"Yes," Timmy mumbled.
"Who?"
"Aw, come on, Dad. I don't want to say. It's embarrassing."
"You can tell me. I won't say anything to your mother. Is she cute?" Timmy took a deep breath. "It's Katie Moore."
Grinning, his father slapped his knee in delight. The bed springs groaned from the sudden movement.
"Katie, huh? That's great. She's going to be a knockout when she gets older. Does she know you like her?"
"Yes. We're going together. We talked about it today."
"Going steady?" Randy reached out and ruffled Timmy's hair. "Well, how about that. My little guy is finally growing up."
Despite his embarrassment, Timmy smiled. Once he' d finally admitted it, he was surprised to find that it actually felt good to share the news with his father. Maybe his dad was right. Maybe he should talk to him about things like this more often. Like Doug had said earlier, Timmy was pretty lucky.
He had a father, unlike Doug, and his father was pretty cool most of the time, unlike Barry 's.
Still grinning, Randy got to his feet. "Well, I'll let you get back to your reading. Still wish you'd read about other stuff, for a change. Don' t stay up past eleven, okay?" Timmy decided to take a chance.
"Dad, wait. Can I talk to you about something else?"
"Sure." Randy sat back down again. "What's up?"
"Well… I'm not sure where to start. This may sound kind of weird."
"Try me."
"Okay." Timmy swallowed. "I think I know what happened to Pat and Karen, and all the others."
His father blinked. "Well, Timmy, I know it was traumatic finding Pat' s body the way you boys did, but according to your mother, the police have cautioned against assuming the other disappearances are related."
"Do you believe that, Dad?"
"I think it's safe to assume that whoever killed Pat probably killed… that the same thing might have happened to Karen. But we just don' t know about the others yet."
"But this morning, when you warned us to stay around the house, I thought you were assuming the same thing."
"Maybe I was. Look, Timmy, I don't have all the answers. I'm just worried about youand your friends. Something's going on and I don' t want it to affect you any more than it already has. Whatever it is that 's happened to the others, I don't want it happening to you. Let's just let the police find out who's responsible."
"But, Dad, that's just it. I know who it is! I know who's behind this."
"Who, Timmy? And how do you know? Is there something you didn't tell the detective when he interviewed you?"
"No. I figured it out later, when I got home. That's why I'm doing all this research." Randy's face grew concerned. "What do you mean?"
"The person that killed Pat isn't a person at all. It's a ghoul." His father didn't speak, and Timmy assumed he was too shocked to reply. Gathering his courage, he pressed ahead.
"You said I could talk to you about what's going on. Well this is what's going on." He proceeded to tell his father about all that he suspected, blurting out a breathless, excited litany of the past month' s chronological events and how they connected to facts regarding ghoul legends. Occasionally, to clarify a point or back up a position, Timmy would rifle through the stack of comics and hold one up for verification, pointing to the specific panels where he ' d gotten the information. Randy kept quiet, listening with rapt attention to all that his son had to say. He started to interrupt once, when Timmy voiced his suspicions about Clark Smeltzer, but then he fell silent again. His mouth was tight, his face grim. When Timmy had finished, he was speechless. Timmy waited expectantly for some sort of response anythingbut none was forthcoming. His father merely stared at him.
"Dad?"
Blinking, Randy shook his head slightly, as if waking up from a daydream.
"Dad," Timmy said again, "what should we do? Do you think we should tell the police?"
"No." His father's voice was sad and hoarse. "No, Timmy, I don't think we should call the police."
"But why not? It could be out there right now."
"That's enough, Tim."
"But Dad, you said that you'd listen to me. You said I could talk to you. What's wrong?
Don't you believe me?"
Randy sighed. "No, Tim. I don't."
Timmy's heart sank.
"But… but it all makes sense. Even Grandpa's grave." Randy tensed. "Stop it, Timothy. Just stop this right now."
"Don't you care? The ghoul could have tunneled into his coffin."
"I said stop it."
"It could have eaten Grandpa."
"I said stop it!"
In the living room, Elizabeth heard the outburst. Gasping, she ran down the hall. She flung the door open and stared at them, frightened. Tears rolled down her son 's face. He was sitting upright against the headboard, shrinking away from his father. Her husband looked angrier than she'd seen him in a long time.
"What on earth is going on in here? What's wrong?"
"Tell your mother," Randy spat. "Tell your mother the same nonsense you just told me."
"I… I…" Timmy trailed off, stifling a sob.
Randy stood up, fists clenched at his sides. Elizabeth touched his shoulder, but he shrugged her away.
"Randy, what is going on?"
"Our son," he said through gritted teeth, "thinks that a monster is on the loose next door in the cemetery. He says that it' s in cahoots with Clark Smeltzer, and that the two of them are robbing graves. He thinks that this monster, this ghoul, is eating people. He thinks that it ate… my father."
Elizabeth's eyes went wide with shock. Her head whipped back and forth in denial.
"Timmy," she cried, "why would you say such horrible things?" More tears rolled down his face. "Because it's the truth, Mom. I can prove it."
"Honey, you know it's not the truth. There is no such thing as monsters. And Mr. Smeltzer? I'll admit, he has problems, but Barry's father is"
"Barry's father is a monster," Timmy shouted. "Jesus Christ, are you both blind?"
"Don't take the Lord's name in vain."
"Mom, don't you know what Mr. Smeltzer does to Barry and his mom? He's evil, and he's working with that thing out there. That ghoul."
"Timothy Graco," Elizabeth snapped. "You stop talking like that this instant. There is no monster living in the cemetery. You know that."
"It' s these funny books," Randy said, seizing a handful off the bed. He crumpled them in his fist. "This garbage. I told you Reverend Moore was right. We shouldn 't be letting him read this bullshit. These comics are where he gets these ideas. They're a bad influence." Timmy cried out as his father continued to squeeze, crumpling the comic beyond any hope of repair.
"Your father is right," his mother said. "Like earlier, when you said that you and your friends blew up a dead animal. That type of behavior just isn't acceptable."
"I'm sorry," Timmy said. "We won't do it again. But I'm not lying about the ghoul."
"No more," Randy said. "I'll have no more of this nonsense. It's not normal, Timothy. These things you believe innormal people don' t think about monsters and demons." He tossed the comics on the floor and stalked out of the room. Timmy leapt out of bed and scooped them up. He flattened the comic books out on his mattress and tried to smooth them.
"Look at this," he sobbed. "Look what he did. He ruined them." Elizabeth tried to soothe him. "Timmy. Calm down, sweetie. Your father is very angry right now, and he's had a long day."
"I don't care. It isn't right."
"Honey, did you really say that about your grandfather?"
"Yes."
"But why? Can't you see how hurtful that is to your father? How wrong it was to make up such a horrible story?"
"It's true!" Timmy looked up at her with redrimmed eyes. "See for yourself. His grave is sinking."
"That's normal, Timmy. Graves settle after a few weeks, especially if it rains like it did last night. You can't make up lies like that."