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Prologue: September 2010: “Contact”

Everyone has someone

More than three years had gone by since the director of the nursing home had handed over toto the deceased indigent calling himself William James Henry The director did not knohat tothe first three volumes, I didn’t either

Headless hu aland The “philosopher of aberrant biology” who studies and (when necessary) hunts down such creatures Microscopic parasites that so lives—if they don’t “choose” to kill theht autopsies, round lairs, and a monster hunter who may or may not have been the most famous serial killer in history… There was no question that Will Henry’s strange and disturbing “diary” had to be a work of fiction or the carefully executed, highly organized delusions of a man whose reason had clearly come undone

Monsters are not real

But the man rote about them certainly was real I had spoken to the people who had known him The paraer discovered hie ditch The social workers and policemen orked his case The staff and volunteers at the assisted-living facility who had bathed and fed hi at the ripe old age (according to Will Henry) of 131 And, of course, I had in my possession the journals themselves, which someone had written The question was—has always been—one of identity, not veracity Who was William James Henry? Where did he coht hie ditch, half-starved, those handwritten notebooks—besides the clothes on his back—his sole possession?

Everyone has someone, the director of the facility had told me Someone knew the answer to those questions, and I took it uponthe first three voluist in the fall of 2009 The second set, called The Curse of the Wendigo, was published the following year Though the subject matter was just this side of outlandish, I hoped the author had incorporated at least soht recognize so-lost friend, and contact me I was convinced so himself Will Henry

My motivation went beyondand no one, and had been laid to rest in a pauper’s grave with the poorest of the poor, forgotten My heart went out to him, and I wanted, for reasons I still do not entirely understand, to bring him home

Soon after The Monstru e-mails and letters fro to knoho Will Henry was More than one offered to tell estions for further research So the author A year went by, then two, and I was no closer to the truth My own research had resulted in no significant progress In fact, at the end of two years, I had even un

Then, in late su e-mail from a reader in upstate New York:

Dear Mr Yancey,

I hope you don’t think I’hter was assigned your book to read for her language arts class, and she caht very excited because we happen to have a relative whose nareat-aunt It’s probably just a crazy coincidence, but I think you ht be interested, if you really didn’t justthe journals

Sincerely,

Elizabeth Reed1

A few e-ht to New York to meet Elizabeth in her hometown of Auburn After some pleasant conversation and several cups of coffee at a local diner, she tooked woman who had come to share reed with me—as would any reasonable person—that his story had to be more fiction than fact, but her very real family connection to a man by that naht me to New York and to that cemetery She had e-mailed me a picture of the tombstone, but I wanted to see it with my own eyes

It was a beautiful afternoon, the trees decked out in all their autulory, the sky a cloudless, brilliant blue And, three years and threelines (These are the secrets I have kept This is the trust I never betrayed…), I was standing at the foot of a grave, before a granite marker that read:

LILLIAN BATES HENRY

1874–1950

Beloved Wife

Parting is all we know of heaven,

And all we need of hell

“I never knew her,” Elizabeth said “But my father said she was quite a character”

I could not take ible except the diaries and a few old newspaper clippings and other questionable artifacts tucked within the yellowing pages But here was a name etched in stone No More than that Here was a person, literally right at my feet, whom Will had written about

“Did you know him?” I asked hoarsely “Will Henry?”

She shook her head “I didn’t know either of them He disappeared a couple years after her death, before I was born There was a fire…”

“A fire?”

“Their house Will and Lilly’s A total loss The police suspected arson, and so did the family”

“They thought Will Henry set it, didn’t they?”

“My family didn’t like him very much”

“Why?”

She shrugged “Dad said he was… kind of odd But that isn’t the main reason”

She dug into her purse “I brought a picture of her”

My heart quickened “Is Will in it?”

She pulled out a faded Polaroid photograph and tipped it slightly to reduce the glare froht sun overhead

“It’s the only one I could find in Dad’s things I’h; maybe I’ll find some more It’s from her seventy-fifth birthday”

I did the math quickly “That would be in ’49—her next to last”

“No, it was her last She died before her next birthday”

“Is that Will sitting on her left?” He looked to be about the right age