Late at night, an assassin with a knife enters a tall, narrow house at night. He murders a father, mother, and daughter, then heads for the attic to kill the toddler. But the child isn’t in his crib.

The 18-month-old boy awoke to a noise downstairs, climbed out of his crib, skittered down the stairs on his diapered rear—the diaper fell off at the bottom step—then wandered outside and up the road, past shops and houses, to the graveyard at the top of the hill.

In the attic, the man Jack sniffs the air and senses the “milky smell” and “baby shampoo” of the boy. He follows the odors out the door and up the street to the graveyard.

The cemetery is locked. Two ghosts, Mr. and Mrs. Owens, residents of the graveyard and dead 250 years, find the boy standing just inside the graveyard fence, having squeezed through its narrow slats. Mrs. Owens strokes the baby’s head, but Mr. Owens suggests she leave it to humans.

The man Jack arrives at the gate but can’t open it, so he clambers over the wall.

Three more ghosts appear. One, a woman, cries out to the Owenses: “My baby! He is trying to harm my baby!” (15).