Trying to pack in the dark by flashlight is slow, frustrating work; and it does not help that Frank only has one good arm. Any time a bush rustles with the sound of a scampering critter, or a bird hoots overhead, the two are momentarily shocked with fear.

But the dark night is never split by the sound of the Wytche's cackling call. Instead, just as the two are nearly finished, the light of a flashlight peers into the campsite like a terrified yellow eye. A shaking desperate voice calls out, "Hello? Please tell me you're there! Please!" The voice sounds like Mitch, frightened out of his mind, coming from behind the yellow beam.