A bee buzzed by Chelly's ear, and she waved it away.  As she did, a gentle breeze blew her hair in front of her face, and in stead of a dull black, it was a shining white-blond, long and silky.   For a few moments, Chelly thought that one of her fondest wishes had come true.  She'd always wanted to be a blonde.  Julie had hair like this,  and Chelly had always been so jealous.  Her hand, when she raised it to brush the hair from her face, was slim and tanned.  Her fingers were longer than she remembered them.  With a growing sense of unease she looked down at herself and saw instead of drab black bright cutoffs and a T-shirt.  Julie's hair.  Julie's hand.  Julie's clothes.  And here she was sitting on an old stump that felt damp and a little soft beneath her watching the sun as it began to set through the trees.  With the distant surprise only possilbe in dreams, this envious girl whose friends called her Chelly (except for Julie, of course) followed those observations to their only possible conclusion and realized that she was Julie.  She was Julie sitting on a stump in the woods with a pit opening in her stomach as she understood that no one was coming to get her.  Chelly could feel the breeze as it caressed her (no, godammit, it was Julie's)face.       She could also feel the betrayal like an ulcer eating at her stomach.  It brough with it an unbearable sense of shame that she could so easily be taken in.  Confusion clouded Chelly's mind, and she wondered, who betrayed me?  Why do I feel like I've been played for a fool?  No!  No, it's Julie who feels betrayed, not me.  I didn't betray myself and I didn't betray her!  She's the one who feels stupid, and it's her fault for falling for the joke!      Chelly's arguments were compleely ineffective.  No matter how much she wanted to scream that none of this was real, none of this was her, she still saw the trees on every side pinning her there; she still felt the springy layer of wet leaves beneath her feet.       Finally she put all of her feelings and confusion aside and decided to go home.  Maybe then she would wake up.  It was only after Chelly stood up and began walking down a path that she was shocked to discover that she no longer knew the way home.       I know these woods, she thought desperately.  I know them like the back of my hand!  Unfortunately, no matter how sure she was that she did know these woods, the path she was on and the trees around her were completely unfamiliar.  Not unfamiliar to me; unfamiliar to Julie, her mind insisted, but its voice was feeble and in her confusion and panic she barely even heard it.  It hardly mattered anyway.  No matter who she was or how she'd gotten into this mess, she was still left with the same problem.  She was alone in the woods, the sun was going down, and she didn't know the way home.       She went this way, Julie thought, so this path must lead me out somewhere.  Chelly's mind tried to tell her yet again that she was the "she" and "me" wasn't her at all, but the effort was wasted.  In her mind, Chelly was Julie now, lost and allone in the darkening woods.  She followed the path in front of her for no other reason then that it was there, hoping for a glimpse of something, anything familiar.       In time, she stumbled upon (and almost fell into) the creek in its sandy bed, flowing sluggishly along with its barely discernable current.  She knew the creek led somehow back to the park, but was the park upstream or downstream?  Dammit, she knew this.  Wait.  The park was upstream.  She was sure of it.       By now the sun was almost past the horizon.  What before had been a sun-dappled forest now had a gloomy, almost subterranean feel.  The trees blocked her view of the sky above.  The sun was almost gone.  By the time she remembered in whoch direction the park lay, the current was nmo longer visible at all.  Greasy shadows lay like ooil slicks on the surface of the water, concealing its movement.       Fpr the first time, she felt a tingle of real fear course down her spine.  Randomly she picked a direction.  Barely even seeing what lay around her, she followed the creek's bank eagerly toward what she hoped and prayed would be a way out.  Almost running, straining her eyes in the near-darkness to scan the ground in front of her for any obstacles, she didn't notice until too late that the path had wandered from the creek.  When she finally stopped and looked into the dusky gloom around her, the creek was nowhere to be seen, and its silent passage gave no hint of its location.       What had made her pause was a strange whiring buzz that seemed to be coming from somewhere ahead and to the right.  She thought she could make out an engine sound, and only a person would be using an engine.  She wanted to see another human being so badly she thought she would cry.  Without even pausing to regret the loss of the creek, she ran along the path straight toward the sound.       Is it electrical?  Some kind of machine? she wondered.       The closer she came the more the sound reminded her of her father's workshop in the basement.  She'd always loved to go down there and watch him work on his projects.  This particular sound took her back to the time when he was building the bookshelves for her room.  What did that sound remind her of?  Was it the electric screwdriver?  The drill?  Close, but that wasn't quite it, she was sure.  Suddenly it hit her, and the warm, fuzzy feelings those memories had called up in her were gone without a trace, leaving her empty and vulnerable where she stood on the path, frozen by terror.  She knew what that sound was.  She remembered what tool of her father's it riminded her of.  It was his saw!  His electric saw!       As she raised her head slowly, memories of the story she'd been told came flooding back.  When they finally caught him, her mind whispered, he was painting the back fence with his own children's crimson blood, laughing and laugjing and laughing.... Dead ahead, at the end of the path she was standing on, lay the fence.  The yard beyond was filled with multi-colored light.  Over the buzzing sound came laughter, loud and unrestrained.  With yet another whining buzz her eyes were drawn to the fence itself where it rubbed against a tree with the wind.  In the light from the yard, she could see dribbles of a stcky red liquid running down the pickets.  Those dribbles shone wetly on the wood.  They looked fresh.