“Out where?”
“Everywhere.” The thing stood up. It was taller than his father had been. Taller than a man should be. “He’s in the honeysuckle. He’s in the well. He’s in the dirt under your fingernails and the dreams you don’t remember when you wake up. He’s been out there since the night you ran.”
The thing tilted its head—his father’s gesture, the one he made when he was disappointed. “He’s out there.”