THE WIND SCREAMED ACROSS BRIARTOP MOUNTAIN, AND NEW THARPE sat up in his cot, with cold droplets of sweat on his face.

He'd dreamed of the Lodge again - the massive, illuminated, majestic Lodge where figures moved slowly past the glowing windows as if in some ghostly ballroom - but this time there'd been a difference. He'd been standing on the lakeshore, staring across at the house, and suddenly a pair of upper balcony doors had come open and someone had stepped out. The figure had motioned for him to hurry across the bridge, and New had heard his name called from the distance by a familiar voice.

It was his father's voice, calling him from that glowing palace. His father was standing on the balcony, urging him to cross the bridge, to hurry to the Lodge because the celebration was in New's honor. Come home, his father had called. We're all here, waitin' for you to come home.

New had balked, though the pull of the Lodge on him was an irresistible force. In the dream he'd felt his skin ripple into goosebumps of fear and excitement. His father, an indistinct figure on the upper balcony, had waved and called, Hurry, New! Come home with me!

Across the long bridge, the Lodge's front doorway had opened, throwing out a wide shaft of beautiful golden light. There was a figure standing in that doorway, its arms stretched out to receive him. New couldn't make out who it was, but he thought it wore a dark coat that flapped in the wind.

The Lodge wanted him, he knew. The figure in the doorway wanted him. If New crossed that bridge and entered the Lodge, he could have everything he'd ever desired. He'd never have to lie down on a hard cot in a cold room again; he'd have fine clothes, and good food to eat, and a rug to cover the floor in his bedroom, and books to read and time to wander the green forests of Usherland and know what it was like to call the Lodge his home. He stood at the entrance to the bridge, poised on the edge of a decision. He wanted to cross; he wanted to make his legs move.

But then the wind had screamed and he'd awakened, and now, as the wind shrilled past the cabin, leaking through holes in the roof and walls, he imagined it left a faint, seductive whisper in its wake:

- come home -

He lay back down, bringing the thin blanket up to his chin, and stared at the ceiling. Joe Clayton and his wife had visited the house this afternoon, to see how New was doing. Birdie had trotted along, and barked irritably outside the window. Mr. Clayton had told New and his mother that the damnedest thing had happened this morning when he'd come out to feed Birdie: he'd found the dog standing about thirty yards from the house, staring toward the woods. Birdie was frozen in a point position, his tail standing straight up and his head ducked low. The dog wouldn't respond when Mr. Clayton called him. A thrown pinecone bounced off Birdie's side, and still the dog didn't move. It was only when Mr. Clayton had gotten right next to the animal and whacked his hand on Birdie's rump that the dog whirled around in a crazy circle, snapping at its tail and yowling. Birdie had stretched for about ten minutes, and then he was so hungry he'd almost snapped the food bowl up in his mouth. That dog, Mr. Clayton told New, is old and crazy and not worth a damn - but he sure can hold a point position like you ain't never seen!

Through chinks of silence in the rushing wind, New could hear Birdie's faint barking. It was the wind spookin' him, New thought. It could put even a dog's nerves on edge.

He closed his eyes, inviting sleep.

And then he heard the roof creak above his head.

At once his eyes were open again. He stared upward.

Timbers groaned softly. Then the roof creaked in a different place, over near the corner of the room.

New struck a match from the pack on the table beside his cot, turned up the lantern's wick, and lit it. The light spread slowly, and New swung his legs out from under the blanket.

Above his head, the roof moaned like an old man in sleep. New lifted the lantern high.

His heart pounded as he saw the pine boards bending inward. He heard a long, slow scraping - a claw, testing the roofs strength. Whatever was up there moved again; New followed its progress by watching the boards bowing. Then there was a sharp crack! and a nail clinked to the floor beside New's foot.

The animal remained still, as if listening.

New was frozen, watching the roof strain where the animal stood. It was the same heavy nocturnal thing that had been prowling around the cabin after his pa had died; whatever it was, New thought, the thing had to weigh upwards of three hundred pounds. It stalked across the roof, creaking wood marking its trail. The roof was weak; New feared the creature's weight might bring it crashing through.

A board popped loose with a high whine. The animal stopped again. In the silence left as a rush of wind swept by, New could hear the thing's low, rumbling growl.

It was the same ominous sound he'd heard when he was trapped in the pit.

Greediguts, New thought. The black panther that ran with the Pumpkin Man, now separated from New only by a thin layer of weather-warped pinewood.

Get away from here! New commanded mentally. Get away!

The animal didn't move. New felt the hair at the back of his neck stir. The musky odor of a predatory cat filtered down into the room. New sensed that the creature was aware of him, or that it had seen a glimmer of light through cracks in the timbers. A claw scraped across wood; the thing was sniffing, picking up his scent.

New hurriedly put on his jeans and a heavy dark blue sweater. Then he took the lamp and went to the front room, where he lifted his pa's shotgun from its rack near the door. He broke open the breech to make sure it was loaded with two shells, then clicked it shut again. Above him, the roof groaned. The creature was following him.

In the kitchen, he took the flashlight from its place on a shelf. Armed with the shotgun and the flashlight, New was about to go outside when his mother's voice stopped him.

"Somethin's on the roof!" she whispered. "Listen to it!" She stepped into the range of the lamp that New had set aside, her face pallid and her arms wrapped around her chest. She was wearing a ragged old flannel robe; fear sparked in her eyes like ice crystals. "What is it, New? What's up there?"

"I don't know," he replied. He wasn't sure it was Greediguts; it might be something else that had wandered out of the deep woods. "I'm gonna go find out."

Myra's glance flickered toward the shotgun and the flashlight. "No!" she said urgently. "I ain't gonna let you do that!"

The roof was speaking again; boards popped and groaned as the creature moved over their heads. It was pacing back and forth. The roof was buckling badly where the thing stood; another nail popped loose and fell to the floor.

"Pa would've gone out," New said.

"You ain't your pa!" She grasped her son's arm. "It'll go away. It don't want nothin'. Just leave it be!" She suddenly cried out as nails burst free with the sound of firecrackers going off. New flicked on the flashlight and pointed it upward. The creature had moved across a particularly weak area of the roof, and several boards had cracked loose. His light probed through a hole the size of his fist.

New couldn't hear the thing moving anymore. Either it was off the roof, or it was standing very still. Wind shrilled through the hole and filled the room with a foretaste of winter. He gently pulled free from his mother's grip. "Pa would've gone out," he repeated, and she knew there was nothing more to say.

New followed the flashlight beam off the porch. He was already shivering with the cold. The wind roared around him, and dead leaves rolled through the air, snapping wildly at his cheeks as they passed. While Myra stood in the open doorway, New stepped off the porch and aimed his light up at the roof.

There was nothing up there. New played it slowly back and forth, the shotgun cradled under his right arm, his finger near the trigger. He could hear Birdie baying, and the eerie sound made his flesh crawl.

New walked around to the side of the house. The light revealed nothing.

As he started to turn, something grabbed him by the back of the neck. He could feel claws digging in, and his finger almost squeezed a shot off - but then he reached back and closed his hand around the small treebranch, still bearing a few dead leaves, that had fallen onto his neck. He flung it away in angry disgust.

"New!" his mother called. "Come on back in the house!"

He shone the light up into the trees. Most of the branches still held leaves and defeated the flashlight's beam. The treetops swayed back and forth in the wind's relentless currents.

New continued around to where his mother waited. He passed the discarded old washing machine and stood near the pickup truck, shining the light along the roof again.

"You see anythin'?" Myra called, her voice thin and nervous.

"No, not a thing. Whatever it was is long gone by now."

"Well, come on in out of the cold, then! Hurry!"

New took a step forward - and then his blood turned icy.

He smelled Greediguts, very close to him - the musky rank scent of a hunting cat.

New stopped, aimed the light upward into the trees. The wind roared past, almost throwing him off balance. Branches bent and swayed. Dead leaves tumbled down. It was close, very close . . .

And then he heard his mother scream, "New!" and he whirled around toward the pickup truck.

Something was slithering out from underneath the truck; it moved so fast that New had no time to aim the shotgun. He fired wildly even as he leaped backward, and the truck's passenger door dented in as if punched by a huge fist. But then the monster - a sinewy dark shape that moved like velvet lightning -  had burst out of its hiding place, and as it suddenly reared up on its hind legs, towering over New by more than a foot, it was caught for a second in the glare of the light.

The creature was a black panther from a madman's nightmare. Its massive head was misshapen and elongated, its sharp-tipped ears laid back along the skull, its chest ridged with muscle. The beast's eyes were an incandescent, hypnotic golden green, the pupils rapidly shrinking to vertical slashes in the light. As New staggered backward in shock, he saw the creature's claws extend; they were three inches long and curved into vicious hooks. Its mouth opened, exposing yellow fangs - and from the mouth came a high, bloodcurdling cry that sank to an eerie rattle. The body was covered with short jet-black hair, though on its underbelly the skin was gray and leathery.

Still balanced on its hind legs, the monster leaped forward in a blur of motion.

New was ready with the shotgun. The second shell exploded -  but the panther had twisted suddenly to one side, ducking the pellets. It landed on all fours, whirled to attack New's rear, and hurtled toward him.

He had no time to protect himself. Three hundred pounds of animal fury were about to crash into him.

Through his panic, a vision in his mind shone with diamond clarity: the panther flinging itself toward a wall of rough stones that stood between them. The wall was a phantom construction of crooked blue lines and angles that pulsated in the air; through it he could see the panther, and their eyes locked

The wall's THERE! he shouted to himself.

A guttural grunt of pain came from the beast's throat, as its leap was blocked in midair. Some of the blue phantom stones were jarred out of place - but then Greediguts was tumbling backward. It slammed into the pickup truck's side and whirled around in a mad circle, snapping at the air. New caught a glimpse of its tail, writhing wildly back and forth, and heard the menacing buzz of a snake's rattles.

The blue wall was fading quickly. Holes broke open as if through smoke. On the porch, Myra was screaming for help. Greediguts shook its head violently, blinking its eyes in dazed confusion, and sprang toward the boy again.

This time New visualized pieces of jagged glass in the wall, and made it four feet thick. He could hear his brain humming and cracking like a machine. The wall strengthened, throbbing with power.

Greediguts hit it headfirst. For an awful instant the wall shook, and New feared the beast was going to rip right through. He felt the shock as if someone had struck him hard in the forehead.

The beast howled and fell back, sprawling on its side. When it scrambled to its feet, its eyes were glazed and wary, its head lowered. Through the fading wall they faced each other. New's heart was hammering, but he stood his ground; the panther lifted its head to smell the air, and New saw a long black forked tongue dart quickly from its mouth.

The wall was as thin as silk. Threads of pain were beginning to run across New's skull. All his attention was focused on the animal; he heard his mother's frantic shouts as if from within a dark, distant well.

Greediguts lifted a foreleg and clawed at the air. The beast began to pace back and forth, darting in and then feinting back. Its gaze was fixed on him, and New felt the rage sear through to his soul. The panther's eyes flared like bursts of fire.

The wall was almost gone, wisping rapidly away.

Build it back! New told himself. The wall is there, strong and thick!

It began to take on definite lines once more, stone by stone. His head was pounding, and he felt the panther's stare on him; the thing was trying to hypnotize him. As their eyes met and locked again, New felt a terrible, cold power puncture his resolve. A dark whirlpool of dizziness began to spin around him.

Greediguts was motionless. Its tongue flicked out, disappeared again.

The wall between them trembled and started to fall apart. No! New said mentally, trying to visualize it as he had before. Build it back, strong and thick! But it was fading away, and the disrupting pain in New's head was savage.

The panther was waiting, ready to leap.

- little man -

The soft, mocking voice had curled around New's throat like a velvet whip.

- little man of the house -

It came from nowhere and everywhere, so cold it ached in his bones. The wall was full of holes, swaying like a spiderweb.

- little man of the house what are you going to do?

The panther sprang, its jaws opening wide. It ripped through the smoky wall, claws stretched toward the boy who stood frozen before it.

Less than three feet from slashing New's head off, Greediguts was hit by something in the air and lifted up over New, turning end over end. New felt a freezing wave of power strike him, flinging him to the ground as the panther's claws swiped at empty air above his head.

Greediguts was carried six feet past New, and slammed into the base of an oak tree with the sound of crunching bone. The animal roared in surprise and agony - and when it hit the ground again, it leaped into the underbrush.

New heard the thing crashing away; in another moment there was nothing but the noise of the wind in the trees. His nerves jangled, and as his mother reached him, he looked up into her stricken face and babbled, "Pa would've gone out long gone long gone Pa would've gone out. . ."

She sank down to her knees and held him in her arms as his mind continued to skip like a scratched record. When his feverish babbling stopped, he began sobbing hysterically.

Myra held him close. His heart was beating so hard she feared it was going to explode. Thai she caught a movement from the corner of her eye and she looked toward the road.

A thin figure stood time, right at the edge of the forest. The wind was whipping through a long dark coat.

Then she knew she was crazy, because she blinked and whatever it was had vanished.

"Come on, now," she said gently, though her voice was shaking. She could not understand what she'd seen - the monster panther leaping at her son and being knocked down in empty air - but she knew that tonight her son's life had been saved by something she dared not question: a powerful witchcraft that lingered in the unsettled air like the acrid odor of brimstone.

The wind swirled around them, keening and pulling, coming from different directions at once. Myra helped her son to his feet, and together they walked toward the cabin. She had seen the shine of the monster's eyes as it began to crawl from under the truck; whatever kind of thing it was, it had had sense enough to wait until New's back was turned. He was in danger; she knew that now, saw it clearly. Though she might close her eyes to the Pumpkin Man and the other things that roamed Briartop's woods, there was no mistaking that the creature had lured New outside to kill him. He was all she had now, and she didn't know how to protect him.

But there was one who might.

She helped her son stagger through the door, then closed and bolted it.

At the forest's edge, the Mountain King stood like a frail sapling, watching the Tharpe house. He had not moved during New's confrontation with the panther, but now his shoulders stooped forward wearily, and he leaned on his twisted cane for support. He was cold, and his nose was running. Frost lay deep in his bones; in his shallow breathing he could hear the rattle of phlegm.

He waited, listening to the wind. It spoke to him of death and destruction, the world in a state of passage. Dead leaves whirled around him, and some snagged in his beard. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and thought that years ago, when he still had good sense, he could've slammed Greediguts against that oak so hard the hide would've shredded right off its bones. As it was, he'd given the panther a good hard jolt - but Greediguts would find a place to hide and lick its wounds, and by first light it would be on the prowl again.

The panther wouldn't return here tonight. For now, the boy was safe.

But who was he? And what was his part in the battle that the Mountain King had been fighting ever since the night that comets had fallen on Briartop Mountain? Those were questions the old man couldn't answer.

He shivered and coughed repeatedly into his hand. His lungs had begun burning lately. When his spasm was over, he started the long trek home.