Demon Child

back from the branches, undersides showing a lighter green.
        Walter went into town to attend to some private business of his own a few minutes after six. He said he would take his dinner in a restaurant. The house seemed lonelier when he was gone, vacant and hollow. Jenny was in a much better temper when he was here, even if she did not encounter him. Just to know he was close at hand was sufficient.
        At twenty minutes past six, Harold prepared to serve dinner to the twins and went to knock on their door to tell them to come downstairs. It was then that he discovered Freya was not in the bedroom where she should have been cleaning up for dinner. Frank had not seen her since he had gone to take his own shower at a quarter to six.
        At six thirty, Harold had finished looking in all the other rooms on the second floor, disturbing both Jenny and Cora, though he did not tell them what the matter was. He had served too many years in domestic situations to be so flighty as to frighten everyone before he had checked everything out himself.
        At six-thirty-five, he had checked the third floor rooms, the unused and cobwebbed chambers now turned over to dust and spiders. Freya was nowhere about, and when he came down he took care to lock the door that went up there, for it had not been locked when he had first tried it.
        At six-forty-one, he had looked into all the ground floor rooms, had asked Anna if she had seen the child, and went to the front of the house to survey the grounds. Anna had not seen her.
        At six-fifty, he was on his way back from the stables. He had still not found any sign of her, and all of the horses were there, including the pony which the children rode.
        It was four minutes before seven when he rapped on Cora's door, winced at her exhausted expression when she answered it.
        “Yes, Harold?”
        “Bad news, Ma'am.”
        “And that is?”
        “Freya's missing.”
        Shortly thereafter, all six of them were combing the house for places that Harold might have overlooked, closets and pantries. And even though the basement entrance was always kept locked, they went down there, in that place of fruit cellars and cold storage chambers, much of it hewn out of massive blocks of limestone upon which the foundation rested.
        They called for her.
        She did not answer.
        They made Frank list the places on the grounds where the two of them most enjoyed playing together.
        She was not to be found in any of these places.
        Jenny fervently wished that Walter had not gone to town, that he could be here with them now, offering his intelligent suggestions and making the disappearance seem like nothing more extraordinary than the sun rising in the morning. She needed the aura of stability that he projected. Especially when she was forced, again and again during the course of the search, into Richard's company.
        When they met back at the house after exploring the immediate grounds, thunder filled the sky and the first bolts of white lightning tore open the clouds and stabbed at the earth. It had not yet begun to rain, but the full force of the storm would smash down upon them at any moment.
        “Where could she be?” Cora asked. She wrung her hands together, twisting white knuckles through white knuckles.
        “The woods,” Richard said.
        “How do you know?”
        “It's the only place left. If she isn't in the woods, then she's off the property somewhere. I can't picture her climbing the fence or the main gate. She's got to be on the estate somewhere.”
        “But why?” Cora asked. “It makes no sense. Why would she want to run away from us?”
        “We'll know when we find her,” Richard said. He turned to Harold. “Get my raincoat, boots, and a hat of some sort that will keep the rain off me. I'll start with the woods behind the house.”
        “Can I help?” Jenny volunteered. Truthfully, she did not want to leave the warmth and safety of the house-especially not in a thunderstorm and especially not to search the dim forests for a child that claimed she was demon-possessed. But, again, Leona Pitt Brighton's teaching got the upper hand of the young woman's fear. Trouble only grew worse if you ran away from it-and only receded when you faced it down.
        “We'll see,” Richard said. “I'll check out the nearest woods. If she isn't there, if she has run farther