"No!" Tiller shouted, staring forward. "Don't you see? My dad wants me to stay here!"

The figure at the other end of Michael's flashlight beam waved as if to indicate that Tiller should stay.

Michael turned to Bulmer. "You don't see anything?"

"No." Bulmer struggled to hang on to Tiller, who fought to escape. "I don't see anything."

Tiller surged in the man's grasp, bellowing out curses, screaming out to his father. Michael helped hold Tiller back, having real difficulty in the muddy water swirling over his feet.

As Michael watched, the ghost… the image, he corrected himself… broke into a run. Surefooted as a mountain goat, the specter seemed to have no problem at all running across the muddy ground. The hanged man sprinted across the short distance. His feet didn't disturb the water, and whatever noise he made didn't sound over the pealing thunder crashing through the heavens.

"Noooooo!" Tiller yelled. Instead of fighting against Bulmer and Michael, he suddenly reversed his efforts and tried to flee. Bulmer barely kept his footing, and Michael dropped to one knee, feeling the mud close around him.

In the next instant the ghost slammed into Tiller and Michael at the same time a bolt of lightning smacked the ground near them. A blinding moment of pain passed through Michael. He felt Tiller ripped from his hands, but that wasn't his main concern, because he suddenly fell backward, blown by some arcane force, and landed in the cold mud.

Time returned to Michael in a rush. He actually felt his heart start again, feeling like the beat had been primed with a stick of dynamite or TNT.

"Just lie still," Bulmer was saying.

Michael pushed the man's hands away. "I'm okay." He glanced down at Tiller as he pushed himself to a seated position. "How's he?"

"Out," Bulmer said. He laid a hand at the side of Tiller's neck. "He's got a strong pulse."