West Virginia Route 55, three miles south of Hendricks. A Wednesday in late October, just past midnight. I pulled over because my headlights caught something in the ditch — a baby's cradle, upside down, half-buried in dead leaves. The trailer it came from was fifty yards off the road, door hanging open, one window lit. No one answered when I called. The cradle was still rocking when I found it, but there was nothing inside. Just a smell like warm milk and wet plaster, and a child's voice counting from the dark of the trailer's bedroom. I counted with her until I couldn't anymore.

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