I jump half out of my pants when I turn from the door and see Boot standing in my room partially hidden in the shadows. "What are you doing here?"

From his expression it's something bad. "My son is missing. He talks about killing hellhounds all the time. His plastic knife is missing along with his bicycle."

Fear seizes me. Hellhounds are the creatures of my nightmares, and the terror I feel at even the thought of being near them almost takes me to my knees. "He would go ...