So the young man had been telling the truth. “Yes, I heard,” Lavinia said.
“Well, that’s not the worst part,” said her father. “It seems the police have finally identified their chief suspect—the couple’s adopted son. They’re hunting him now.”
Lavinia felt her head go light. “What did you say?”
“See for yourself.”
Her father pushed the paper toward her across the table. Above the fold was a grainy likeness of the young man who had been in her room only hours earlier. Lavinia fell heavily into a chair and clung to the edge of the table as the room began to spin.
“Are you feeling all right?” asked her father.
Before she could answer, there came a loud bang from the direction of her bedroom. The new nightmare ball had finished forming, and now it wanted to be near her.
Thud. Thud.
“Douglas, are you playing tricks?” her father called out.
“I’m here,” said Douglas, wandering out of the kitchen in his pajamas. “What’s that noise?”
Lavinia raced to her room, removed the chair, and opened her door. The thread had indeed formed a sphere. This New Baxter was huge—nearly half her height and as wide as the doorway—and it was mean. It rolled around Lavinia in a tight circle, growling and sniffing, as if deciding whether or not to eat her. When her father came bounding upstairs, New Baxter leaped at him. Lavinia shot out her hand and managed to grab one of its threads, and using all her strength she managed to hold the creature back.
She yanked New Baxter into her room and slammed the door. Her heart hammered as she watched it eat her desk chair, discharging a pile of wood chips behind it in an excremental trail.
Oh, this was bad. This was terrible.
Not only was New Baxter like a rabid dog compared to Old Baxter—it was made not from the dreams of an innocent child but the nightmares of a rotten-souled murderer—but there was a killer on the loose, and thanks to her he was now free of fear and inhibition. If he killed again, it would be at least partly her fault. She couldn’t just throw New Baxter in a fire and be rid of it. She had to put it back from whence it had come: inside the young man’s head.
The idea frightened her. How would she find him? And when she did, what would stop him from killing her, too? She didn’t know—all she knew was that she had to try.
She pulled a fat handful of threads from New Baxter and wound them around her arm like a leash. Then she yanked it across the room and through her open window. On the ground outside was a torn piece of the young man’s shirt. She picked it up and gave it to New Baxter to sniff.
“Dinner,” she said.
The result was instantaneous: New Baxter nearly pulled Lavinia’s arm off, tugging her across the yard and then down the road by its leash. New Baxter chased the young man’s scent trail for much of the day, leading Lavinia all through town in circles, then out the other side of it. They traveled down a rural road into the middle of nowhere. Finally, just as the sun was setting, they came upon a large, isolated building: Mrs. Hennepin’s orphanage.
Smoke was pouring from the lower-floor windows. It was on fire.
Lavinia heard screams from the other side of the building. She ran around the corner, pulling New Baxter after her. Five orphans were at an upper-floor window, gasping for breath as smoke billowed around them. On the ground below stood the young man, laughing.
“What have you done!” Lavinia cried.
“This house of horrors is where I spent my formative years,” he said. “Now I’m ridding the world of nightmares, just like you.”
New Baxter strained toward the young man.
“Go get him!” Lavinia said, and dropped the leash.
New Baxter spun across the ground toward the young man—but instead of eating him, it leaped into the young man’s arms and licked his face.
“Hey there, old friend!” the young man said, laughing. “I don’t have time to play right now, but here—go fetch!”
He picked up a stick and threw it. New Baxter chased it straight into the burning building. Moments later there came an inhuman scream as New Baxter was consumed by flames.
Defenseless now, Lavinia tried to run, but the young man caught her, knocked her to the ground, and wrapped his hands around her throat.
“You’re going to die now,” he said calmly. “I owe you a great deal for removing those awful nightmares from my head, but I can’t have you plotting to kill me.”
Lavinia struggled for breath. She could feel herself blacking out.
Then something jerked inside her pants pocket.
Old Baxter.
She took him out and jammed him into the young man’s ear. The young man pulled his hands away from Lavinia’s throat and fumbled at his ear, but he was too late; Old Baxter had already wriggled inside his head.
The young man stared into the distance, as if reading something only he could see. Lavinia squirmed but still could not get away from him.
The young man looked down at her and smiled. “A clown, a few giant spiders, and a boogeyman under the bed.” He laughed. “A child’s dreams. How sweet—I shall enjoy these!” And he resumed strangling her.
She kneed the young man in the stomach, and for a moment he removed his hands from her throat. He then curled his hand into a fist, but before he could strike her, she said:
“Baxter, heel!”
And Baxter—old, faithful Baxter—exited the young man’s head suddenly and violently, flying out of his ears, his eyes, and his mouth along with a gout of thick red blood. He fell backward, gurgling, and Lavinia sat up.