Josh was so startled, the flashlight tumbled from his hand and clattered onto the street. The light flickered but didn't go out.

In the glow from the flashlight, I could see a wicked smile cross his face. "They don't know."

"You -- you scared us," Josh said angrily, aiming the flashlight back down at our feet.

By the time Josh had managed to pick it up, our pursuer had caught up to us. I spun around to face him, my heart pounding in my chest.

Josh aimed the light at Ray's face, but Ray shot his arms up to shield his face and ducked back into the darkness. "What are you two doing here?" he cried, sounding almost as startled as I did.

"Josh has this crazy idea about where Petey might be," I told him, still struggling to catch my breath. "That's why we're out here."

"Don't your parents mind you being out so late?" I asked.

"What about you?" Josh asked Ray.

"Ray! What are you doing here?"

"Sorry," Ray said, "I would've called out, but I wasn't sure it was you."

"Well, sometimes I have trouble sleeping," Ray said softly.

I began to think I had misjudged him. He was afraid to go there. That's why he was trying to stop us.

"No," Ray said. "You're not."

"Hurry!" Josh called back to us. He hadn't slowed down. He didn't seem to notice the threat in Ray's words.

His voice was so low, so threatening, that I stopped. "What?"

"The cemetery," I called back.

"You're not going there," Ray repeated. I couldn't see his face. It was hidden in darkness. But his words sounded menacing.

"Where are you going?" Ray called, hurrying to catch up.

"Why not?" I demanded, suddenly afraid. Was Ray threatening Josh and me? Did he know something we didn't? Or was I making a big deal out of nothing once again?

"You'd be nuts to go there at night!" he declared.

I stared into the darkness, trying to see his face.

"Stop, Josh!" Ray called. It sounded more like an order than a request. "You can't go there!"

"Are we going to the cemetery or not?" Josh asked impatiently. Without waiting for an answer, he started jogging up the road, the light bobbing on the pavement in front of him. I turned and followed, wanting to stay close to the light.

The clouds still covered the moon as we reached the cemetery. We stepped through a gate in the low wall. In the darkness, I could see the crooked rows of gravestones.

"You don't have to. But we do," Josh insisted, picking up his speed.

"Wait -- please," Ray pleaded. But Josh didn't slow down. Neither did I. I was eager to get there and get it over with.

We passed the dark, silent school. It seemed much bigger at night. Josh's light flashed through the low tree branches as we turned the corner onto Cemetery Drive.

"Petey's there," Josh said, "I know he is."

"No. Really," Ray said. "This is a bad idea." But now he and I were running side by side to catch up with Josh.

"I don't think we should," Ray warned.

"Are you coming or not?" Josh demanded, getting farther and farther ahead of us.

I wiped my forehead with my sleeve. The air was hot and still. I wished I hadn't worn long sleeves. I felt my hair. It was dripping wet.

Yes, he's afraid, I decided. I only imagined that he was threatening us.

Josh's light traveled from stone to stone, jumping up and down as he walked. "Petey!" he called suddenly, interrupting the silence.

I was beginning to wish he'd go away. No one had forced him to come. Why was he giving us such a hard time?

"I know it's a bad idea," I admitted to Ray. "But I didn't want Josh to come here by himself."

"But we shouldn't be here," Ray insisted.

It took me a little while to figure out what it was in the small circle of light. It was so unexpected. It was some kind of theater. An amphitheater, I guess you'd call it, circular rows of bench seats dug into the ground, descending like stairs to a low stagelike platform at the bottom.

"Petey! Petey!" Josh called.

"Hey -- look at this!" Josh called from several yards up ahead.

My sneakers crunching over the soft ground, I hurried between the rows of graves. I hadn't realized that we had already walked the entire length of the graveyard.

Don't be silly, Amanda. "Petey!" I called, too, forcing away my morbid thoughts.

He's disturbing the sleep of the dead, I thought, feeling a sudden chill of fear.

"This is a very bad idea," Ray said, standing very close to me.

"Look," Josh said again, his flashlight playing over a strange structure built at the edge of the cemetery.

"Timberrr!" Josh yelled.

"Ow. What was that?"

"Weird! Who would build an outdoor theater at the edge of a cemetery?" I asked.

Josh shone the light on it as I climbed slowly, painfully, to my feet. I had tripped over an enormous, upraised tree root.

I looked back to see if Josh and Ray were following me, and my sneaker caught against something. I stumbled to the ground, hitting my knee hard.

"What on earth!" I exclaimed.

In the flickering light, I followed the gnarled root over to a wide, old tree several yards away. The huge tree was bent over the strange below-ground theater, leaning at such a low angle that it looked likely to topple over at any second. Big clumps of roots were raised up from the ground. Overhead, the tree's branches, heavy with leaves, seemed to lean to the ground.

I started forward to get a closer look.

"How weird!" I exclaimed. "Hey, Ray -- what is this place?"

"Amanda -- wait. Let's go home," Ray called. He grabbed at my arm, but I hurried away, and he grabbed only air.

"It's a meeting place," Ray said quietly, standing close beside me, staring straight ahead at the leaning tree. "They use it sort of like a town hall. They have town meetings here."

"Petey! Hey -- come back! Don't you recognize us?"

But Petey arched back on his hind legs as if he were getting ready to run away. He stared at us, his eyes red as jewels in the light of the flashlight.

As I hurried over, Josh dropped Petey back to the ground and stepped back. "Ooh -- he stinks!"

"Let's go," Ray urged, looking very nervous.

"Petey -- he stinks. He smells like a dead rat!" Josh held his nose.

With a burst of speed, Josh caught up with him and grabbed him up off the ground. "Hey, Petey, what's the matter, fella?"

"In the cemetery?" I cried, finding it hard to believe.

The dog lowered his head and started to trot away.

There he was, standing between the nearest row of low, stone grave markers. I turned happily to Josh. "I don't believe it!" I cried. "You were right!"

"Petey! Petey!" Josh and I both started running toward our dog.

All three of us heard the footsteps. They were behind us, somewhere in the rows of graves. We turned around. Josh's light swept over the ground.

"Petey!"

"What?" I cried.

"Petey! We found you!" I cried.

"We'd better go!" Ray called. He was still at the edge of the cemetery near the leaning tree.

"Yuck! What a stink!" Josh exclaimed.

I suddenly felt sick. What had happened to Petey? Why was he acting so differently? Why wasn't he glad to see us?

"I don't get it," Josh said, still making a face from the odor the dog gave off. "Usually, if we leave the room for thirty seconds, he goes nuts when we come back."

"Petey -- what's wrong with you?" I called to the dog. He didn't respond. "Don't you remember your name? Petey? Petey?"

"Josh, he isn't glad to see us," I wailed. "He doesn't even seem to recognize us. Look at him!"

Petey started to walk slowly away.

It was true. Petey walked to the next row of gravestones, then turned and glared at us.

"We've got to get him home and give him a bath," I said. My voice was shaking. I felt really sad. And frightened.

"Maybe this isn't Petey," Josh said thoughtfully. The dog's eyes again glared red in the beam of light.

"It's him all right," I said quietly. "Look. He's dragging the leash. Go get him, Josh -- and let's go home."

Josh was being stubborn again. I could see that I had no choice. "Okay," I said. "I'll get him. But I'll need the light." I grabbed the flashlight from Josh's hand and started to run toward Petey.

"You get him!" Josh cried. "He smells too bad!"

"No. You."

"Sit, Petey. Sit!" I ordered. It was the only command Petey ever obeyed.

"Petey -- stop! Petey, come on!" I yelled, exasperated. "Don't make me chase you."

We both started to call him. "What's wrong with that mutt?" I cried.

"Petey! Petey!" Josh called, sounding shrill and desperate.

"Don't let him get away!" Josh yelled, running up behind me.

"Just grab his leash. You don't have to pick him up," I said.

I couldn't see him.

"Oh, no. Don't tell me we've lost him again!" I said.

I moved the flashlight from side to side along the ground. "Where is he?"

But he didn't obey it this time. Instead, he turned and trotted away, holding his head down low.

I moved the beam of light down one long row of gravestones, then, moving quickly, down the next. No sign of him. We both kept calling his name.

And gasped.

But I took a few steps and beamed the light onto the next gravestone. There was a name on it I'd never heard before. I moved on to the next stone. Another name I'd never heard.

"It can't be her mother or grandmother," I said, keeping the beam of light on the stone despite my trembling hand. "This girl died when she was twelve. My age. And Karen is twelve, too. She told me."

"No. Look at the dates," I said to him.

"Amanda --" Josh scowled and looked away.

It was Karen Somerset.

"That's my new friend Karen. The one I talk to on the playground every day," I said.

"Huh? It must be her grandmother or something," Josh said, and then added impatiently, "Come on. Look for Petey."

And then the circle of light came to rest on the front of a granite tombstone.

"Look! The name on the gravestone."

We both read the dates under Karen Somerset's name. 1960-1972.

Reading the name on the stone, I stopped short.

"Josh -- look!" I grabbed Josh's sleeve. I held on tight.

Josh read the name. He stared at me, still confused.

"Huh? What's wrong?" His face filled with confusion.

All the kids we had played softball with. They all had gravestones here.

"Huh?"

I could hear Josh calling me, but I couldn't make out what he was saying.

I stood there, staring at the letters and numbers. I stared at them till they didn't make sense anymore, until they were just a gray blur.

"Amanda, we have to get Petey," he insisted.

To my growing horror, I found Jerry Franklin. And then Bill Gregory.

The next gravestone had the name George Carpenter on it. 1975-1988.

My heart thudding, I moved down the crooked row, my sneakers sinking into the soft grass. I felt numb, numb with fear. I struggled to hold the light steady as I beamed it onto the last stone in the row.

RAY THURSTON. 1977-1988.

The rest of the world seemed to fall away. I read the deeply etched inscription again:

But I couldn't pull myself away from the gravestones. I went from one to the next, moving the flashlight over the engraved letters.

"Josh -- look! It's George from the playground," I called.

"Amanda, come on!" Josh whined.

RAY THURSTON. 1977-1988.

His eyes flared, glowing like dying embers.

"Ray --" I managed to say, moving the light over the name on the stone. "Ray, this one is… you!"

"Yes, it's me," he said softly, moving toward me. "I'm so sorry, Amanda."

Suddenly, I realized that Ray had crept up beside the gravestone and was staring at me.