The nightmare monster lurked in the darkness, waiting for him to move and betray his location. The shadows shifted, revealing a hulking shape swaying from side to side at the far end of the tunnel.

  According to his grandfather, in order to get out of the maze of tunnels, he needed to climb a rope and find a blue light.

  A new passage in the rock opened next to him, and he inched forward to where a jagged fracture broke the cavern floor. Musky fear filled his mouth as he searched the darkness overhead. At least the dream was consistent, for once again a translucent green rope dangled over the void, just out of reach.

  The clicking of claws on rock set his heart pounding. A glance over his shoulder revealed the massive bear-like creature sweeping toward him, its red eyes piercing the dark.

  Corvan whirled about, leapt off the edge, latched onto the rope, and climbed furiously. A roar filled his ears as the creature's fetid breath rolled past him, propelling him toward the rock shelf and a blue glow just overhead.

  His breath came in ragged gasps as his sweaty hands slipped on the rope. He heaved himself higher, but the rope only stretched and grew thinner.

  When he gripped the rope even tighter, it squished like jelly between his fingers. He plummeted toward the open jaws, a strangled scream trapped in his lungs.

  Corvan sat bolt upright in his bed and wiped the sweat from his brow. A shiver crawled up his spine. The green rope and the search for the blue light were connected to stories his grandfather used to tell before he vanished. No doubt those same stories were somehow connected to his upcoming birthday. He had overheard snippets of conversation about his grandfather in the hushed discussions and arguments his parents were having as the day grew closer. No wonder the nightmare was coming more frequently.

  Pulling his knees in close, he wrapped his arms around them and gazed out the window. An owl hooted in the trees. Something moved on top of Castle Rock. A shadowed figure running on its hind legs moved past the southern gap between the boulders. A moment later it crossed back again.

  The lizard was back and this was is chance to catch it!

  Slipping quietly from his bed, he quickly pulled on his jeans and t-shirt. Creeping down the stairs and through the kitchen, he eased himself out the back door. Swirls of dust rose between his toes as he moved past the outhouse and onto the worn path leading to the rock. A lone coyote barked at a moon ringed by dark clouds.

  Cutting away from the outhouse path, Corvan circled the base of Castle Rock just inside the tall stalks of ripening grain. Approaching the water channel cut into the west side of the rock, he dropped to all fours and crawled forward within the smooth walls. The lone coyote barked again, closer this time. Corvan flattened himself against the cool stone. He could handle a single coyote but had no desire to encounter a pack alone in the dark. He listened intently. There was no answering call. Instead, he heard the scratch of claws heading directly toward him.

  Corvan lifted his head above the edge of the channel in time to see a shadow detach itself from the protection of the rocks and dart toward him. The lizard was trotting alongside the water channel on its hind legs. Its eyes were glinting in the moonlight as it looked out over the field and ran alongside the worn channel leading down to Corvan’s hiding place. It was almost upon him when it abruptly veered off and disappeared into the wheat. A swath of stocks swayed with its passage out into the field.

  If it came back this way, he had nothing to catch it in. What was he thinking? Slipping out of his t-shirt, Corvan tied the neck shut with the sleeves. The improvised sack wasn’t near big enough to catch the large reptile. All he could maybe do is wrap the shirt around its head so it couldn’t see but what if it ripped the thin cloth to shreds? What if it ripped him to shreds?

  He should run to the house to find something stronger, but this might be his only chance to prove he was not a liar. Flattening himself into the water channel, he peered into the darkness where the lizard had disappeared.

  Time crawled by. The dark shadows from the clouds overhead moved across the rock, then launched out into the sea of grain like an armada of pirate ships sailing away in the night. The shadows vanished momentarily as a single brilliant flash illuminated the open prairie. Thunder rumbled overhead, and in the deep silence that followed, Corvan heard a sharp hiss.

  Rolling on his side, he found the bright eyes of the lizard watching him intently from the lower edge of the channel. Dropping a small bundle, it moved intently up the slope toward him with its gaze fixed on his face.

  The lizard was close enough for him to see the blue marks on its chest and a black collar around its neck. He hadn’t noticed that before. Was it someone’s pet? Maybe the brought it from a tropical jungle somewhere and it escaped.

  The creature’s claws scraped across the rock as it hissed and clicked in angry tones, but then it stopped, raised its nose, and sniffed the air.

  Out of the darkness, a coyote bounded up from the field. Corvan shouted a warning, and the reptile twisted and ducked to evade the attack. The coyote skidded to a halt in front of Corvan, whirled about, then pounced on the lizard. The lizard rolled to one side, its front claws raking the coyote's lean face. The wounded animal yelped and stopped to wipe a paw over its torn nose. In that moment, the lizard sprinted up the slope and disappeared into the circle of rocks. The coyote shook its head furiously, then leapt after it.

  Corvan jumped to his feet, tore up the incline and darted inside the ring of boulders, waving his t-shirt over his head and yelling at the coyote, which was now digging furiously in the dirt next to the central stone. Corvan stopped as it turned to him, snarling and weaving its head from side to side. Bubbles of saliva dripped from its black lips. Rabies!

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  Dropping the shirt, Corvan resisted the urge to run and waved both hands over his head to make himself appear larger. Immediately the angry growl gave way to a whimper, and fear shone in the animal’s eyes. Rabid animals were more aggressive. The wounded animal put its tail between its legs and stumbled out of the ring of rocks to disappear in a brilliant flash of lightning. A blast of thunder rolled across the darkening prairie. The storm had arrived.

  Drops of warm rain fell on Corvan’s bare torso as he walked back to where he’d dropped his shirt. Lightning crackled again, illuminating a small bundle on the ground. Picking it up, he discovered a dozen or so short stalks of wheat neatly tied with a leather thong.

  “Animals can’t tie knots,” he whispered. “Where did it get this from?” Setting it down on one of the large boulders he untied his sleeves and tugged his shirt over his head. A spatter of rain fell on his upturned face as black clouds boiled in the sky overhead. The storm might turn into hail, maybe even a tornado. It was time to get back to the house.

  He turned to pick up the strange bundle of wheat, but it was gone. Whipping about, he saw a shadow slip beneath the large boulder where the coyote had been digging. The lizard had returned for its prize, but why would it want a bundle of wheat so badly?

  A powerful gust of cold wind rushed past him before a blast of freezing rain pummeled the back of his head and sent a shiver through his body. He made a dash past the central rock and into the fort he and Kate had built on the other side, then squinted at the light bulb swaying on his back porch. He was about to make a run for it when the clouds burst and sheets of driving rain obscured his view.

  The tattered tarp roof whipped up in the wind and water dripped water on his head. Corvan backed away from the door and hunkered down to watch. A prairie storm this hard never lasted long.

  The rain pounding on the roof of the fort began to mix with the intermittent patter of hailstones. The walls of the fort swayed in gales of wind that whipped in through the open doorway. Huddled in the far corner, Corvan watched as the water falling inside the Castle Rock gathered and spread out around the central boulder.

  Usually, the water would drain out the channel heading down the western side of rock, but this time it began to leak into the hole the coyote had dug into the soft dirt. The mound collapsed, the muddy water rushed in and dropped away. The drain opened even wider, and a whirlpool formed, sucking the water away inside the Castle Rock. A column of bubbles shot up through the whirlpool, and something bobbed to the surface of the water, swirling amid the hailstones. Corvan jumped to his feet and peered out the door.

  It was the sheaf of wheat.

  Splashing into the pond, he tried to grab the bundle, but it shot past his fingers and disappeared back down the water funnel. Dropping to his knees in the freezing water, Corvan thrust his hand in to get it back. It was gone, but below the surface, the water was flowing into an empty space between two slabs of rock. He was just about to pull his hand out when he came up against a slender rock with a series of angular edges. It was some sort quartz crystal, a very large one and the perfect addition to his rock collection.

  He tugged, but it did not come free. He tried pushing down on it, but his hand slipped off the crystal and he fell hard, painfully jamming his arm between two slabs of stone and trapping his face under the water. Freezing water rose over the back of his head. His lungs screamed for air. He twisted his arm frantically and pushed against the bottom with his free hand. His trapped arm broke free and he scrambled to his feet, staring into the whirlpool, gasping, and shivering in the cold wind. Where was all the water going? Were his grandfather’s stories about a tunnel under the rock real?

  The entire mound of rock shuddered as a deep rumble of thunder echoed through the stone below his feet. The lightning flashed and the whirlpool vanished, replaced by a rapidly rising tide of freezing water around his legs that were tightening the muscles in his calves into excruciating knots. The water rose into the western channel, and Corvan followed it down the slope and home. Another flash of lighting, and the lightbulb on his back porch and all the lights in town winked out. Repeated flashes and peals of thunder followed him up the stairs and into his room.

  He stood by his bed, dripping, and staring through the gray curtain of rain at the Castle Rock. The numbness in his injured arm slowly gave way to a growing warmth. Corvan raised his arm, and a sharp pain clenched his shoulder. His hand was coated with sticky mud, but somehow, he was still clutching the crystal. It grew even warmer, before an wave of heat made the muck between his fingers steam. His fingers prickled as if tiny spiders made from bits of blue light were crawling between them.

  Was this still part of his dream? The rock grew even hotter, and he flung it into the corner, where it thumped off the wall and landed with a dull clank in his metal wastebasket. He pinched his sore arm and winced. This was not a dream. The lizard was real; the space beneath Castle Rock was real; and he had almost drowned to retrieve whatever was in the can.

  Pulling the wastebasket over to his bed, he sat on the floor and looked over the edge.

  Whatever it was, it now lay below a layer of dirty crumpled papers.

  Corvan shook his head as he mumbled to himself. “Get ahold of yourself. Your frightened and your mind is playing tricks on you. It’s likely just some old bone a dog had buried in the dirt.”

  Moving the papers aside, he peered into the wastebasket.

  This was no dog bone.

  The mud that had coated the angular object had dried to form a halo of gray crumbs around a small hammer that was so black it seemed to absorb the light inside the trash can.

  He pulled the wastebasket closer. Over the drum of rain on the metal roof, he could hear a low hum. The noise was emanating from the hammer and being amplified by the tin walls of the can. He reached inside and it fell silent. Did he dare pick it up? He touched a finger to it and found it was cold to the touch.

  Cautiously wrapping his hand around the polished handle, he lifted it out.

  It was so beautifully balanced; he could hardly believe it was in his hand. Smoothing out a spot on his bedspread, he laid the hammer down. It sank deeply into the quilt. How strange when it felt so light weight. Pressed deeply into the yellow and white triangles of the quilt, it looked like a velvety black hole cut into the cloth.

  Picking it back up the examined it closely. The hammer was all one piece of black stone, or maybe metal, and the head had seven distinct sides—a heptagon. Miss Thompson would be proud he remembered the name of the unusual geometric shape. There were faint markings on the bottom of the handle. He would need his magnifying glass.

  As Corvan stepped past his window toward his bookshelf, an odd sensation washed over him—it was as if the hammer was tugging on his hand and turning his body like a magnet around to the north.

  “I should put it back.” The sound of his own voice startled him, and a dizzying surge of apprehension overwhelmed him. Stumbling away from window, the hammer slipped from his hand with a dull splash, and he barely made it back onto the bed. A shiver ran the length of his body, and he pulled the side of his quilt over to get warm.

  A final soft flash of lightning pulsed through the room. Corvan closed his eyes to stop the room from tilting around him. The nausea began to fade as a long distant memory rose to the surface.

  He had held the hammer before in this room. His grandfather had told him it would need to go back. Back to where? Where had the man gone and why had he left Corvan behind?