On a total impulse, I drove to the grocery store, bought a case of beer, and headed out to the abandoned Presbyterian camp to pay a visit to Skrrzzzt the bogle.

Honestly, I have no idea what made me think of the bogle, except that he’d been strangely easy to talk to and I was pretty sure I could count on him to be nonjudgmental about the whole mercy-killing thing. Not that I planned on bringing it up or anything. At this point, I just didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts anymore, and the idea of kicking back with Skrrzzzt and cracking open a couple of beers was oddly appealing.

Of course, what had seemed like a good idea in the warmth and comfort of my living room seemed decidedly less so in the dark woods with a cold wind blowing off Lake Michigan. I parked in the lot near the mess hall and left the beer on the hood of my Honda. Snow crunched underfoot as I made my way to the porch and knocked on the door.

“Hey, um . . . Skrrzzzt?” I called. “Are you in there?”

There was no answer. I tried the handle and found it unlocked, so I pushed the door open and jumped back, bracing myself in case Skrrzzzt was on the other side, waiting to pounce at me again.

Nope, no bogle.

I waited a moment for my eyes to fully adjust to the darkness before entering the mess hall. The folding chairs were stacked and the dining tables stood empty. No beer cans, no evidence that a bogle had been there. I took a quick peek in the deserted kitchen and found that was empty, too.

This had been a dumb idea. No way was I going to search the entire camp on my own for one elusive bogle. I backtracked to my car.

“Hey, Skrrzzzt!” I said aloud. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but it’s Daisy Johanssen. I just wanted to say thanks for helping me out with the Night Hag. I brought some beer. I’ll just, um, leave it on the porch for you.”

There was no response, unless you count tree branches creaking eerily in the cold darkness. Feeling more than a little foolish, I hoisted the case of beer and hauled it over to the porch of the mess hall.

“Boo!” a familiar voice said inches from my ear.

I let out a shriek and dropped the beer, whirling around and tripping over the porch steps in the process.

Skrrzzzt doubled over laughing as I landed hard on my butt on the steps. “Oh, man!” Orange flames of mirth danced in his eyes. He held up two immense, knobby hands in apology. “I’m sorry, mamacita. My bad. I couldn’t resist. Oh, but if you could have seen the look on your face!”

Gathering what was left of my dignity, I stood. “Yeah, well, I’m glad it amused you. I’ll see you around, okay?”

The bogle sobered. “Oh, hey! Don’t go away mad. I didn’t mean anything by it.” He grimaced. “Shit! Is this going on my record?”

“Let’s say we’re even and call it a day,” I said, reaching in my coat pocket for my car keys.

“Aw, man!” Skrrzzzt spread his long-fingered hands in a pleading gesture. “Come on, cut a brother some slack.” I hesitated. He contorted his grotesque features into a winning smile. “C’mon! You brought beer and everything. Join me for a cold one?”

Feeling somewhat mollified, I shrugged. “I guess it couldn’t hurt.”

“Great!” The bogle scooped up the fallen case of beer and perched it on one gnarled shoulder. “Let’s head over to the rec room,” he said. “After that spill you took, I bet your badonkadonk could use a comfy chair—am I right?”

My bruised tail twitched in agreement. “Don’t remind me.”

The rec room was a cabin with a handful of overstuffed chairs that smelled faintly of mildew. The walls were lined with bookshelves filled with battered paperbacks and stacks of board games. It would have been cozy in a dilapidated sort of way if there had been a fire in the fireplace, but at least it was warmer inside away from the wind than it was outdoors.

“How’s about a little mood lighting?” Skrrzzzt suggested, setting down the case of beer and reaching for a battery-operated camping lantern on a high shelf. “Let’s see if there’s any juice left in this bad boy.” He switched on the lantern, which emitted a dim glow. “Perfecto! Beer me?”

I opened the case and handed him a beer. “So is the camp just leaving all this stuff here?”

“Yeah.” He glanced around. “They’ve salvaged anything worth saving. Pity. Lot of love in these old walls.”

I fished out a beer for myself and took a seat on one of the big chairs. “I bet. I’ll be sorry to see it go.”

“You and me both, mamacita.” Skrrzzzt set the lantern on the floor between us and sat in a chair opposite me, slinging one arm along the headrest. “So what’s on your mind?”

I shrugged. “Nothing special.”

“Now, now!” The bogle wagged a long, black-clawed finger at me. “You didn’t come all the way out here all by yourself just to say thanks. Is it man trouble?” His orange eyes glowed with avid curiosity. “A certain werewolf, perchance? You can tell old Skrrzzzt,” he said in a wheedling tone. “I’ve got the experience of listening to four generations’ worth of camp counselors under my belt.”

“Okay.” I cracked open my beer and took a gulp. “I killed a man yesterday.”

Skrrzzzt let out a low whistle and opened his own can. “You got me there, mamacita. Not what I expected.” He took a long pull on his beer, then wiped his leathery lips. “He deserve it?”