mom, but she sure knew how to make a kid feel better. Unfortunately, he could hear her talking on the phone in the other room, and that made him start to worry again.

"Yes, officer," she said. "No, officer, he didn't give me a detailed description. Well, if you think it's best, but I just got him calmed down... I see... Well, could you at least send a patrol car around to the park to look for him? Well, I mean, for suspicious characters? Yes. Yes. Thank you, officer. Yes, we'll be expecting someone later today. Thank you, officer. Good bye."

Billy heard the click of the receiver, then his mom came into the kitchen, wiping the palms of her hands on the front of her shirt. Billy knew she was trying not to look worried; she'd looked the same way the summer before when he fell out of the tree in the back yard and broke his arm. She was trying not to look worried so that he wouldn't worry, which actually made him worry more, because if mom was worried, then there was probably something to worry about. Billy didn't want to worry mom any more, though, so he pretended not to notice.

"Who was that on the phone, mom?" he asked.

"Oh, the police," she said. Even her voice betrayed her feelings. To her defense, though, it is difficult to sound convincingly casual when explaining that you've just told the police that there's a stranger stalking your son. "They want to come talk to you about that man you saw at the park."

"Dark man, mom," Billy corrected. "He was dark." A shiver ran up her spine. She knew the answer to her question before she posed it.

"Dark? You mean black, like Michael Jordan or Will Smith, right?"

Billy shook his head, and tried to give words to the feelings that the dark man had evoked.

"Not dark like black, mom, not like color," he replied. "Dark like the closet opening by itself at night. Dark like bad feelings, like angry. Dark like a bad man; a really bad man."

Billy's mom wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed her sides. Billy saw goosebumps rise up on her arms, and determination set in her jaw. The description Billy had given her was one no six year old boy should be able to give. It angered her that someone had scared her son so profoundly at such a young age. Someone had stolen his innocence too early. She was going to find the man who had done this, and he would pay for it.

The police came and went later that afternoon. Since Billy couldn't give an accurate description of the dark man, and no one else had seen him, they couldn't do much about it. They promised to patrol the area around the playground more frequently, and assured Billy's mom that they'd do all they could to keep her son safe.

For his part, Billy asked to sleep in his parents' room that night. Billy's dad was reluctant at first, but agreed when he saw how worried his wife was about this dark man.

Before bed, Billy's dad sat him down to have a talk with him. Billy knew that it was important, because he only got sat down for a talk if he was in trouble of if there was something really important his dad had to talk to him about, like when his grandpa had died.

"Billy, son," his dad began, "you know that I love you very much, right?" All of his dad's sit down talks started off like this. Billy always responsed, "Yeah, dad. I love you, too."

"Yeah, dad. I love you, too."

Billy's dad smiled and tussled the boy's hair. "There's a good boy. Now, this dark man you say you saw at the park, he's got your mom good and worried, Bill," he said. "Are you still scared?"

Billy nodded and shrugged. "A little, I guess," he replied. It was a lie, of course. The dark man had him thoroughly spooked. But he didn't want to let his dad know that. When you're the only child, you've got to be brave, you've got to be tough. Keep a stiff upper lip, and all that, because dad works hard and he needs his sleep at night and he's got too much to worry about already with work and the bills and his golf average and the cars and all the other stuff dads have to worry about. Having to worry about keeping his little baby feeling safe was just one extra worry that he didn't need right now. So Billy kept his upper lip stiff the best he could, and managed a smile for his dad.

Dad chucked Billy one under the chin. "It was just some weird old guy at the park, and you're safe now. Okay?"

"Okay, dad." Dad got up and went over to his recliner to catch his evening TV regimen. Mom was in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner. Billy went upstairs to his room to draw.

Maleficious spent the entire night and most of the next day researching his new victim. With liberal use of Cantrips and calling in old favors, he gathered enough information about the boy to get a good start on the haunting. He would let the boy rest tonight, maybe even the next, but then it would be time for him to start sowing his crop in the boy's fertile imagination.

It had been a few days since Billy had first encountered the dark man. He hadn't completely forgotten, but he'd done a pretty good job of keeping himself distracted. He hadn't seen the dark man again since the first day, so he had started to believe that maybe the dark man was just some old weirdo, and Billy would never seen him again.

Nonetheless, Billy took no chances. When he went to bed, he made sure that both mom and dad tucked him in. Billy made them say his prayers with him, and asked mom to hang up a picture of Jesus smiling over his bed. In spite of his dad's disagreement, his mom plugged in a nightlight for him. Billy surrounded himself in his bed with stuffed animals, so if a monster came, it might mistake his teddy bear for him.

Billy was all snuggled in on the third night after his encounter with the dark man. He was warm, comfortable, and safe in his bed, cuddled up among his blankets and stuffed animals. His eyes were gazing upon the smiling face of Jesus. He was drifting off to sleep with a smile on his face, murmuring, "Now, I lay me down to sleep..." over and over. All was right with the world. It was going to be a good night.

Scritch.

The sound came from the window. Billy's eyes popped open. His heart was racing. He dared not move. He dared not look at the window. He waited to hear the sound of shattering glass as the dark man's arm shot through the window and his claw-like cold clammy dead hand wrapped around this throat so he couldn't scream and his parents wouldn't hear him and then he'd be dragged out the window and away, away, away...

Now he heard only the thudding of his heartbeat in his ears.

"Just a branch or a bug or something," Billy told himself. "Not the dark man... not the dark man... not the..."

Scritch. SCRITCH!

Billy let out a small shriek.

"Not gonna look. Not gonna look. Not gonna look. Just a branch. Just a bug. Not the dark man. Not the dark man..."

SCRITCH SCRATCH SCRITCH SCRITCH SCRATCH sounded on the window in the pattern of "Shave and a Haircut."

Billy looked up at smiling Jesus. "Oh, Jesus, please not..."

SCRATCH SCRATCH.

Two bits.

Billy screamed. His mom and dad burst into the room to see a wild-eyed Billy curled up in a ball in the corner of his bed against the wall, as far from the window as he could manage.

"Billy, what's wrong?" his dad asked.

"W-w-window," Billy stuttered. One hand lifted, his index finger limply pointing in that direction. "H-h-h-him."

Billy's mom rushed to his side and scooped him up in her arms. He had wet himself. Dad walked over to the window and reached for the drapes. "No!" Billy screamed. His dad's shoulders stiffened, then relaxed. Of course, his dad knew, there was no pervert outside the window. Billy's room was on the second floor. He pulled back the drapes, and Billy buried his face in his mom's breast.

There was no dark man at the window. There was no branch. There was only a frustrated sigh from Billy's dad.

"Billy, look at the window," his dad said. Billy snuggled closer into his mom. Billy's mom shook her head at his dad. Dad set his jaw.

"Billy, I'm looking at the window right now. There's nothing out there. I want you to look out the window," his dad said. Billy shook his head and shrank even further into his mom.

"He's really scared, dear," Billy's mom said. "I don't think that's such a good idea."

Dad sighed again. He dropped the drapes. "Fine," he said, and turned and left the room. Mom stroked Billy's hair, calming the sobbing child. She murmured into his hair, then offered to let him sleep on their floor for the night. After a change of pajamas and a quick trip to the linen closet for a dry blanket, they all settled in for the night.

Maleficious giggled with delight as he sat under Billy's window. The boy's rich imagination was paying off. He'd give Billy a few nights off, just enough to feel comfortable again, and then pay another visit. Musing dark Glamour from the boy was rather like fly-fishing. Flick the lure, let it hit the surface, yank it back, tease, repeat as necessary. And Maleficious knew when to set the hook and reel him in.

So it went for the next month or so. A few quiet nights, then a haunting for a night or two in a row. It started with the scratching at the window, and progressed to creakings in the house at night. Sometimes Billy's closet door opened of its own accord, or the bed shook violently until his mom or dad came into the room. Every now and again, Billy caught a glimpse of the dark man during his waking hours.

One day in school, one of the few places where Billy felt safe, he looked up from the picture he was drawing and saw the dark mane. Instead of being just a dark blob, Billy could see him clearly for the first time. He was tall and thin, and wore all black clothes except for a white shirt that had some stains on it. He wore a long swirling cape, not like a superhero would wear, but one like vampires in the movies wear. His face was gaunt, his lips hung loose, and his eyes were black and beady and crazed.

The dark man gave a wicked toothless smile and said, "Hello, Billy," in a raspy whisper. All color drained from Billy's face as the dark man performed a macabre dance at the front of the room. His arms and legs contorted in impossible ways around his body. He danced around Billy's teacher, who appeared not to notice at all.

The dark man finished his dance and stood by the door. With a grand flourish, he spun around, twirling his cloak about him. He pulled the rotting skull of some small, sharp-toothed animal out of his cloak, and, with a grotesque squishing noise, jammed his fingers into the back of the skull, making a puppet. He raised the skull to his face.

"Well, Mr. Squishy," he dark man said, "Billy's teacher isn't paying any attention to us. What shall we do?"

"Let's get her," Mr. Squishy croaked, expelling maggots and stinking liquid from its mouth.

The dark man scolded his puppet. "You mean get her attention, Mr. Squishy, don't you?"

Mr. Squishy shook his head violently, spraying bits of his rotting self around. "No. GET her." The dark man rubbed his chin thoughtfully with his free hand.

"How do you propose that we get her, Mr. Squishy?" he asked.

"Sharpies," Mr. Squishy cooed. The dark man's eyes lit up.

"Sharpies?" he asked.

"Sharpies in your cloak," Mr. Squishy purred. The dark man spun around again, his cloak billowing out around him like an ink cloud left behind by a frightened octopus. When he again faced Billy, a long wicked dagger that dripped a thick green liquid had replaced Mr. Squishy in his hand.

"Sharpies," the dark man purred in his hoarse whisper. He raised the dagger and started towards Billy's teacher.

"Say bye-bye to Ms. Wilkins, Billy," the dark man cajoled. Billy trembled with fear.

"Ms. Wilkins?" a girl next to Billy said. "I think there's something wrong with Billy." Ms. Wilkins turned from the chalkboard and took a step forward. Maleficious plunged the dagger down behind her, and then raised his fingers to his lips.

"Oopsie! I missed," he said. Billy jumped and shrieked.

"Billy, are you all right?" Ms. Wilkins asked. Billy stared at a spot on the chalkboard behind her. She turned to look at the spot, and saw nothing unusual. She knew that Billy had been having troubling nightmares for a while, which wasn't uncommon for a boy as bright and creative as Billy, but this behavior was just odd.

Maleficious took another faux stab with the dagger at Ms. Wilkins' back. "Drat," he said. "Stand still, Ms Wilkins!"

Ms. Wilkins didn't see the dark man advancing on her with a poisoned dagger. Billy saw him, though. He saw the dark man mockingly plunge the dagger again and again, uttering a buffoonish, "Oopsie!" with each miss.

Billy didn't want to say anything. His parents already thought him crazy. If he said something now, his teacher would tell them and he'd be put in a nuthouse.

Ms. Wilkins came down the aisle to Billy's desk and bent over.

"Billy, do you need to go down and see the nurse? Should we call your mom?" she asked.

Billy's eyes followed the dark man as he came down the aisle after her.

"Finally," the dark man sighed with relief, "a stationary target. This should be easy." He screwed up his face in concentration; his tongue snaked down around is chin then up to his earlobe. He raised the dagger high above him. The green liquid dripped down on Ms. Wilkins' back. Ms. Wilkins reached one hand back unconsciously to brush it off.

"Bye-bye, Ms. Wilkins," the dark man said in a sing-song voice, and plunged the dagger down.

"No!" Billy screamed. He leapt out of his seat and tackled Ms. Wilkins. Being bent over, off-balance, and completely surprised by Billy's lunge, she fell backwards over the desk behind her, spilling that child and his books all over the floor.

"Billy!" Ms. Wilkins shouted in surprise. Billy felt the wind as the dark man's dagger swung past his back, then felt the dark man himself lean over him. He smelled the strong odor of rotting fish as the dark man's cold wet lips pressed to his ear.

"You're a real hero, Billy, but you can't always be there to protect her." With one last waft of fishy air, the dark man was gone.

Billy knew that it didn't matter now what he told his parents, so he told them everything. He could tell from the looks in their eyes that they thought he was completely nuts.

They talked with Billy's doctor and he suggested that Billy take some time off. He thought that the boy was just stressed out. They arranged to take a family vacation out to Billy's Aunt Elizabeth's farm. Billy loved visiting Aunt Elizabeth. There were all kinds of animals for him to play with, and lots of room outside for him to run around and explore. They planned for Billy and his mom to stay with Aunt Elizabeth for as long as it took for Billy to feel better.

Billy knew that he wasn't nuts, but he figured that the dark man didn't know his Aunt Elizabeth, so he'd be safe while he was out there.

Maleficious refused to let his quarry get away so easily. He'd be without all of his resources if he followed the boy, but he wouldn't need them. He sensed that it wouldn't be much longer before the boy's Chrysalis. He planned to follow the boy to his aunt's house, maybe give him a week off, and then force feed him fear until the boy was so full of dark Glamour that he'd burst into his Chrysalis. And then Maleficious would feast enough that he wouldn't need to haunt another child for months, possibly even a year.

Aunt Elizabeth attended church regularly. In fact, she attended daily Mass at St. Jude's parish. She often had Fr. Madeira, the pastor, over for dinner. At one such dinner that she told him of her troubled young nephew, Billy. Fr. Madeira listened with interest.

"He sounds like a troubled young boy," Fr. Madeira said, taking a sip of Aunt Elizabeth's coffee. Aunt Elizabeth nodded.

"Have you ever heard of such a thing, Father?" she asked. "Do you think he might be possessed?" Fr. Madeira chuckled, finished chewing the last bite of chocolate cake, and washed it down with some coffee before answering.

"No, Elizabeth, I don't think he's possessed," he responded.

"Will you talk to him, Father?" she pleaded. "I think someone should talk to him." Fr. Madeira nodded.

"I'll make a point of it. He sounds like a very interesting young man."

Billy loved Aunt Elizabeth's farm. The warm, sunny weather soothed troubled minds, and after a day or so of overprotection, Billy's mom let him have the run of the property.

They enjoyed Mass the first Sunday of their stay. Billy liked the looks of the small country church. Billy didn't know what "nostalgia" meant, but something about the walls of native stone and the thick dark wood rafters made Billy feel at home. If he leaned in close to the back of the pew in front of him and inhaled deeply, he could smell the hundred years of incense, beeswax, and the sweat left behind by thousands of worshippers who'd come to kneel before their God.

Billy also liked the priest who celebrated the Mass, but he didn't know exactly why. The priest seemed very sincere in his prayers. At most churches Billy had attended, the priests seemed to just go through the motions. Even old Fr. Sullivan from his home parish of St. Matthew's, whom his mother always referred to as "that holy, sainted man" and who always had a mint or other hard candy to give you if you could answer one of his "Pop God questions" ("Billy, how many Apostles are there?" Fr. Sullivan would ask. "Twelve, Father." That usually got you a good butterscotch candy.) - even he didn't really seem like he much believed in God any more. He was just going through the motions until he died.

After Mass, Billy told his mom that he wanted to meet the priest. His aunt beamed with pride. "Maybe a blossoming vocation here, eh?" she asked Billy's mom. Billy's mom rolled her eyes and ushered Billy toward the back of the church. Billy didn't have any idea what they were talking about. Aunt Elizabeth escorted them both to the sacristy, where Fr. Madeira was removing his chasuble.

"Fr. Madeira?" Aunt Elizabeth asked. The altar boys heard her and scattered. Aunt Elizabeth thought that alter boys were irresistibly cute and couldn't resist pinching their cheeks and cooing over them if she got within arm's reach. Fr. Madeira turned and smiled warmly.

"Good morning, Elizabeth," he said. He looked at Billy and his mom. "These must be your visitors." He shook Billy's mom's hand, and chatted with her for a while. Then he turned to Billy.

"So, you're Billy." Fr. Madeira squatted down so he'd be at eye level with the boy. A sense of power and strength emanated from the man, forcing Billy to take a step back, even though he liked Father very much.

"How do you like it at your Aunt Elizabeth's farm, Billy?" he asked. He was looking at Billy really intensely. Billy knew that it wasn't the question he really wanted to ask, but you don't pop out a big one like, "Hey, I heard you're a nutcase, Billy. What's up with that?" the first time you meet somebody.

Billy shrugged. "Okay, I guess."

"Lots of land she's got there. I bet you like playing with her farm animals, huh?" the priest asked. Billy nodded and fidgeted some. He had a question that he wanted to ask the priest.

"Do you really believe, Father?" he asked. Fr. Madeira blinked.

"Believe?" he responded.

"In God. And Jesus and Mary and all that stuff."

Fr. Madeira nodded solemnly. "Oh, yes, Billy, yes I do. I don't know how I'd live without faith in God." He said it with such honesty, so openly, without any hesitation, and with such a child-like expression of wonder on his face that Billy couldn't help but believe him. He could trust this man.

"Does God love us, Father, like my mom and dad love me?"

Fr. Madeira nodded. Tears were coming to his eyes.

"Even more, Billy. God loves you more than anything or anyone, Billy."

"Would he let bad people hurt me?" Billy asked.

Fr. Madeira sighed. "Billy, sometimes God lets bad things happen, I'm sorry to say. I'd be lying if I told you that God stopped all bad things from happening."

Although Billy didn't like the answer, he had a lot of respect for the priest for telling the truth. Fr. Madeira stood up and walked over to a closet.

"I've got something for you, Billy," he said as he rummaged through the closet. "Sort of a welcoming present." He turned around and handed Billy a cedar box. Billy opened it. Inside was a cross made of one piece of a smooth light colored wood. A worn leather cord was wrapped around the cross several times, and then looped up over the top so it could be worn as a necklace. A striking white feather was affixed to the cross by the cord.

"What's this?" Billy asked, stroking the feather with his index finger. It felt very soft, and made his finger tingle.

Fr. Madeira crouched down again and took the cross from the box. He ran his finger down along the feather, then raised the cross to his lips and kissed it reverently.

"It's the feather from the wing of a guardian angel," he explained, and then lifted the cross and hung it around Billy's neck.

"An angel?" Billy asked. "Like on TV?" Billy's mom loved the angel shows on TV. Fr. Madeira chuckled. "Well, sort of. Everyone has a guardian angel, Billy, whether they believe it or not. They're very powerful advocates for us before God."

"Advo-whats?"

"Advocates, Billy. Helpers. Your guardian angel is your friend. He carries your prayers right up to the throne of God," the priest explained.

"Will this cross make a miracle happen?" Billy asked. He lifted the cross up from his chest and looked at it with wonder.

With utter sincerity, Fr. Madeira said, "It just might."

Maleficious didn't know who had given the cross to the boy, and wasn't sure of its true powers, but, damn it all, it had potent inherent Glamour, and it was going to push the boy into his Chrysalis before Maleficious was ready. He would find out where the cross had come from later, and deal with the bastard who had given it to him in due time. But for now, curse the fates, he had to step up his plan so he wouldn't miss out on the boy's Glamour-rich Chrysalis.

Billy wore the cross all week, day and night. Although he hadn't seen the dark man since he'd arrived at Aunt Elizabeth's farm, he had seen some pretty strange stuff. Once, he thought he saw wings on the back of Aunt Elizabeth's favorite horse. He blinked, and they were gone. Then there was the time he woke up in the middle of the night to hear the crickets, frogs, and night birds singing "I'm a Little Teapot" outside of his window. He didn't tell anyone about these little visions. They already thought he was crazy.

One night, Billy heard a scratching at his window. At first, fear of the dark man swelled up Billy's throat. He wanted to cry out to his mom and Aunt Elizabeth. But then he remembered that he hadn't seen the dark man since he'd arrived at the farm. The other things he'd seen had been pretty cool. He didn't want to miss out on something good, so, hesitantly, he approached the window and pulled the curtains back.

There stood the dark man. "Hello, Billy," he said.

Billy screamed and scrambled back from the window. The dark man's hand smashed through the glass, snaked up and undid the latch. The window slid open. Billy screamed more, frozen in place with terror. The dark man came through the window, a malicious grin on his flaccid lips.

"Mom!" Billy screamed. "Aunt Elizabeth!"

The dark man giggled. "Scream all you want, Billy. I've arranged for some privacy." Images of his mom and Aunt Elizabeth dead and bloody raced through Billy's mind, but he dared not turn his back on the dark man to go check on them.

Billy scrambled back across the floor until his back hit the door. He started to cry. The dark man came fully into the room now. He was much more creepy than when Billy had seen him before. His skin was so pale as to be translucent. His eyes sparkled, small malignant dots tucked deep in the hollows of his eye sockets. His hair hung long and limp from under a decrepit top hat. The odor of rotten fish wafted forth across the room every time he moved.

"I don't believe we've been properly introduced, Billy," the dark man said. He reached a hand out towards Billy. "I'm Maleficious. Perhaps you've heard of me?" He shook his hand at Billy. Spiders and scorpions fell out of his sleeve and crawled all over the boy.

"Oopsie," Maleficious giggled. "Mea culpa." He reached down and brushed the bugs off of Billy, who wet himself. Maleficious clucked at him.

"Aren't you a little old for that, Billy?" he asked mockingly. "And here I thought that you were a big boy."

Billy wrapped his hand around the cross at his neck, squeezed his eyes shut, and prayed with all his might. He prayed to God, to Jesus, to Mary and Joseph. His fingers tingled as they rubbed up against the feather on his cross. He thought of Fr. Madeira. Something the priest had said came back to him.

"Advocate," he murmured. Another face popped into Billy's mind, a face he'd never seen before but somehow he knew. It was strong, beautiful, but Billy couldn't tell if it was a man, woman, or child. The face glowed with a golden light.

"My guardian angel," Billy uttered with wonder.

"What's that?" an amused Maleficious asked. "You're praying? How delicious." Billy heard Maleficious walk across the room and kneel on the bed. "Your God won't help you, Billy," Maleficious said as he came back across the room. "He won't help you any more than he's helped the hundreds of other children I've fed from."

Billy whimpered at the thought of being eaten by the dark man. Maleficious. The boogey man. Billy's vision started to pull back, and now he could see the entire figure. The angel wore a white robe. It smiled at Billy, and incredibly grand white wings spread out behind it.

"Run, Billy," it said. "Run to the barn. Help is coming." With that, it turned and flew away.

"Open your eyes, Billy," Maleficious said. "Open them, damn you."

Billy did. Maleficious was holding the picture of smiling Jesus that hung over his bed at home. Billy's mom had brought it with them because she knew that it had comforted him in the past. But smiling Jesus wasn't smiling any more. He had a rather concerned look on his face.

"Look at your God, Billy," Maleficious said. "Look at how much he cares for you. Why don't you pray to him? If he's all-powerful and he loves you, he'll make me go away, won't he?"

Billy prayed. He stared at the picture of Jesus, whose expression grew from concerned to pained. Billy watched as bruises formed on Jesus's cheeks and around his eyes. The skin on his lip split and started bleeding. A crown of thorns grew out of Jesus's forehead, and blood came from the wounds, first a trickle, then a stream flowing freely down His face. Jesus's eyes rolled up in his head, then turned to look right at Billy. His lips started to move.

"Billy," Jesus moaned, "how could you do this to me?"

"What?" Billy whispered incredulously. "What?"

"Isn't that what they teach you in your church, Billy?" Maleficious asked. "That each time you sin, each time you're naughty, it hurts Jesus? Look how much you've hurt him, Billy."

Billy started to cry. He didn't want to hurt Jesus.

"I'm sorry, Jesus," Billy sobbed. Maleficious snickered.

"Oh, I'm afraid it's too late for that now, Billy," Maleficious explained. "See, I'm God's messenger, and God wants paybacks."

The face of Jesus in the picture screwed up into absolute rage. The background turned from a soft golden glow into dark storm clouds, through which lightning flashed. Blood from Jesus's face spilled over the bottom of the frame and onto Billy.

Billy cried even harder. "Oh Jesus, I'm so sorry."

Maleficious cajoled him even further. "He's God, Billy. Do you know how much he can make you suffer? Do you have any idea what the wrath of God is like? Do you know how much pain you'll be in? Oh, but he probably won't start with you. He'll probably kill your mommy and your daddy first, make them suffer slow and long, and they'll know it's your fault. They'll hate you and curse your name from Hell forever."

Billy closed his eyes and sobbed. He saw the angel again.

"Billy," the angel said, "don't listen to him. He's lying. Get out. Get out now. Run to the barn!"

"Time to pay the piper, Billy," Maleficious said seductively. He could feel the Glamour swelling in the boy. Soon, so soon, Billy would burst into Chrysalis and then he'd drink the boy dry.

A sharp pain in the shin shook him from his reverie. Billy had kicked him. The surprise of it sent Maleficious stumbling back a couple of steps. The picture of Jesus went flying across the room. Billy was up and out of the room before Maleficious could regain his footing. "Curse you, boy!" Maleficious hissed after him. If he didn't catch the boy soon, he might Chrysalize alone and Maleficious would miss out on all his hard-earned Glamour. He got up and ran after Billy.

Maleficious saw trails of glittering Glamour in the air. He crashed through the house, indifferent to what he knocked over and broke. Following the trail of Glamour, finding the boy before it was too late, that was all that mattered.

"Billy," he called. "I won't hurt you! Come back!" Being a sluagh, his voice didn't even carry to the next room, so the boy most likely didn't hear him anyway. Not that it mattered - the trails of Glamour would lead him right to the boy.

Billy didn't feel so good. His head was all swimmy, and his tummy felt like he was going to puke. Lights flashed and spun all around him. Still, he ran towards the barn. He'd hide somewhere in there, maybe in one of the empty stalls. If he was lucky, the dark man, Maleficious, wouldn't be able to find him, and would give up and go home.

He found an empty stall, and curled up in a ball in the farthest, darkest corner he could find. The lights and colors still plagued his vision. He tried to breathe quietly, but the more quiet he tried to be, the more he felt the need to gasp for breath. Billy was only in his hiding place for a few minutes before Maleficious found him. He opened the door to the stall and walked impatiently over to the boy.

"Billy," he said through clenched teeth. "You shouldn't have run. You've cost me valuable Glamour. Now I'm going to have to hurt you." Billy watched in horror as Maleficious pulled a dagger from out of his cloak. It was the same dagger that Maleficious had used to try to kill Ms. Wilkins.

Billy's fear swelled to a crescendo inside him. He felt it explode inside him. His world turned inside out. There was a bright flash of white light, which kaleidoscoped into a swirling rainbow of colors. He heard a chorus of voices singing with such an unearthly beauty that it hurt to listen. His mind was flooded with memories that were of nothing he'd seen in his six years on earth, but he knew these things he saw were all his experiences. Battles, lovers, vows made and broken, all things he couldn't possibly fathom as a six year old boy, but yet he knew he'd lived through it all. The memories flashed through his mind like the faces in the windows of a passing train. There were too many to see, too many to remember. As soon as they came to his mind, they were gone again. He felt something sucking at his mind. The images, the sounds, the memories were all being pulled out of him. He opened his eyes to see a sight more horrific than any he'd seen yet.

Maleficious's face was bloating outwards, swelling up like a balloon. He reached up with the dagger in his hand and cut his own face open. The skin split from top to bottom, exposing the head of an impossibly huge spider. Fangs which were easily as long as one of Billy's arms dripped something that sizzled when it hit the ground. Maleficious's skin split all the way down as the spider came all the way out. The fangs clacked together, and a long black tongue licked out hungrily along them. A silk strand snaked out from behind the spider and wrapped around Billy's legs.

"Yes, Billy," the spider said. "I've waited so long for this. It will all be over soon. Trust me." The silk strands worked their way up Billy's legs, around his waist, and up his torso. The more Billy struggled, the more entangled he became.

As Maleficious drank in the delicious Glamour, he grew larger. He could feel the boy's Chrysalis waning as the Glamour filled him more and more. This was the richest harvest he'd ever experienced.

The boy was wrapped from the shoulders down now. The fear emanating from him mixed with the rarified Glamour of his Chrysalis was so sweet, yet almost spent. Billy's screams had waned to whimpers. His eyes stared blankly off into space. Now it was time to finish the job. Maleficious leaned forward and spread his fangs wide to bite off Billy's succulent little head.

"Step away from the boy."

If spiders had eyelids, Maleficious would have blinked. He turned to see who dared to interrupt him.

The man standing in the doorway wore full armor. His head was completely covered by a pot helm, except for a cross slit that ran from the top to the bottom. Maleficious could see two ice blue eyes through the slit.

"Who the hell are you?" Maleficious hissed through his fangs.

"I am your death, fiend," the knight answered. "I have come to avenge this boy and all the other children whom you've ravaged before. Your time is done."

Maleficious laughed, spraying acidic venom. It splattered on the knight's armor, apparently doing no harm. "What are you going to do, kill me?" he asked as silky strands of web snaked across the floor towards the knight.

"No," the knight answered calmly. "I'm going to destroy you. I'm going to end this once and for all." As the knight drew a sword from his hip, a chill ran through Maleficious' body.

"What's that you've got there, knight? A sword?"

"Yes," the knight replied, taking a step forward. "It's made of cold iron, and I'm going to use it to send your soul to oblivion."

Maleficious quivered with rage. "How dare you!" With a twitch of his torso, the silk ropes whipped forward and hit the knight's sword arm. They withered as they touched him, like butter on a hot grill. The knight grinned with a warrior's delight as he lunged forward and swung his iron sword in a vicious arc. One of Maleficious' legs was severed with the blow; icy cold pain shot through him to the soul, and he screamed in spite of himself.

"You little worm!" Maleficious hissed. "I'll get you for that! You're nothing to me! You'll taste fear like you've never known it!" He leapt up into the rafters of the barn and headed towards the door.

The knight tracked the movement of the gargantuan spider calmly. He crossed himself, and bowed his head for a brief prayer.

Maleficious watched the knight and laughed derisively. "You're praying, too? It didn't help little Billy! Why don't you look and see?" Maleficious wasn't going to get into a head-on fight with this knight. He had cold iron, and something was preventing his webs from sticking to him. Once he had time to get home and lick his wounds, he'd find out who the hell this knight was and exact his revenge in his own time. As for the boy, he'd have to deal with him later, too. He was pretty sure that he'd sucked all the Glamour from Billy, so he wouldn't be going to court any time soon, but one could never be careful enough. He looked down one last time to check on the knight's position. He was still apparently in prayer.

Maleficious looked up, preparing to leap out the loft doors. What he saw in front of him was completely unexpected. Hovering in mid-air was a being made of golden light. Huge white wings spread out behind it, and its eyes burned with righteous anger. It swung a huge flaming sword around at Maleficious. He dodged the blade, but without eight feet to hold him onto the rafters, he lost his balance and plummeted to the ground below, landing helplessly on his back. He knew he had to get off his back, or else he was dead. He shot a strand of web up to one of the rafters, but the light being severed it with its flaming sword. Maleficious tried to shift back to his human form, but it was too late.

"Ad majoram gloriam Dei!"

Maleficious felt icy Banality burn down to the depths of his soul as the cold iron sword plunged again and again into his arachnid abdomen. Maleficious screamed in agony. He was forgetting himself; he was being destroyed. He knew that the death of cold iron was final. He gazed balefully up at the being of light with his last bit of consciousness.

"Damn you, and damn your God!"

Billy's guardian angel wept a single tear over the terminal hatred that had seized Maleficious's heart. He watched as a horde of demons dragged Maleficious's wailing soul into Hell where it would suffer for eternity for the misery he'd caused others on earth. Maleficious's body, alive for centuries longer than it should have been, turned immediately to dust. With one last smell of rotting fish, the mortal remains of Maleficious scattered to the wind. The evil despoiler of generations of innocence was no more.

The knight fell to his knees and gave thanks to God. Whether he'd seen the angel or not, he made no sign. After a few moments on his knees, he crossed himself again, wiped the blood from his sword on Maleficious's cloak, then turned to Billy, who was coming out of his comatose state. The knight gently touched his sword to the webbing that bound the boy. Billy felt very cold when the sword was close to him, but he was glad to be out of the webbing. He looked up at the knight.

"Who are you?" he asked. The knight carefully sheathed his sword, then removed his helm. Billy's eyes opened wide with surprise.

"Fr. Madeira? But how? What?"

Fr. Madeira nodded and touched the cross hanging around Billy's neck. "I told you it just might bring about a miracle."

Fr. Madeira explained to Billy that long ago, when he himself was a boy, he'd been one of Maleficious's victims. It had taken a long time for him to get over it, but through the grace of God, he'd regained his sanity and love for his fellow humans. When Billy's Aunt Elizabeth had told him Billy's story, Fr. Madeira thought he might have the chance to stop Maleficious once and for all.

Billy gasped. "Mom! Aunt Elizabeth! He killed them!" He started to get up, but the priest placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"They're fine. I heard them calling for you as I came across the yard. They'll probably figure out where you are soon, so I have to be brief.

"Billy, I'm a kinain. You're a Faerie. I know that doesn't make sense to you now, but it will soon enough. There are others like you in Flint. I've got friends among them there. I will let them know you're coming, and they will take care of you."

Billy's head was swimming again, but this time not with colorful lights. "I don't get it."

Fr. Madeira smiled gently. "You don't have to, not yet, anyway. Just remember this. You musn't tell anyone what happened with Maleficious tonight, ever. You can't tell your mom, your aunt, your dad, or any of your friends. Even the special new friends you're going to meet when you go home to Flint." He took a deep breath and sighed. "Especially not them. Just leave Maleficious out of it, okay? You have to promise me that."

Billy frowned. "Why? He almost killed me." Fr. Madeira nodded.

"I know, but he's never coming back again. If you tell them what happened, it'll be big trouble for both of us. Just trust me on this one, okay?"

Billy didn't understand, but he did trust Fr. Madeira. He promised not to tell, ever. Fr. Madeira gave Billy a blessing, then snuck out the back of the barn.

Billy's mom and aunt came in just after Fr. Madeira had left. They hugged him and made a big fuss about him being alone in the barn in the middle of the night, but then they took him back in the house and put him back to bed.

Even though Billy couldn't see his guardian angel watching over him, he slept better than he had for a long time.

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