Night My Friend by Edward D. Hoch

cured homicidal maniac. Maybe, hell.
    “It looks a little like rain,” Jean was agreeing. “Maybe we’d all better start packing up.” I followed her gaze toward the single small black cloud moving fast in the eastern sky and almost laughed in her pretty face. They were all damned scared of old Sam.
    I walked vaguely back in the direction of the cars, knowing, feeling that six pairs of eyes were boring holes in my back. “So long,” I called out, half turning toward them for a final wave. It hadn’t been much of a visit, not much of a one at all.
    Fred Dutton ran after me and caught me at the top of the hill. “Sam, look, come over to the house some night, huh?”
    “Sure, Fred.”
    “Don’t be bitter.”
    “I’m not. Guess I just thought everything would be the same, like the old days.”
    Fred Dutton looked suddenly solemn. “There were eight of us in the old days, Sam. There aren’t any more. It can’t ever be the same, I guess. You gotta understand that.”
    “Sure. I’ll call you, Fred.”
    “Do that.”
    I went on down the hill and opened my car door. I guess I would have gone on home after all if I hadn’t seen the kid again just then. Katie Thames, in her red shorts and striped shirt, wandering over the top of the hill. She must have been almost three. I could remember the night she was born, when things were so much better.
    “Katie, Katie girl!” I called softly. “Come here, doll.”
    She came, a bit uncertainly, but remembering me now from our meeting of only moments before. “Hello,” she said.
    “Come on, Katie, let’s run down by the water and play. Let’s sneak down real quiet, so mommy and daddy don’t hear us.” Yes, before I left, before I went out of their lives for good, I’d give them something to remember me by—especially Charlie and Laura.
    We made our way through the underbrush and came out suddenly near the point where Joe and I had been walking. I led her around to the other side of the pond, though, until I was sure we would be in view of the picnic people—in view but out of touch. Let them scream and carry on then, damn them. Let them tell me to leave their precious kids alone.
    “Here, Katie. We’ll play a little game. Up here.” I motioned her up on a rock, and watched her running with all the vigor and anticipation of a two-year-old. The rock jutted out a bit over the still, mirrored surface of the pond, and I knew from the old days that the kids often used it as a sort of diving-board for illegal swimming.
    Now, my breath coming faster, I waited until she was within reach of my hands. Then I grabbed her up, suddenly, before she could give more than a little grasp. I held her by her tiny ankles and dangled her from the rock, upside down over the stagnant waiting waters.
    “Scream now!” I told her. “Scream your head off! I’m going to drop you.” And I lowered her a few inches toward the water.
    She screamed, a high tiny sound that barely managed to drive the birds from the nearest trees. And I wondered if they would hear. I wondered if they would come running to rescue her. I wondered if I would really let her tiny body drop into the water, perhaps just too soon to be rescued. She was not like the other one, not at all like the other one. She was too helpless, even for the killing, too small for anything like picnics. She needed to grow up, just as cattle must be fattened for market, needed to live.
    “Scream! Louder!”
    “Sam! You crazy fool!
    It was Joe Falconi in the lead, splashing across the very middle of the shallow pond. Joe Falconi, up to his chest in the dirty water. And Laura, screaming in terror. Charlie, running toward me as he shouted a string of curses. Fred and Dora and Jean. Beautiful Jean. All horrified. Six horrified humans. Let her fall. Let her fall now. Give them a scare.
    But already Joe was beneath me, smashing the reflecting surface of the pool, holding out his arms to catch her. Already Charlie and Fred were grappling