Foolish. Down the trail, the trees were thick. Despite the coming winter, there were enough branches and leaves on the trees to block out a great deal of sunlight She began to think that Andy Markham was really crazy; the trail seemed to go nowhere.

Then, she reached a large copse at the end of the trail, and parked, looking around.

There were trails leading through the woods, but none big enough for a car. Whoever ventured down those trails did so on foot. But to either side of the central clearing in the woods were other pockets of cleared areas. They were overgrown with grass and underbrush, but the trees had been cleared, probably ages ago. As she sat, staring out the window, she noted that there were bits of stone among the long grasses, weeds, and bits of bush here and there. The place was eerie. She noted that some of the stones were larger than others, weather worn. She squinted, trying to see better from her distance. One of them looked like it had been an angel or something of the like at one time.

A chill seized her. She thought she had come upon some time-forgotten cemetery.

A tap on her window nearly sent her flying right through it.

She turned to the passenger's side of the car and saw that Andy Markham was standing just outside the car.

For a moment, she hesitated again. Maybe the old man was crazy. He had lured her here to murder her.

The thought was not without value, and yet, she suddenly doubted that the skeletal old man could take her in any kind of a fight.

He could have a gun.

But he didn't. His clothes hung off his body in a way that allowed for no hiding of any kind of a weapon.

She had come this far. And obviously, it was just she and Andy in the godforsaken, eerie clearing.

She stepped out of the car.

"Hi, Andy."

He walked around to her, his eyes anxious on her. "Thank you for coming. I swear, I am trying to help you."

"That's great," she said lightly, "but—"

"But you don't believe in tall tales or hauntings, the spirits of the dead, or anything like that."

"Right," she said softly.

"But hear me out. Do you know where we are?"

"It looks like some kind of a cemetery. I see what was an angel over there."

"Yes, it's some kind of a cemetery."

"So… we're on hallowed ground. Nice and safe," she murmured cheerfully.

He shook his head so gravely that she felt as if one of the dead branches on the distant trees had reached out to scrape her spine.

"Andy—"

"It's unhallowed ground. Centuries ago, it was where those who died outside the sanction of the church were buried."

"Oh!" she murmured. "How sad! You mean like Rebecca Nurse, or others prosecuted in the witch trials

—"

Andy snorted. "History and research show us that Rebecca Nurse was a fine old woman who was simply not appreciated by her neighbors. She had a loving family, and they got hold of her body. I'm talking about the truly evil."

"I see," Megan said evenly, wishing she hadn't come. What the hell was this creepy old man up to?

He continued to stare at her earnestly. "You must believe that there is evil in the world."

"Andy, I have a cousin who is a Wiccan, and I know—"

"Not Wiccans!" he interrupted with a snort, then gave her a deep sigh. "It should be evident that if there is good in the world, there is evil. There is a benign god, and, even in the Old Testament, a god of wrath.

Say you believe in the general tenets of the day. God is good, and sits above in Heaven. But those who believe in that God believe in his nemesis as well. Lucifer, the fallen angel. And just as the great God of our fathers is good, his nemesis is evil. They believed, once, that Satan had come to New England. Satan is a busy fellow. But just as the great God rests among the angels and what spirits surround him are those of good, Satan has his imps and demons, and creatures of pure, malignant evil."

Megan just stared.

"Walk with me."

She didn't know why she did, but when he turned, walking toward the stones in the underbrush, she followed.

They reached what she had drought to have been a marble angel. Seeing it up close, even in its state of aged decay, she saw that it was no angel. It was a demon. Horned, tailed, with a lean jutting jaw that gave it a terrible impression of pure carnal amusement and… evil.

"Andy, this thing is awful!"

"And too true," Andy said softly. He scratched the day's growth of stubble on his chin, looking at Megan, then added flatly, "He's trying to come back."

Chills snaked through her, but she said firmly, " I'm sorry, but marble creatures are the artistry of men."

"Aye, girl, and you need men, the living, to bring about the return of the dead."

"Andy, you're creeping me out here," she said honestly.

"You've got to understand. I have to make you understand."

She inhaled on a deep breath. "Andy, I'm trying to understand. You think that a man is trying to bring a demon to life. A demon—a broken-down old statue—back to life."

"He came before," Andy said, and his words were barely a breath.

The wind shifted. A cold breeze rippled past her face, lifted her hair, and seemed to caress her throat.

"Andy, I understand that this is a graveyard. For people who might have been bad news. But surely, if there were such a thing as a demon, he wouldn't allow himself to be buried among humble men."

"You don't understand. He came before."

"Before what?" She was getting frightened, and therefore, impatient. She didn't believe any demon was coming after her, but she was beginning to fear the old man out in the middle of nowhere with only skeletal trees, the caw of crows, and a chill in the air as company for them.

"After the witch trials. During a phase you won't hear about in any old history books. People were ashamed. Very ashamed of all the innocents who suffered. Oh, not just those who died. Those who were incarcerated for years. Who died in prison because they couldn't pay the debts for the cold hovels and chains that held them. No one wanted anything to do with such persecutions. So the time was ripe, just right, for those who were truly evil. Not Wiccans. True Satanists. Devil worshipers. Demon worshipers.

There was one such man. Convinced he was the chosen one to bring back to a human incarnation an ancient demon, Bac-Dal, first seen in Persia, eons before the time of Christ. That man came here. Right at the time when both men and women were deeply sorry for all the death and destruction that the hysteria had caused. When they were least likely to watch what their neighbors were doing. When they were quick to turn blind eyes to whispers of sorcery. His name was Cabal Thorne. He wreaked havoc among men and women, created a life of true debauchery, and committed many murders for his blood lust."

"Andy, surely if there were any truth behind such a story, the history books or legends would have some hint of what had occurred."

"The Elders allowed no word of it, once they believed. Men came here from elsewhere, and were closeted with some of the most learned men of the area. There could be no arrest for Cabal Thorne. No trial. No record of him, or what was to happen to him. And no one knows exactly what did happen.

They grouped together one night, and what they did remains secret to this day, what power they used, no one knows. But Thorne was killed. And brought here."

"Surely, an anthropologist would have dug him up by now!" she said, trying once again to speak lightly.

"At the turn of the century, unbeknownst to history, someone did try to dig him up. A man known as Aleister Crowley. Ever heard of him?"

Megan gritted her teeth. "A very famous necromancer, Satanist, into the occult, a debaucher, all that, yes, I've heard of him."

"He tried to dig up the remains. It was claimed that he found nothing."

"There was probably nothing to find. Look, Crowley was known to be one of the most hedonistic—if not evil—men of the past two centuries. If he didn't stay—"

"The history books won't even say that he was here."

"Andy, did it ever occur to you that all this might be… tall tales?"

He cocked his head strangely. "I'm an old, old man. I've seen a great deal. Aye-uh, girl. It's men create evil most often. But there are forces in the world. And I've lived so long that I know when those forces are at work. Look at the things done! In the name of God? Don't you think that sometimes, something not so godly slips in? Haven't you felt it when there's a touch of evil, just a touch, at the base of your spine, creeping along, setting ice at your neck? There's evil out there. And some men who can manipulate it better than others."

The trees rustled in a chill breeze. Somewhere, there was sunshine. It didn't enter through the canopy here. God, yes, she felt a chill!

"All right, Andy. Say a really evil man lived in the very early 1700s. And he thought he could become one with this demon, Bac-Dal, or whatever. He was hunted down and killed. Probably for murder and rape and other crimes—far too well known to normal men. What can that really have to do with now?"

There was a sudden sizzle in the sky, a flash of light, and then, a crack of thunder that caused Megan to jump.

Andy was staring at her sagely.

"Weather!" she sniffed, though those icy fingers he was talking about had a really heavy grip around her neck by now. "Rain, thunder, lightning. Natural phenomena!" she said.

He nodded. "Aye-uh, girl. Natural phenomena. Don't you see? The time is right. The full moon is coming for All Hallow's Eve. And even that goes back… so far back. The night of the dead. When the souls of the departed are allowed to converse with the living. Don't you sense it? This is a playground for those who would twist what is good… and turn it to evil. The time is right for Bac-Dal."

"Andy, I have to go. Finn will be up by now."

"You haven't understood me."

"What is there to understand?"