His grandmother had forbidden him to go down there when he was little, and he had never quite gotten over his fear of the narrow, winding trail. Which was why he liked to look at it and imagine what it might lead to. It was a nice piece of mystery in his life. He was about to turn away and continue toward home when a creaky voice whispered in his ear, “That’s where he went, the night he disappeared.” Harley spun to see who had spoken. He found himself facing an old woman whose face was so pinched with pain and loss that it almost hurt to look at her. “Who are you?” he asked, backing away. “Just someone who doesn’t want to see you get into trouble.” She leaned closer. “I wouldn’t go down there if I were you, boy. You might run into . . . him.” “Him?” She hesitated, as if the words were painful to her, then said, “Eamonn Tiyado.” A prickle of fear rippled over Harley’s skin. Every kid in Oak Grove knew about Eamonn Tiyado, the boy who had vanished on Halloween night.
