Suddenly, he was seized with the memory of the young black woman who came to Anchorchase in 1963 searching for her uncle. The posture, the cut of the dress, the compact pillbox style hat the black girl wore. He didn't have to leave his porch to know that the woman in the shadows at the end of the street was Calamity.

As things go in Weyrland County, they're rarely ever easily explained. Donald Fuller believed in ghosts as much as the next guy. It seemed a prerequisite to live in the county. He glanced at the crossword puzzle on the table beside the chair where he sat. Calamity. Retribution. Those were the only words he saw now as he stared at the newpaper.

As darkness fell over the street, and the shadows stretched from beneath the trees near the road, Fuller took another swig of beer. He ate a twisted pretzel, savoring the sour, salty taste, and he remembered.

The crew was out on the road before sunrise.

Fuller stood several hundred yards away, orange flag in hand, waiting for the morning rush hour traffic to begin. He held a steaming cup of coffee a crew member named Wiggins had bought for him at a local diner. Several months before, Fuller had been in Wiggins' shoes as the new member of the crew. And now, as he savored the rich, fresh, hot coffee, Fuller was thankful that he was no longer the new man on the crew.

There were no cars out at that hour. Fuller turned and looked back at the dump trucks that idled in the darkness that was relinquishing its hold to daylight. When he turned back around to face east he saw someone walking down the middle of the road.

Of all the hours in a day there were a few that Donald Fuller detested. Working with the road crew at dawn he often thought about all those other people still warm in a cozy house somewhere; children buried under mounds of thick blankets, their heads thick with vivid dreams of fantastic realms; as well as lovers lying close, secure in the warmth their bodies share. Another period was twilight. Fuller disliked that time of day for similar reasons. Out on the road, working with the crew, he saw the frustrated faces of commuters coming home from work. He never understood the silent curses uttered behind closed car windows; the sad and frustrated expressions those people wore; as if returning home somehow meant less than their 9 to 5 jobs. But the hour that worked him most was the dark one before the sun rose.

Seven years prior Fuller had been driving home from a bar in Burlington County when he left Rt. 532 and pulled onto Fire Road 7. A neighbor who served in the Shadow Pine Fire Department told him about the dirt road that provided a shortcut between Rts. 532 and 650. Fuller never liked driving down the dirt fire road alone. Along either side pine trees, cedar trees and thick underbrush lined the road. He knew that if the Pine Barrens was given half a chance it would reclaim the dirt road cut into the forest only a few decades ago. There were plenty of nights when Fuller thought he saw weird things lurking in the dark treeline. The county line between Burlington and Weyrland counties intersected the fire road at some point. The only way Fuller knew he had crossed from Burlington into Weyrland County was the creepy feeling that took hold.

There were many legends in the Pine Barrens. From Blackbeard to the Jersey Devil, tall tales had always circulated from county to county. A tale he remembered his grandfather Edward telling him when Fuller was still a boy was the one about the Albino Demon. The tale of the Albino Demon had been told, according to grandfather Edward, as far back as the Revolutionary War. There were, of course, bold, descriptive inventories of the havoc the demon reeked upon unsuspecting citizens of the Pine Barrens. The demon fed on newborn babies and he was known to change shapes at will.

Fuller approached the familiar crossing where Fire Road 7 intersected another anonymous road. He saw a black Cadillac parked in the field to his left. The field Fuller knew well. It was the field where the infamous Tory Tree stood. Like other legends in the Pine Barrens, the Tory Tree garnered the awe and interest of everyone that lived in the region. As a teenager, Fuller had taken a dare one night to run through the field and touch the ancient tree. All he remembered of that night was how cold the tree bark felt.

Now, as he pulled over to the side of the road, he saw the tree in all its dark glory. He approached the Cadillac quietly after he got out of his car. It wasn't uncommon for teens to go joyriding along the fireroad. If there'd been an accident and he didn't stop to help, Fuller knew he'd never be able to live with that. Then again, if he spotted a boy and a girl in the car making out, he had have to retreat without being seen.

The Cadillac was empty. Fuller heard a cry. He ran toward the Tory Tree. Twenty yards away from the tree he stopped. He stared only for a moment to be sure he wasn't hallucinating. The cry he had heard sounded again. He saw what looked like a man struggling to break free from the Tory Tree. But Fuller's attention was diverted as he saw two naked women rubbing up against the Albino Demon.

The man's cry sounded muffled when Fuller turned tail and ran back to his car. He drove like a maniac down the dirt road until he reached Rt. 532. From there he drove straight to his grandfather's house in Shadow Pine.