After his shower and shave, John Galloway plodded into the kitchen to make coffee. He’d sip it as usual while watching TV. It didn’t matter what was on, any old thing would do, even that insipid LIVE with Kelly and Ryan. He was never a Regis fan, but these two knuckleheads had him longing for the days of Regis and Kathie Lee. Perhaps it was because his wife at the time used to watch it while she gave their infant daughter, Melissa, her morning bottle. The show brought back memories, both favorable and forlorn.

Now, he only watched TV because he liked the sound of other voices in the house. The deafening silence he’d lived with now was something he’d never get used to. He awoke to it and went to bed with it.

After his coffee, he’d walk down to the diner for breakfast like he always did when he was on the evening shift. Galloway’s life consisted of routines. He had one for each of his shifts—the day shift was easiest: he woke, got ready, went to work and picked up dinner on the way home. He hit a different fast food joint each day of the week.

It was odd to brew his coffee at home instead of just ordering a cup with his bacon and eggs, but in truth, he liked his own better than anyone else’s, even his ex-wife’s. Jessica always made it too goddamn weak — it looked like tea in his mug. He brewed it the old-fashioned way, in a percolator on the stove top, letting it boil until it was as dark as damp earth. The way it made the house smell was a plus, too — homey and warm.

The diner, his diner as he’d come to think of it, was a greasy spoon, the greasiest of spoons, actually, but according to the green state-issued report taped to the front window, the diner had been given a pass on all levels of health inspection and cleanliness, and that was good enough for him.

* * * * *

The morning was cooler than expected, and he half wished he’d grabbed his jacket as he set out down the street. Briefly, he thought of turning back to fetch it, but decided a brisk walk would heat him up.

It was Halloween, a day he could do without, especially since he was on duty that evening. Halloween was THE worst night to work. It also marked the passage of time. How it flew! Already well into the fall of his life, he couldn’t help but wonder how many more Halloweens were in his future—fifteen? Twenty? Maybe fewer, he mused, though it was without worry. He welcomed death, even looked forward to it.

John quickened his pace, walking briskly as he surveyed the front yards of the houses he passed. Jack-o-lanterns decorated nearly every doorstep, and most of the narrow front yards of the row houses had some sort of spooky decoration—plastic gravestones with a skeletal hand emerging from the ground, yellow police tape, incredibly large spider webs with a monster-sized spider lying in wait in the center, and glow-in-the-dark plastic skeletons were the most popular.

God, Melissa would have loved this. The thought brought an instant heart-wrenching ache and he pushed it away. No! He told himself. Not going there, not today. It was a trick he’d learned in counselling—redirecting his thoughts. But sometimes those thoughts had a life of their own and managed to sneak in anyway. Some days they barged in, put down roots and refused to leave. Those days were the worst. Those days brought on his cravings.

As he closed in on the Broadway Diner—All Day Breakfasts Our Specialty—he contemplated how he was going to fill the day until his shift began. An ordinary looking man in a gray suit, white shirt, blue tie, beige trench, with briefcase in hand, stood outside the front door of the diner. His shoe-polish black hair was slicked back, making him look as if he’d time-traveled from the 1950s.

The man would have blended into his surroundings, looking like a family man on his way to the office, except for the fact he was laughing hysterically. His was the kind of laugh that bent a person over, one hand holding his side, staving off an annoying stitch. Peals of laughter erupted from the man who stood alone and with no cell phone or Bluetooth in evidence.

When John neared, the man turned and caught his gaze, then lifted a hand. Galloway noticed gold cuff links and a watch with a black leather band; a few black hairs stuck out from under his cuff. The stranger pointed at him, right at the middle of his chest. Another fit of laughter escaped the man as if the sight of Galloway were the funniest thing he’d ever seen.

For a second, John considered there might be something about him worthy of laughter. He looked down at his shirt, checking for anything unusual—did he have it on inside out? No, of course not, he reassured himself.

His hands flew to his face, feeling, searching—was there something on it? Finally, he turned in a slow circle. Maybe it was some kind of practical joke? Was he on TV? He looked for a camera, a van parked at the curb, but saw nothing. People did all sorts of weird things these days, taping things on their phones so they could send it into some TV show and win a prize—an all-inclusive trip for two to the Grand Bahia Principe in the Dominican Republic. But nothing was out of the ordinary. In fact, no one else was on the sidewalk. No, John decided, the man must be mentally ill.

But he looked so normal.

The man started toward him, making Galloway snap into police officer mode even though he wasn’t in uniform and didn’t have his sidearm, baton or cuffs.

“What’s the problem, buddy?” he said. “You feelin’ all right?”

The man clasped a hand on John’s shoulder. “Today’s the day,” he said. Cool blue eyes, teary with merriment bored into John’s.

“Pardon me?” Galloway asked, moving in a little closer, sniffing for alcohol.

High-pitched giggles bubbled out of the man, and this time he gave John’s shoulder a good clap as if congratulating him. “Today’s the day.” He pointed a triumphant finger in the air—an exclamation point.

“You need me to call someone for you?” Galloway asked, trying to lead the man inside the diner where he could deposit him in a booth and try to figure things out.

With a vigorous shake of his head, the businessman began to walk away. He walked backwards for a while, pointing, smiling, and still laughing.

“Today’s the day,” he called loudly before rounding a corner and disappearing.

“What the hell just happened?” Galloway said aloud, then opened the door and went inside for breakfast, though his appetite had disappeared.

* * * * *

Amber Alert:

Missing child — Trisha Campbell, female, white, six years old, three feet, seven inches tall, forty-five pounds, brown hair and eyes ...

Galloway turned his patrol car around with one large spin of the wheel, and headed to the last-known whereabouts of the child.

His stomach was leaden; his head pounded.

With sirens screaming, he still had to drive slower than he wanted because of the trick-or-treaters in the suburban neighborhood he patrolled. Kids crossed the street wherever they wanted, often running out from between parked cars, neglecting to take proper care no matter how much safety info had been given out at school, or taught by parents.

Galloway heard parents calling for their children: “be careful” or “slow down”, but the excitement of the evening was palpable. It always was, but he’d long ago become immune to the charms of All Hallows’ Eve. It was just another night where something could and usually did go wrong.

A few deep breaths settled his tripping heart. After twenty-five years on the job, all active duty, he’d never gotten used to the missing child calls. A prayer ran through his mind—at least his version of what passed for a prayer: “Please, let her just be lost,” he said aloud. “If there’s a God in Heaven, let us find her safe and sound.”

Galloway eased to the curb and exited his car. Two officers were already on the scene. As he approached, one of the men took a few steps toward him.

“Hey, John,” the officer greeted him, his voice deep with authority. The man was younger, taller and bigger. Galloway threw his shoulders back and puffed out his chest.

“Pete.” He nodded at the officer. “Whadda we got?”

“Young girl’s missing. She’s dressed like one of them princesses, all in pink. Shouldn’t be too hard to spot. We’re awaiting the search team. Sealing off both ends of the street right now.”

Dressed in pink like a princess—not hard to spot! Galloway fought the urge to laugh. Could the man standing beside him be that stupid? Every girl between the ages of two and ten had to be dressed like a princess!

Pete clamped a hand on Galloway’s shoulder and fixed him with a look of earnest concern. “You gonna be all right to help out?” He studied Galloway, looking for signs that the missing child call might be too much for him to handle. “You know, with all you went through?” he added.

“I’m fine,” Galloway said, slipping from Pete’s grasp.

What the hell did Pete Webster know about what had happened to him? He wasn’t even a grown man back then, just a pimply-faced teenager. The heat of anger crept up his neck and Galloway felt it burn all the way to his cheeks. He pulled at his collar, loosening it, then gave Pete a narrow-eyed glare. He wanted to tell him to fuck off—that what happened to Melissa was none of his business. Hell, Pete wasn’t even a father, so how would he know what losing a child felt like?

Galloway gestured toward a man the other officer on the scene was talking to. “That the dad?”

Pete took a step backward and hooked one thumb into his belt, planted the other hand on his sidearm. “Yeah, poor guy. Took his eyes off his daughter for just a minute. Another kid, a teenager, snatched the girl’s candy bag and dad tried to catch him. Ran halfway up the block, but the kid musta hopped a fence or something and got away. Anyway, when the dad got back here, his kid was gone.” Pete shook his head and swallowed hard. “Aw, shit, John. I hope this isn’t stirring up bad memories.”

Galloway cleared his throat and pretended not to have heard the last of what Pete said. He took a look up and down the street. The sun had set long ago and crowds were gathering. Kids stood around in groups, parents, too, whispering about what they thought might have happened to the girl. Halloween was on hold.

Bits and pieces of what the girl’s dad was saying made their way to Galloway. Like any good cop, he had one ear trained on his conversation with Pete and the other on his surroundings. Suddenly, the girl’s father was on his knees, head in his hands as he heaved with soul-shredding sobs.

Pete again shook his head in disbelief. “It’s not like we’re not going to find the kid. No one has faith in cops these days.”

Galloway went to the man’s side and splayed a large hand on his shoulder. “She’s got to be around here. Couldn’t have gotten far,” he said, his voice soothing. “It’ll all end well, just wait and see.”

The corners of his mouth turned up in a facsimile of a smile. A real honest-to-goodness smile was a rarity now, had been ever since Melissa was killed. His “sort-of-smile” was nothing more than a few contracting facial muscles, but it managed to fool everyone, even though the only people he really cared about fooling were his bosses. Fooling them meant he kept his job. Keeping his job meant he kept his sanity. He thought of what happened earlier that day. The crazy-ass laughing man, all neat and tidy in his business suit, his hand clamped on Galloway’s shoulder. Laughing man’s words rang in Galloway’s ears: “today’s the day.”

In the benign light of day, the guy had seemed... what? Weird? Harmless? Now, though, in the chill of the night and under the circumstances, a girl gone missing, those words held an ominous power. Galloway didn’t like the road those words were leading him down. The worried thoughts banged on the cellar door of his subconscious, demanding to be let out into the daylight of consciousness.

Another nasty thought pulled at him like an annoying child yanking a coattail—the jagged edges of memory were never fully blunted. Part of him wanted to tell the worried father his little girl just might be gone for good and that he should prepare for bad news. As a matter of fact, he wanted to say, your precious child has more than likely been kidnapped and only God knows what is happening to her at this very moment. After all, no one was doing anything except standing around with their thumbs up their asses waiting on the search team. Precious time was wasting. The copters hadn’t even been called in. What they needed was an eye in the sky shining a searchlight on the area, lighting it up like the noonday sun. But who was he to say what was needed or should be done? After his stint in rehab, he was lucky to even be a beat cop now.

“I’m sure you’re right, officer,” the dad said pinching tears from his eyes and getting to his feet.

Pete was beside them now, his hand hanging tentatively in the air as if he couldn’t decide who to comfort, Galloway or the dad.

Galloway turned to Pete. “Why don’t I get started? I’ve got the description. We’re just wasting time waiting around for the search team.”

“I’m not in charge here, John, but I guess it wouldn’t hurt.” Pete clapped him on the back. “There’s a shitload of black and whites at either end of the street. It’s sealed pretty good but there’s a ravine that needs checking. See those houses?” Pete pointed off into the distance. “The ravine is right behind them. Why don’t you start there? I’ll organize the team and send them in as soon as I can. But, really man, I’m sure she’ll be found any time now. I’ll radio you when we do find her, okay?”

With a nod, Galloway yanked his flashlight from his belt and started off between two bungalows. Everyone, it seemed was looking at this like it was straightforward—the child simply wandered off and got lost among the other trick-or-treaters, but bad things happened all the time. Children were kidnapped, beaten, murdered—marriages died and lives fell apart in the aftermath.

At the end of a yard, he was stopped by a tall chain-link fence surrounding the property. There was a gate, but it was padlocked. The homeowner was probably out front with the rest of the neighbors, maybe even helping with the search.

Movement caught in the tail of Galloway’s eye. Someone was in the yard, sticking close to the house, almost plastered against it. He shone his flashlight and saw a man wearing a trench coat and holding a briefcase. “No,” he whispered and lowered the light. He stepped toward the man and when he lifted the light again, he was gone. The faint lilt of a giggle floated to Galloway on the evening breeze.

No fucking way!

He gave his head a good shake and walked around the house, examining every corner and crevice. But found no one.

He’d wasted enough time. Galloway jammed a booted foot into a link in the fence and with barely a toehold, he boosted himself up. His trousers snagged on a twist of metal and he heard a rip as he threw his leg over the fence.

“Shit,” he mumbled as he landed softly in the overgrown grass on the other side of the fence. He lay for a heartbeat in the grass and weeds, shining the light onto his crotch. A tear of about two inches revealed his tidy whities beneath. Gripping the flashlight between his teeth, Galloway pushed to his feet and slapped his trousers clean. Oh well, it was a small price to pay if it meant finding the missing girl, he reasoned and chuckled to himself. At least no one was there to witness his humiliation.

A well-trodden path of earth lay just a few feet away and Galloway headed toward it. He picked his way down the slope into a playground area about a hundred yards from the bottom.

The smell of cedar mulch and an overripe garbage can in desperate need of emptying, greeted him. Casting his light around for a quick inspection, he spotted the usual—swings, slides, monkey bars, jungle gym. The night was clear with only a sliver of moon glowing dimly. The few street lights that still worked shone yellow, casting a hazy blush over the vacant area. Silence reigned except for the distant voices of those on the street he’d just left.

“Trisha?” he called. “I’m Officer Galloway. If you can hear me, please come out where I can see you, honey. Don’t be scared. I’m a policeman and I’m here to help.”

He dared not move as he waited for a reply. His ears pricked to the slightest sound. A dog barked in the distance; the dried leaves of autumn’s discarded foliage blew past in a small eddy and then… a giggle.

Galloway’s heart leapt with relief and he turned, smiling (a real one this time), expecting to see the girl.

Someone darted from the swings. The chain holding the black rubber seat squalled as the swing jerked crookedly. He swore it had been vacant just a moment ago. The blur stopped behind one of the slides.

Galloway started toward it. “Trisha, honey. This isn’t a game. Your daddy’s real worried about you. Come on out now.” He added authority to his voice this time.

He was at the slide in a few strides and held up his flashlight, shining it around the area. He’d fixed a friendly, welcoming smile on his face, one that said, ‘I’m a good guy. I’m here to help,’ but it quickly went out when he realized no one was there.

Another giggle — a little farther away this time. It came from behind him, near a small stand of trees about fifty yards away.

“Shit,” Galloway muttered as he began to jog toward the tiny forest. How the hell did she get all the way over there so fast?

“Look, Trisha, this isn’t funny. If you don’t come out where I can see you right now, you’re gonna be in a heck of a lot of trouble,” he managed between breaths. Too much drink and not enough healthy food had packed on the pounds over the years.

Galloway stepped into the clump of trees and shone his light, sweeping it back and forth until finally, he spied the pink princess dress sticking out the bottom of the girl’s coat—a plastic tiara sat crookedly atop a blonde head. The child was no more than twenty feet away, her back to him.

Slowly, he crept toward her, keeping the light trained on the small figure. Not wanting to speak, or make a sound for fear she’d bolt, he took careful steps until he closed in, ten feet, nine, eight...

She was gone again—zipping through the wooded area and out the other side.

“Hey! Get back here!” he hollered.

Anger and puzzlement filled him. Why the hell was she doing this?

He grabbed the radio fastened to his shoulder. “This is Officer Galloway. I’ve found the girl, but I need back-up now. I’m in the ravine, southeast side, just past the clump of trees.” He released the button and listened for a reply as he stumbled through the forest. It was overgrown with vines and underbrush. Burrs stuck to his pant legs, pinching through the fabric, pricking his skin.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he said as he pushed and yanked the unkempt foliage out of his way. The silk webs of spiders, creatures he abhorred, occasionally fell across his face and he was quick to swipe them away. Why the hell hadn’t anyone thought to check the ravine? He was alone for now, and had no choice but to keep trudging forward.

When Galloway emerged on the other side, he still hadn’t received a reply. Only the buzz of static emanated from his radio.

In the distance was a school. He headed toward it, sweeping the beam back and forth in front of him as he jogged, his chest tightening with the strain. His middle-aged body was no longer suited for strenuous activity.

The vacant schoolyard was lit up like a 7-Eleven. Galloway refastened the flashlight to his belt.

He brought a hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the harsh fluorescents of the standing light posts as well as those mounted to the building. The girl was nowhere to be seen, but Galloway’s instincts told him she was there. He turned a full circle to scout out every possible hiding place, but before moving on to investigate, he called in his request for back-up again. The harsh crackle of what he now figured was a malfunctioning radio squealed back at him.

“Piece of shit.” He tapped the shoulder mic with a finger and then snapped it back in place.

Something hit the back of his head hard enough to jerk him forward. Pain radiated through his skull and the hand that had reflexively touched the spot, came away red. He turned in time to see a rock bouncing away… and something else. A tendril of dread traced a path down his spine when he spied a shadow retreating into the courtyard.

With shaky fingers, he pulled the tail of his shirt from his pants and wiped the blood from his hand. Jesus, hold it together, John, it’s just a kid playing games.

But shit, he had to admit she was starting to annoy him, and though he hated to admit it, maybe even scare him. He should have asked more questions about the child. Did she have special needs? Was she violent? Crazy thoughts, he knew. After all, she was only a kid and he was a grown man, a police officer with decades of experience, but still he fought hard against the urge to pull his sidearm from its holster.

Where was the search team? And the damn helicopter! True, the town was small and usually quiet even on Halloween, but this was a missing child case. A lot of cops booked the night off, claiming it was their duty as a parent to take their kids trick or treating, but Galloway knew the truth. Quiet town or not, Halloween was always a bad night to work, a night when terrible things happened, all in the name of fun. The people who gave out shitty stuff like apples or toothbrushes got their houses decorated in toilet paper. Cars and trick-or-treaters got egged, kids got their candy-filled bags stolen—mostly just pain-in-the-ass stuff, but sometimes things like this nightmare he was in the middle of, happened. If he could get through this night, he promised himself, he’d never work another goddamn Halloween.

“Trisha? Stop playing games,” he called as he turned the corner.

He had her now. Her only escape would be straight past him. Galloway yanked the flashlight from his belt as he neared and trained the beam on a child huddled in a corner. A sigh of relief escaped him and his shoulders relaxed at the sight of her.

She was crouched with her back against the wall, her head buried in her hands. The plastic tiara with its stick-on gems shivered along with her.

The last thing he wanted was to scare the child. Maybe he’d been too stern with her. But hell, she was creeping him out with her games. When he returned her safe and sound to her dad, Galloway decided he wouldn’t tell anyone how panic had almost sent him back up the hill to safety.

“Trisha, it’s okay, honey. You’re safe. Come on with me and we’ll get you back to your daddy.”

He was a couple feet away and held out his hand for the girl to take. He saw her now, all of her, hunched down in her mud-trimmed dress. A plastic wand clenched in a fist. He heard her tiny sobs and bent to his haunches, reaching out a hand to lift her chin.

“Fuck!” he screamed as a searing pain shot through him. He stared in shock at his hand. She’d bitten him! No, she’d done more than that. She’d shredded his index finger, pulling the flesh from the bone as easily as meat off a chicken wing.

He shook his injured hand, trying to quell the pain—a spray of blood dappled the wall beside him. Galloway lost his balance and fell backwards onto his butt. The flashlight rolled away, casting flickering shadows. First big, then small, then big, then small until finally, it came to a stop.

He cradled his injury to his chest before stuffing his hand inside his shirt, hoping the fabric would help stem the flow of blood. His heart beat hard against his ribs and with eyes wide with fear, he frantically searched the spot where he’d cornered the girl. It was darker there than in the open space of the playground. He needed light. He scrabbled toward the flashlight and scooped it up and with his back against the wall, managed to hold the light, now slick his blood, and shine it into every corner.

She hadn’t run, but he wished she had. Somehow, inexplicably in the child’s place, stood a thing. A thing in a pink dress and a plastic tiara.

Galloway froze, paralyzed by fear and confusion. What the fuck...

He passed the beam over its face and scrambled away as a shot of adrenaline propelled him.

The outer edges of its eyes were drawn down at impossible angles giving the impression they were sliding off its face. There was no nose to speak of, only two small holes where a nose should be. And the mouth was huge and gaping and ringed with teeth. Its jaws opened and closed with a grotesque snap, and then it smiled. In its yellow eyes, Office Galloway saw satisfaction.

The strength had poured out of him and he couldn’t find his legs to stand. With his uninjured hand, he tried frantically to unholster his sidearm, but it was on his right side and he couldn’t properly grasp the holster. He tried with his blood-slickened right hand, but his fingers slipped off.

Pouncing like a jungle cat, the thing leapt onto Galloway’s chest, claws sinking into his flesh, jaws snapping just inches from his face. Stringy gobs of bloody sputum dripped thickly onto him, landing in his eyes and open mouth. Bile rose in his throat until he vomited.

Galloway choked out a cough, spitting away the puke. He tried to push the thing off him, but its razor-sharp talons ripped deeper into his flesh as it staked its claim and gained purchase.

A low moan escaped him as the claws of its hind legs, anchored themselves into his thighs. Rivulets of Galloway’s blood streamed down his chest and legs, soaking his clothing and pooling onto the play-hardened dirt around him. A mix of earth and the coppery scent of blood caught in his nostrils—it was the scent of death. A vision of his daughter came to him then. He saw the tiny white coffin being lowered into the ground. He surrendered. Why not join her in death? They’d be together again. Wasn’t that what he wanted anyway?

But something pushed him on. He struggled to pull his legs up under the thing to pry it off, but it had him pinned solidly in place. The creature was incredibly heavy, as if made of concrete. It leaned into him. The weight of it on Galloway’s shredded hand crunched the already exposed bone with a sickening pop. His head swam and the world faded in and out as he struggled to remain conscious.

He heard it before he saw it—above him the helicopter flew, making wide sweeps with its searchlight. Could he hold off the monster until one of the sweeps found him?

There were voices, too, distant but growing louder. The search team!

His arm began to buckle under the weight of the thing. One clear thought threaded through his panic—what are you?

Another sweep of the searchlight, this time only a few feet away.

It pushed the answer into his mind—I am anything I want to be.

The voices were louder, much louder. Could they see him now?

The creature was not the little girl, but it had taken her form. A shape shifter? Did such things even exist?

Yeesss. it answered, its voice a hiss in his mind.

Where’s the girl? he thought/asked.

“Devoured,” was the answer.

His arm finally gave way just as the searchlight froze on him.

Teeth sunk into Galloway’s throat, ripping it out with one bite.

His mind had time to register one last thing: “Today’s the day. The day you die.”