Every evening, when the mist began to rise, mothers came out to call their children home. When it started, years ago, sometimes a child had lingered, unwilling to abandon a game-"Just let me finish this!"-and a ripple of panic had spread from woman to woman. The mother nearest the child yanked it up by its arm, sent it scooting homeward. "You do as your mother says!" And to her own children, "Don't you ever make me wait when I've called you in, do you understand?"

Standing by the hencoop near the trees, calling the hens to come for their evening grain, Fern felt her skin begin to prickle. It was only dusk, not properly night yet, but under the trees darkness had begun already to gather. Not enough, not yet, but she still found herself looking round, checking, watching in case something started to move.

Every summer day of her childhood she had played out until lamp-lighting time. Not in the forest, of course, but in the village and around the lake, in and out of her friends' houses until the first stars showed. Even then, if she had been around the far side of the lake and was late getting home, her mother might have been irritated, but never frightened.

But that had been before the Shadows came.

Thank goodness. The last hen had come up inside the coop, pecking greedily at the grain. She latched the door and pulled the bolts across, then lit the lantern and hung it on its hook so that its light fell over and around the coop. She picked up the grain pail and walked to the big farmhouse where the windows already glowed, splashing light out onto the path. She wouldn't let herself run-that was the way to allow the panic in-but her steps quickened until she reached the door.

The kitchen was full of light and people. Fern stepped inside, the hairs on the back of her neck smoothing back down. Light everywhere, every gas mantle turned up high. The doors of the big oak linen press by the wall stood open: the only shadows that could lurk in there were the ones in corners and folds of fabric, too small for danger. Even the coalscuttle, which was scarcely half Fern's height, had been pulled away from the wall so that it stood a handspan away from the growing dark outside.

Siege preparations, and none too many.