The Night Wanderer by Drew Hayden Taylor

she could before the night and tiredness would force her home. But tonight it was still early, and though she shivered occasionally, she was enjoying herself.
    So there she sat, under stars far older then she could contemplate, smoking her cigarettes. She was thinking about her cousin Tiffany and her new boyfriend, wondering if someday she’d get a boyfriend. Or if she wanted one. Every relationship she’d seen start up had eventually come apart. Many times, especially on beautiful nights such as this, she thought it was better to be alone. The peace, the quiet, maybe it was better to spend your life alone, just you and your thoughts. She had never bought into all that romantic crap anyway. Nothing could beat a peaceful evening like this. Sharing it would mean talking, and there would go the peace.
    Then, off in the distance, coming down Joplin’s Turn, she noticed a car approaching. She didn’t recognize it, and it was getting kind of late for strangers to be driving the reserve roads. It was driving slow, like it was lost. Or looking for someone. It drove around the day care, then suddenly turned toward her in the playground.
    Trish became uncomfortable. Living in a small community she knew who to avoid and who to trust. But this was a strange car, and all bets were off. Trish put one foot on the sandy ground as she slowly slid off the picnic table, ready to run if necessary. Admittedly, she was curious, but she was smart enough to know curiosity could cause a lot of damage if you weren’t careful.
    The car came to a stop directly in front of her. The engine hummed, almost silently, as Trish put her second foot on the sand. There was something definitely creepy about the car and the way it just sat there. Like it was judging her. Around her everything seemed to go silent. In fall, most of the insects were gone, but there were still enough animal noise coming from the grass and bush to let you know you weren’t alone on the land. But now, silence. Just the sound of the car idling.
    â€œYou looking for something?” She hardly recognized her own voice.
    The window slowly came down, revealing . . . blackness. Trish could just barely make out the lit gauges on the dashboard, but other than that, it was like looking into the bottom of a well. Nothing. Then she heard the voice.
    â€œYes.”
    It was rich, deep, and had an almost echoing quality. The single three-letter word she heard was crisp, strong, and commanding. There was somebody in there, in the shadows, but she still couldn’t see him. But he could see her, and she felt alone and vulnerable.
    Any other night she would have run, but for some reason, Trish was rooted to the sand, her left hand grasping the top of the picnic table. Her mind was dizzy, and it was like there was a fog billowing through her consciousness. She was finding it hard to concentrate. The measured tone of the voice and the blackness that she saw in the car seemed to be pulling her. But once more she found the conviction and nerve to speak. “Wh . . . who . . . ?”
    For a second and a half, there was silence. Then came the response: “Come here, please.” This time, the voice sent a ripple down her spine, though she couldn’t quite say it was a chill. It was just her body reacting to the man’s tone. Though it went against all the types of survival training they taught her and all the other kids in school, she found herself approaching the car. The voice was a magnet, pulling her legs closer. Something within her knew that she should be kicking up stones to the nearest house as fast as her legs could carry her, but . . . maybe she could do that later. Trish leaned over and looked in the car window.
    For a moment, it seemed like the dark frame that sat in the driver’s seat had red eyes, but then she realized it was probably the reflection from the dashboard lights. “I’m looking for Keith Hunter’s house. Where is it,