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animal howled again.
    Was it close enough to create that shadow just up ahead?
    Then Jack remembered the pen.
    He pulled it out and flicked a small switch on the cap. A beam of light streamed out. As Jack approached the wolf shadow, he shone the beam onto it. The shadow skittered and scattered. The wolf’s gaping mouth disappeared when Jack played the light against it. Its ears flew away, and Jack could see the clay of the trail, looking the way it always looked. The wolf’s tail, dissolved by light, turned into clumps of crabgrass.
    In a minute, Jack was past the shadow.
    He heard another sound. But it didn’t sound like a wolf howling.
    In fact, it was a groan from the mountain king, but Jack didn’t know that.
    Farther along the trail, more shadows crossed the path. One had wavy tentacles like those of a giant octopus ready to coil around its victim. A huge spider settled in the midst of a crookedy web. Farther on there was a horrible witch-head with a long nose and a pointed chin.
    But Jack’s shadow killer — a pen light — slew all of these monsters. He laughed and whistled as he walked that mile back home.
    The mountain king and his wife went home, too — to their cave high up on the mountain. As the king settled into his easy chair with his pipe and the latest copy of the Cornshuck Chronicle , his wife cooked their supper of bacon, grits and mountain greens.
    â€œI guess I’ll spend tomorrow making sure all the echo points are still working well along the east canyon,” the king sighed.
    â€œAnd then you can give that grove of pines on the south slope a good shaking, so they drop their pine cones. It’s that time of year.” The mountain king’s wife stirred her hominy grits and sighed with satisfaction.
    Hubert sighed, too. He was actually leaning against Carolina Giddle. If only, he was thinking…
    Carolina Giddle stirred and stretched and gave a little pull on one of her crystal earrings. The tea candles were sputtering. A couple had already gone out.
    â€œCan you guess what I have in my bag?” she said.
    Hubert and Hetty looked at her, wide-eyed.
    â€œNot… ” Hubert stammered.
    â€œYes, indeedy.” Carolina Giddle got her bag from the hallway and came back with two pens in her hand. “The mountain king’s wife visited me, too. I bought a whole batch of these from her. So here’s one for each of you. Now let’s see if they work.”
    She tilted the shade on the table lamp, so that when she placed her hands in front of the bulb, it made a large shadow on the living-room wall. In a minute, she had arranged her fingers in such a way that the shadow actually looked like a wolf’s head.
    Hubert and Hetty didn’t have to be told to flick the switches to turn on their pen lights. They played their lights against the shadow.
    â€œYes!” Hubert exclaimed, waving his hand so that the light skittered all over the walls and ceiling.
    He thought he heard a wolf whimper.
    But maybe it was just the radiator making one of its funny noises.
    Carolina Giddle gave the old heat register a little tap.
    In the hall there was a sound of metal groaning and moaning.
    â€œI think I hear the elevator,” she said. “Bet it’s your mom and dad. Best get my things ­together.”
    That night, Carolina Giddle didn’t go down into the sunroom with her cup of rosehip and raspberry tea. Instead she went to the parking lot. Trinket was in a stall near the gate where a street lamp shone down on her. Bits of glass — necklace beads, crystal charms, strapless watch-faces — glinted and winked from the lovely clutter of the Volkswagen’s coat.
    â€œHowdy, old gal.” Carolina Giddle gave her an affectionate pat. “I had a lightning bolt thought today. You and I are going on a little jaunt. Over to the Blatchford seniors’ home. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”
    It was