What had tried to kill him was not just in the pond but out here, too, in every natural thing, and there was no him, no Suzanne, no Mom, no nothing, just the sound of some kid crying like a terrified baby.
It is not the keening and caterwauling I mind so much as the eerily human nature of the plangent cries, which can sound like anything from a baby crying to a couple of nightclub bouncers fighting in an alley.