Desolation by Derek Landy Page A

it, some genuine talent, but there was something else – something about that smile that unnerved Kelly. Linda took a picture of it with her phone.
    “Got something else,” Ronnie said. “A name – Donnie Welker. Says here the Narrow Man got him in 2003.”
    Linda hurried over, documenting the message.
    They found five more references to the Narrow Man, and then Warrick said, “Found it.”
    They crowded round him. On the wall, almost at the corner and faded, yet isolated from the other scrawls, almost as if nobody dared paint over it, was a short rhyme.
     
    The Narrow Man, the Narrow Man,
    He’ll sniff you out, you know he can.
    Counting, counting, one, two, three,
    Your name he’ll call, his face you’ll see.
    Tap at your window, tap at your door,
    You can hide no longer, run no more.
    The Narrow Man, the Narrow Man,
    He’ll drag you to hell, fast as he can.
     
    “He’s here, all right,” said Ronnie.
     
    “Look at this,” said Kelly, waving to a group of kids hanging out in the trees behind them. “We have an audience.”
    Two bounded over. A few of the kids backed away, but most of them made a fuss over the dumb dog as he licked their hands and rolled on to his back so they’d scratch his belly.
    Kelly and the others walked over.
    “Hi there,” she said. The kids regarded her warily. “Could you do us a favour? Me and my friends were wondering what that Narrow Man thing is all about. We’ve heard of him, we’re kind of geeks for this sort of crap, but we’ve never seen anything so concentrated as this.”
    Some of the kids, the ones who were wary of the dog, glanced at each other and walked away.
    One of the other kids who stayed gave a shrug. “So what’s the favour?”
    “Actually, less of a favour, more of a … job, really.” Kelly took out a crumpled ten-dollar bill. “What can you tell us about him?”
    “He’s a story,” said the kid.
    “What kind of story?” Ronnie asked.
    “Creepy bedtime story.”
    “He’s the boogeyman,” said a girl.
    “Yeah, that’s it,” the boy said. “The boogeyman. Comes out and snatches away naughty boys and girls.”
    “What about the rhyme?” asked Linda.
    “Just something we used to say. Something fun.”
    Warrick took a treat from his pocket, tossed it to Two. “He ever snatch away anyone you know?”
    “Are you stupid or something?” the boy asked. “He’s a story. He’s not real.”
    Warrick jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I think whoever drew that picture thought he was real.”
    “My cousin drew that,” said a smaller kid at the back, “and you don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s a nursery rhyme. Just something kids used to say.”
    “What about the counting, counting, one, two, three thing?” Ronnie asked. “What’s that mean?”
    The kids looked at each other uneasily, until Ronnie produced another ten.
    The first kid tracked it like a heat-seeker. “Everyone in town votes,” he said. “If you misbehave, parents and teachers and whatever will write your name on a piece of paper and put it into the box in the square. They do it to scare the younger kids into doing what they’re told.”
    Kelly frowned. “And what are they voting for?”
    Not to be outdone, the girl spoke up. “The Narrow Man comes for whoever gets the most votes. Or he’s supposed to, anyway. But everyone knows the votes are never counted.”
    “That’s pretty messed up,” said Warrick.
    “It’s a crock of shit,” the girl said, shrugging. “Like everything else people do here.”
    “What’s the festival that’s happening on Wednesday?” Kelly asked.
    The kids clammed up. Warrick sighed, and gave each of them a ten.
    “We don’t talk about it,” said the first kid.
    “So what is it?”
    “We don’t talk about it.”
    “But … dude, I gave you another ten.”
    “So?”
    They turned to go.
    “Wait,” said Ronnie. “What’s your cousin’s name, the one who drew the picture? Maybe we can talk to