Ch. 1: The Dreamer

Back to The Men in Brown

''             The   horns   blew   in   thunder;   not   like   thunder,   for   my   trumpets   outrang   the   very   thunder   itself. The   horns   crashed   and   reechoed   far   over   the   shadowed   cities   and   the   clouded   houses,   and   echoes   came,   grim   and   murmering,   from   beneath   the   earth,   as   the   holy   mountain   growled   in   its’   belly. I   heeded   it   not. For   though   I   would   not   suffer   Him   to   defile   the   folly   of   my   fathers,   still   I   reck   not   of   it:   for   Eru   is   only   a   fallacy   of   the   fainéant   Gods,   invoked   to   support   their   biddings. This   my   Servant   has   revealed. He   is   not   coming. I   do   not   wish   Him   to   usurp   the   glory   that   is   Mine   by   right;   and   has   He   not   said   so   Himself? ''

''             I   stand   upon   my   ship   the   Alcarondas,   Castle   of   the   Sea,   as   with many   oars   the   slaves   propel   us   forward;   for   there   is   no   wind. The   Eagles   pass   with   processing   majesty   of   storm   overhead,   vast   eagle-clouds   taloned   with   thunder:   but   they   no   longer   speak,   no   longer   shout   stern   warnings. It   is   even   as   He   said. The   Gods   are   bound   by   the   laws   of   their   own   magic   principle   which   gives   them   might   in   the   world;   He   said   that   if   I   but   followed   such   and   such   a   course   of   action   I   would   tie   the   very   hands   of   the   Weaklings   of   the   West   and   I   would be   immune   from   their   mighty   wrath. ''

''             Yet   even   against   that   have   we   prepared. In   my   holds   and   in   the   mouths   of   my   thunderdarts   are   weapons   we   designed   that   blend   our   full   Atalantic   power   with   the   fabric   of   the   earth   and   the   engines   wrought   from   it. Let   the   Gods   cast   down   their   darts;   mine   may   cast   down   them. ''

''             We   have   passed   the   Proscribed   Line. The   last   smoke   from   the   smouldering   Pillar   sinks   under   the   grey   sea. All   is   silence   as   we   row,   over   the   stumps   of   islands   that   once,   long   ago,   cast   such   a   net   about   this   land   as   even   I   might   pause   upon:   but   the   Gods   deemed   them   safe,   for   only   Men   stood   free   of   them,   and   the   great   Lord   we   worship   had   been   cast   into   exile;   and   they   unmade   their   own   protections. ''

''             Even   I,   who   rise   every   morning   to   gaze   out   upon   the   splendor   of   the   green   land   of   Atalantis,   over   the   palaces   and   buildings   that   flash   like   carven   gems,   and   gleam   in   the   gloam   as   if   light   was   wrought   with   their   cement;   who   have   seen   the   marvel   of   the   blue   deep   and   the   multifared   hues   of   green   and   violet   that   dance   upon   it:   even   I   stand   amazed   at   the   land   I   am   approaching. Like   to   a   cloud   of   dazzling   green   picked   out   with   points   of   fire   and   speared   with   burning   crystal,   the   Elvenhome   fills   the   sea   before   me,   and   around   it   the   bay   is   like   the   blueness   of   the   sky   upon   a   summer   high   noon,   and   so   limpid   the   water   I   can   see   the   shadow   of   my   ship   flow   along   the   bottom   countless   fathoms   underneath. But   my   ships   pass   it   by   on   left   and   on   right,   covering   the   sea   like   an   archipelago   of   ten   thousand   towering   isles   processing   ponderously   past,   and   our   black   and   gold   and   scarlet   sails   shut   off   the   setting   sun   from   the   shores   of   the   Elves:   and   wailing   and   lamentation   mount   from   the   Valar-spies,   like   Men-children   in   the   Wild   who   think   the   Sun   at   night   is   dead. So   cowers   the   Elder   Kindred,   that   set   themselves   so   lofty   above   us   the   Hithercomers! But   we   ignore   them,   and   pay   no   heed   to   Elvenhome:   for   before   us   are   the   Mountains   at   the   Edge   of   the   World. ''

''             So   high   those   heights   of   horror   rear,   as   not   even   to   be   seen   in   Middle-earth,   though   one   were   to   pass   to   the   very   Lands   of   the   Sun   and   force   the   leaguer   of   the   guarded   Havens,   and   so   come   to   the   terrible   height   that   is   like   no   other. These   peaks   seem   not   to   be   ice-crowned;   they   are   wrought   of   ice,   or   of   stone   as   clear   and   white   as   ice,   and   they   are   high   as   spires   of   stars,   so   high   as   to   make   the   depths   of   the   sea   seem   but   puddles   were   they   sunk   in   them;   and   they   gleam   like   to   pearl   and   sparkle   as   with   dust   of   gem,   and   every   beach   is   a   beach   of   jewels,   like   rainbows   that   are   chewed   up   by   some   ancient   surf. A   rift   in   them   lets   through   the   crimson   gold   of   evening   sun,   and   my   sails   seize   all   the   glory   and   splendor   themselves. And   I   am   heartened,   for   is   there   not   a   rift   in   the   iron   webs   of   the   Gods,   and   do   I   not   stand   in   position   to   enter   it? Even   as   my   sails   take   the   Sun,   so   take   I   deathlessness   from   the   Deathless. ''

''             That   is   when   I   lift   my   eyes   upward. ''

''             I   could   not   see   it   before,   for   Their   clouds   were   all   around   it;   but   cloud   and   wind   alike   are   gone,   and   the   Throne   stands   before   me   naked,   and   I   reel   at   the   sight. A   mountain   impossibly   steep. A   height   that   rises   into   the   very   stars,   so   that   the   airs   themselves   are   left   beneath;   and   still   ice   crowns   it,   ice   whiter   than   any   snow,   which   in   the   sunset   shines   not   red   as   do   the   Walls,   but   a   terrible,   utter   white. The   Bay   is   silent. There   are   no   waves,   and   even   those   we   rouse   fade   before   they   reach   the   shore. The   Walls   are   silent. The   Oiolossë   is   silent. I   cannot   cast   my   eyes   from   that   dreadful   height. The   soundless   shores,   awful   as   doom,   swell   in   the   sides   of   my   vision. The   immutable   mountain,   colder   than   death,   whiter   than   thought,   terrible   as   the   shadow   of   the   One   I   have   denied. The   Valar   say   nothing. The   Gods   say   nothing. I   reel,   putting   out   my   hand   to   clutch   my   throne. My   heart   misgives   me. Fool! How   can   any   force   or   power   cast   down   the   Powers   of   the   West? ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   touch   steadies   me. Strength   flows   into   me   from   the   throne;   for   He   wrought   it   Himself,   Servant   of   the   Strong,   and   He   told   me   I   could   conquer. I   set   my   face   like   flint. I   am   rowed   to   the   beach,   standing   in   my   armour   of   black   and   scarlet,   with   my   crown   set   with   amber   burning   gold   upon   my   head. The   boat   grates   upon   jewels,   upon   a   shingle   of   precious   stones,   every   pebble   like   a   drop   of   the   rainbow. Like   glass   rise   the   Walls   far   above   me. Still   all   is   silent. I   lift   my   foot   from   off   the   boat,   and   I   set   it   down   upon   the   rainbow   sand. I   have   cast   all   turn   behind   me. I   sound   the   horns,   and   I   lay   claim   to   the   land,   since   none   appear   to   contest   me   for   it. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Like   ants   my   men   slowly   disembark,   and   the   contrivances   of   Sauron   are   ponderously   unloaded,   and   day   after   silent   day   we   march   farther   up   the   green   defile,   and   we   climb   the   hill   of   precious   dust   and   encamp   upon   the   sands   of   sparkled   gold   and   the   meads   of   enchanted   grass   undying,   of   such   green   as   swells   our   hearts. And   we   bathe   in   waters   of   purity,   and   power   seeps   into   our   steeping   flesh,   and   we   drink   from   fountains   immortal,   and   we   feel   deathless   waters   coursing   in   our   veins,   and   we   laugh:   for   age   drops   from   the   old,   and   weariness   from   the   weary,   and   the   weakest   galley-slave   of   Pharazôn is   now   a   living   god. And   we   mount   into   the   elvish   city,   and   it   is   deserted,   and   I   have   my   throne   carried   ashore,   and   I   set   it   up   in   the   very   Hall   of   Ingwë. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Nine   days   and   thirty   have   now   passed   since   our   setting   sail,   and   still   the   Gods   make   no   sign. Perhaps   they   have   already   fled. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             A   great   sound   descends   like   falling   fog   from   every   height   around   us. I   hurry   from   the   Elvish   city:   my   weapons   are   all   upon   the   plain   and   have   not   yet   been   brought   uphill. We   empty   the   city,   turning   our   tremendous   engines   of   power   toward   the   Topless   Mountain,   from   which   the   sound   is   still   falling:   a   great   voice   like   the   voice   of   the   sky   and   the   voice   of   the   sea   and   the   voice   of   the   earth   all   speaking   as   one,   and   what   it   saith   we   do   not   know,   for   words   like   chunks   of   stone   fall   like   castles   about   our   ears,   some   dreadful   tongue   of   the   Gods   never   speakable   by   fleshly   throats. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             How   can   this   be? We   were   in   the   plain,   but   now   we   stand   under   the   very   shadow   of   the   fearsome   heights,   though   not   a   man   of   us   has   stirred. I   cry   out,   and   though   my   voice   cannot   be   heard   in   the   rending   of   the   reeling   of   the   very   dome   of   heaven,   my   men   see   my   motion   and   we   unleash   our   devices   of   power,   a   futile   gesture,   a   thumbing   of   the   nose   at   a   very   Universe   coming   down   on   our   heads. Is   that   cloud,   that   falling   mass   that   fills   the   sky   and   eye   and   mind,   or   are   the   very   hills   shedding   themselves   and   the   mountains   shrugging   off   their   own   shapes? I   do   not   know. I   only   know   that   we   have   lost. I   only   know   that   we   are   dead. ''

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<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">'''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">                                Chapter   One:   Dreams '''

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<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I’ve   had   the   same   thing   for   months   now.”   said   Christopher. “That   dream. That   dream   of   me   feeling   like   God   until   God   dumps   the   world   on   top   of   me.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             His   brother   Stephen   only   looked   at   him,   grave   and   a   little   concerned. His   older   brother   had   in   many   ways   a   vivid   imagination,   but   this   sounded somehow….. different…. than   his   usual   stuff. Dreams   were,   well,   creepy,   and   always   mysterious. He   seldom   remembered   his. But   then   he   was   only   11   himself   so   he   had   only   a   few   years   of   dreams   to   remember.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Do   you   think   it   means   anything?”   Christopher   said   anxiously,   swinging   one   foot. They   were   sitting   in   one   of   their   favorite   spots,   the   overgrown   junk   tractor   in   the   rear   of   the   sagging   carriage   house   behind   their   yard.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Sure   it   does.”   Stephen   said   with   a   sudden   impish   grin. “It   means   you’re   going   completely   bonkers.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Bonkers.”   groaned   his   brother. “You   sound   like   you’re   from   the   40s.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Well,   Uncle   John   says   it.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “He’s   an   old   man. Old   men   are   supposed   to   talk   funny.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Retard.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Ah,   now   you   sound   like   you’re   normal.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Well,   I   ain’t.”   said   Stephen,   his   gloomy   mood   settling   on   him   again. “You   aren’t   either. We’re   not   normal   and   we   should   quit   pretending.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hey,   it’s   not   like   we’re   freaks.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “But   we   are. I   mean,   look   at   the   kids   we   go   to   school   with. Is   any   of   them   even   remotely   like   us? Do   they   even   understand   us   when   we   start   talking? Or   do   they   run   off   howling   with   laughter   at   our   big   words   and   sissy   speech?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Actually   they   say   pussy.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   never   have   been   able   to   figure   out   why   a   kitty   is   supposed   to   be   an   insult.”   Stephen   said. “Or   why   Mom   nearly   whacked   me   when   I   used   it   in   front   of   her.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Oh,   some   jerk   probably   turned   it   into   a   swear   word.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   dunno.”   Stephen   sighed. “They   use   it   like   the   books   use   sissy,   but   then   they   start   guffawing   like   Orcs. Probably   has   some   sick   slang   meaning.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   hate   other   people.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Don’t   say   that   too   loud. Here   comes   Charlene.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Groan. I   wish   we   had   a   G.R.O.S.S.   club.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Let’s   start   singing   the   GROSS   anthem! One—Two---“

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “OH-h-o   GRO-O-OSS,”   both   boys   started   to   bawl,   “GREATEST   club   in   the   CO-os-moss…”   They   were   referring,   of   course,   to   Calvin   &   Hobbes.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “It’s   pronounced   grose.”   the   small   slight   girl   who   had   approached   said   tartly,   flicking   her   flaxen   ponytail   to   one   side. She   wore   a   pink   shirt   and   pale   pants   that   came   only   to   her   calves. “Breeches.”   thought   Christopher. She   had   a   thin   pinched   pale   face   and   a   slightly   catty   expression.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “GROSS!”   both   boys   howled.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “And   it’s   Calvin   and   Hobbs. Short   O.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “HOBBES!”   the   boys   shouted. Using   a   long   O.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “And   it’s   pronounced   Broach,   not   Brooch.”   she   said,   referring   to   the   odd   habit   some   people   have   of   pronouncing   brooch   as   ‘broach’.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “BROOOCH!”   roared   the   boys.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   boys   are   hopeless.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   know,”   said   Christopher,   “we’ve   been   trying   our   hardest.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Charlene   hopped   up   on   the   tractor   hood,   pushing   back   the   thick   bittersweet   vines   coming   through   the   dashboard. The   new   green   buds   broke   under   her   hands   and   a   faint   green-apple   smell   went   up. “What   were   you   guys   up   to?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Saying   how   much   we   hate   other   people.”   said   Christopher   impishly.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Serious?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yeah.”   said   Stephen.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   boys   are   weird.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hey,   we   gave   up   on   being   normal   ages   ago.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Stay   like   that.”   said   Charlene   bitterly. “Normal   boys   are   gross. You   two   at   least   are   just   weird.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Lesser   of   two   evils…”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hmph.”   She   put   her   small   nose   in   the   air. Though   almost   12   Charlene   looked   younger. They   sat   on   the   tractor   for   a   while,   not   saying   anything,   staring   moodily   across   the   old   back   driveway   into   the   tangle   of   vines   that   mounted   the   side   of   the   ruinous   carriage   house. The   roof   was   already   caving   in   one   spot,   and   Christopher   had   seen   a   raccoon   worming   its’   way   in. He   wondered   what   Old   Man   Ebeneezer   made   of   that,   and   the   thought   made   him   laugh.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “What?”   said   Charlene.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   was   just   thinking   what   a   fit   Old   Man   Ebeneezer   must   have   thrown   when   he   saw   raccoons   in   his   precious   junk.”   The   dour   oldish   man   in   a   green   truck   who   owned   the   building   kept   it   carefully   locked   and   boarded   up   even   while   the   roof   fell   apart:   hence   the   nickname.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “His   name’s   Paulson,   don’t   be   so   mean.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “If   I   really   wanted   to   be   mean   I   could   call   him   Skinflint   Noodleface   or   something.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Lesser   of   two   evils.”   she   sighed.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Ha   ha.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Ha. Ha. Ha.”   she   retorted.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             They   stayed   silent   for   a   little,   the   boys   drumming   their   feet,   Charlene   crouched   froglike   with   chin   on   her   knees.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hey,   ssh! Someone’s   coming.”   said   Stephen.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   back   drive   met   Boyd   St   as   it   turned   during   a   sharp   descent. Odd   old   houses   seemed   stuck   randomly   on   the   hill,   green   banks   of   lawn   at   all   angles. The   back   drive   went   behind   the   backyards   of   a   row   of   old   apartment   houses,   tall   and   narrow,   along   a   hillside   back   street   joining   Boyd;   it   was   hung   by   trees   like   a   tunnel,   walled   by   mouldering   hulks   of   ancient   vehicles   buried   under   piles   of   bittersweet   and   leaning   branches. It   plunged   downhill,   past   two   driveways   to   lower   yards   dug   back   into   the   hill,   and   met   a   level   open   ledge   of   weeds,   half   of   which   was   a   broad   puddle-filled   grey   dirt   drive   ending   in   the   tangle   of   jumbled   brick   factory   outbuildings   below   them. Where   the   children   were   was   a   vacant   but   locked   house,   small   and   square   with   an   overhung   lawn   fenced   by   lilacs,   on   the   left,   where   the   drive   met   the   street. Up   the   drive   a   tall   thin   rugged-looking   man   was   slowly   walking   an   old   dark-green   bike. A   bent   wire   basket   clung   to   the   handlebars,   as   usual full   of   something. He   had   a   dark-green   buttoned   shirt   and   brown   corduroy   pants,   and   a   stubble   of   at   least   two   days   on   his   long   brown   face. His   black   hair   was   streaked   with   grey.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hey,   it’s   the   Wizard!”   drawled   Christopher. Ever   since   they   were   little   the   mysterious   man   had   captivated   them   with   his   odd   abstracted   look   and   something   else,   an   air   or   glimpse   of   something   about   him,   his   dark   intense   face,   the   odd   grim   way   he   sometimes   had   of   smiling,   the   ironic   light   in   his   eyes,   that   had   instantly   reminded   the   boys   of—well,   wizards.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hi,   WizZord.”   said   Stephen. He’d   only   just   grown   out   of   an   odd   lisp.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   call   him   what?”   It   was   the   first   time   Charlene   had   heard   the   nickname.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   strange   man   gave   an   equally   strange   smile. He   had   a   long   folded lined   face;   it   looked   both   younger   and   older   than   he   was,   especially   with   the   smile. His   eyes   gleamed   with   wry,   profound   amusement.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Greetings,   lads. Morning,   lass.”   he   said   gravely,   touching   his   brow. Between   them   a   weird,   almost   palpable   field   lay,   of   combined   attraction   and   barrier;   the   shyness   of   disparate   age,   as   well   as   the   fascination   a   compelling   character   always   has   for   children. He   seemed   to   feel   it   as   well,   for   he   did   not   linger,   heading   on   up   Boyd   St   as   he   always   did.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “And   you   say    we’re   weird.”   said   Christopher   when   he   was   safely   gone.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You’re   boy   weird. He’s   like   another-planet-weird. Is   that   why   you   call   him   Wizard?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yeah,   he   just   has   such   a   strange   air   of   wisdom   and   lore,”   said   Stephen,   half   exaggerating. “I’ve   seen   him   carry   a   staff   sometimes.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “He   even   struck   a   blue   light   on   it.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">                “What??” <span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">   said   Charlene.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hobbit   reference,   sorry.”   giggled   Christopher.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">                “Now   I’m   really   never   going   to   read   that   book.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “But   then   you’ll   never   understand   what   we’re   saying!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">               “I   never   do   anyway,   you   weirdos.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Better   than   being   sick-os.”   said   Stephen   morosely.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">               “Good   point.”   Charlene fell   into   a   brooding   silence.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “So. How’s   the   weather?’   said   Christopher   brightly.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">               “We   actually   got   some   rain   the   other   day.”   his   brother   said   dryly.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   know,   it’s   like   we’re   in   a   spring   drought.”   said   Charlene. “I   mean,   April   is   supposed   to   be   rainy,   and   that’s   the   first   real   rain   in,   what,   a   month?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “And   so   little   snow.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Think   we’ll   have   any   more   weirdness   this   year?”   said   Christopher   hopefully. “Last   year   was   just   epic.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “How   can   you   say   that,   I   lost   my   best   friend   at   the   carnival.”   said   Charlene.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hey,   c’mon,   you   have   to   admit   that   seeing   the   Wild   Man   was   totally   awesome.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   previous   year,   2011,   had   been   plagued   by   an   incredible   series   of   disasters   and   unexplained   phenomena   centering   around   their   small   town   of   Winsted   in   NW   CT. Following   the   worst   winter   in   15   years,   in   which   snow   lay   4   feet   deep   in   the   woods   clear   into   April,   there   had   been   rumors   of   an   attack   on   a   police   station   by   wild   terrorists. This   paled   however   beside   the   catastrophe   of   mid-June,   when   the   long   Highland   Lake   in   a   hollow   of   the   hills   just   above   them   had   experienced   the   world’s   weirdest   tsunami:   the   entire   Third   Bay   had   peeled   it’s   water   up   like   a   slab   and   cascaded   onto   a   large   island,   causing   extensive   flooding   and   damage   and   many   deaths. A   flash   flood   hit   the   downtown   that   very   day,   and   the   big   flood   control   berm   upriver   of   Winsted   had   simply   ceased   to   exist. The   boys   had   gone   up   there,   of   course;   so   had   every   kid   in   Winsted. Not   long   before   this   an   eerie   beacon   of   green   light   had   appeared   in   the   woods,   cause   undiscovered. In   July   there   had   been   more   sudden   tidal   waves   in   the   lake,   as   well   as   a   bizarre   sulpherous   fog. Then   in   August   the   Fireman’s   Carnival   was   disrupted   by   the   sudden   transformation   of   about   half   the   local   teenagers   into:   dragons. The   dragons   had   massacred   half   the   crowd. YouTube   videos   had   caught   some   of   the   action,   and   there   was   no   doubt:   they   really   were   dragons. That   night   another   local   legend,   the   1895   caveman   sighting   called   the   Wild   Man   of   Winsted,   had   suddenly   come   to   life,   stalking   down   every   road   in   town, juggling   police   cars,   a   huge   hairy   thing   ten   feet   high,   manlike   and   naked. The   boys   had   seen   him,   of   course;   it   was   a   frightening   and   wonderful   sight. In   the   autumn   there   had   been   a   violent   explosion   of   phenomena   in   the   north,   up   by   Colebrook,   and   another   in   Burrville   south   of   them   that   resembled   an   eruption. Then   just   before   Halloween   an   autumn   blizzard   dropped   15   inches   of   wet   snow,   snapping   half   the   trees   in   town   and   knocking   out   power   for   weeks. It   had   been   like   camping   in   your   own   house.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Well,   it’s   2012,   the   world’s   supposed   to   end.”   Another   “end   of   world”   hype   had   been   centering   around   that   date   lately,   mostly   due   to   the   Mayan   calendar.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   know,”   sighed   Christopher,   “we’ll   be   watching   The   Hobbit   in   the   theater…the   credits   roll…and   the   world   ends.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hey,   it   can’t   end,   Part   2   of   The   Hobbit   still   has   to   come   out!”   shouted   Stephen.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “The   world   is   saved   once   again   by   the   hands   of   hobbits.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   guys   are   crazy.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Crazy   or   weird? Make   up   your   mind.”   retorted   Christopher.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “It’s   the   same   thing.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “No,   it’s   not.”   said   Stephen. “Crazy   means   you’re   partly   insane. Weird   just   means   you’re   off   the   normal.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I’m   going   to   Google   it.”   said   Charlene. She   pulled   out   her   cell   phone,   causing   the   boys’   mouths   to   drop. “What?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Your   mom   let   you   have   a   cell   phone??”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Why   not? Everybody   does. And   it’s   not   like   my   dad’s   around   to   say   no.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Our   parents   only   have   one   cell   phone,   and   that’s   Dad’s.”   said   Stephen.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   envy   you   guys   sometimes.”   sighed   Charlene   as   she   twiddled   buttons. “You   actually   have   two   parents. In   the   house. Not   fighting.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “It’s   called   a   normal   family.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Well,   it   ain’t   normal.”   she   said   pensively. “I   mean,   if   ‘normal’   means   ‘like   everybody   else’. You’re   like   the   only   people   I   know   with   a   real   family.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “The   Hesters   have   a   real   family   too.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “They   fight.”   she   said.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Really.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “What   was   I   looking   up   again?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Crazy   and   weird.”   Stephen   told   her.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “How   could   I   possibly   forget. Hmm…yup,   crazy:   mentally   deranged,   demented,   insane….impractical,   senseless….informal   or   wacky…   What’s   ''weird?    Ooh,   this   is ''   weird. Take   a   look. Can   you   even   understand   that?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   boys   craned   to   look. She   had   a   new   IPHONE   with   a   wide   flat   screen,   and   displayed   on   that   was   the   definition.''   “Weird:   supernatural   twisting   of   fate   to   bring   about   ill   luck;   curse   or   doom;   curse   made   tanglible   or   personified. 2.   One   who   is   involved   with   the   casting   of   weirds,   a   Fate,   a   witch   “the   Weird   Sisters”. 3.   involving   the   supernatural,   uncanny,   or   merely   bizarre,   4. odd   or   unusual.''”   Stephen   read   out.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “That’s   really   deep.”   mused   Charlene.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   like   it.”   said   Christopher. “I   ought to   memorise   that   and   shock   my   teacher   the   next   time   she   says   weird.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   mean   Ms.   Olsen?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “No,   Ms. Bailey. You   know,   the   cute   one?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “She’s   way   too   old   to   date   you,   Chris.”   sang   Charlene   cattily. Chris   growled   and   made   a   pretend   swipe   at   her. “You   know   I   hate   mushy   stuff.”   he   said.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You’re   weird. Practically   every   guy   in   school   wants   to   have   sex.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hey,   that’s   a   forbidden   word   around   here!”   both   boys   exclaimed. They   looked   so   genuinely   infuriated   that   Charlene   stopped   teasing.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I’ve   always   wondered:   why    do   you   guys   never   talk   dirty?”   she   said   instead.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Because   we   were   well   brought   up.”   said   Christopher   loftily.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “And   we’re   Christian.”   put   in   Stephen.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Now   that   really   is   weird.”   she   said.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Both   boys   gave   her   a   suspicious   look,   and   sure   enough   she   was   snickering. All   three   started   laughing.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   say   weird   one   more   time…!”   threatened   Christopher.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Weird. Weird. Weird.”   said   Charlene. She   jumped   off   the   tractor,   laughing,   as   both   boys   lunged   at   her,   and   they   chased   her   a   few   times   through   the   backyard   before   tagging   her. After   that   they   felt   like   doing    something,   so   they   played   hide-and-seek. By   that   time   their   parents   had   come   out   on   the   third   and   second   floor   porches   of   the   big   square   apartment   house   on   the   corner   of   Boyd   and   the   back   street   and   were   calling them   in   for   supper.

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<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   roof   rose,   huge   and   ragged,   far   above   him. Great   crannies   and   black   rifts,   between   vast   jutting   jags;   like   ten   thousand   giant   rocks   all   jammed   together   at   once,   leaving   this   cave,   like   some   vast   accidental   masonry. Calcite   had   welded   the   stones   together   in   many   places,   and   huge   trunklike   stone   icicles   oozed   their   way   down   almost   to   the   floor,   where   high   sharp   needles   and   thick   drippy   columns   rose   up   to   meet   them. And   encrusted   by   the   calcite,   often   fused   to   the   floor   or   nearly   entombed   by   the   vivid   drippings,   an   army   lay   sleeping. Some   were   no   more   than   a   foot,   or   a   hand,   protruding   from   the   clear   glaseous   stone;   others   had   great   pillars   rooted   on   their   chests   like   narrow   trees,   their   legs   and   heads   free;   some   had   stone   knobs   crusted   on   face   or   body;   and   yet   they   all   still   lived. Unbreathing,   unmoving,   unrotting,   undying,   in   marvelous   armour   of   metals   not   even   modern   technology   could   produce,   surrounded   by   complex   and   evil-looking   engines   now   dormant   but   so   potent,   he   felt,   that   should   they   come   to   life   they   could   bring   down   gods. Cave   opened   from   cave,   on   and   on   for   miles   in   the   ruins   of   the   mountains:   the   Caves   of   the   Forgotten,   sealed   away   forever. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   bent   closer. Higher   than   the   rest,   inside   a   stalactite   of   clear   stone,   a   king   lay   entombed,   his   hand   alone   exposed,   palm   open   as   in   some   last   act   of   defiance. He   looked   at   the   long,   powerful   fingers,   lying   like   a   frozen   statue   under   the   fallen   hills,   with   a   curious,   deadly   fascination. ''

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">''<span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             And   one   finger   twitched. ''

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<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Christopher   really   hated   having   to   go   to   school   in   the   morning. You   had   to   get   up   at   the   ungodly   hour   of   7   and   stagger   around   the   house   like   a   zombie   while   Mom   went   into   her   usual   tizzy   trying   to   get   you   going,   until   you   stood,   dazed,   a   huge   backpack   crushing   you   to   the   ground,   out   on   the   street   corner. They   lived   in   a   tenement   right   on   the   corner   where   the   level   back   street   Hubbard   climbed   to   meet   Boyd   partway   up   its’   plunge   into   Winsted. The   small   L-shaped   front   yard   was   boxed   in   by   a   tall   privet   hedge,   a   bright   green   with   new   growth. An   ancient   maple   whose   short   corded   trunk   seemed   to   have   been   twisted   in   a   spiral   by   some   unseen   giant,   grew   beside   the   sidewalk   downhill   from   the   corner   on   the   Boyd   St   side. There   had   been   a   tire   swing   from   one   big   crooked   limb,   but   Dad   took   it   down   last   year   and   Mom   was   talking   of   a   garden   there. Stephen   stood   next   to   him:   though   Christopher   was   in   middle   school   now   and   Stephen   in   elementary,   his   bus   came   within   a   few   minutes   of   Christopher’s.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   bus   stopped,   with   the   traditional   screech   of   brakes   all   school   busses   seem   to   have:   it   must   be   some   kind   of   law. Chris   climbed   on. Stephen   waved. Chris   avoided   everyone’s   eyes   on   the   bus—most   were   still   strangers,   and   he   really   didn’t   feel   like   altering   that—and   sat   in   the   first   empty   spot. Leaning   on   the   window   he   looked   out. The   spring   scenery,   pale   greens   and   thin   cauliflower   yellow-greens   and   various   shades   of   new-green,   passed   steadily   by. At   the   bottom   of   Boyd   the   bus   turned   right   up   Prospect,   which   ran   along   the   hill   high   above   Main   St   and   gave   a   nice   view   of   the   Winsted   valley,   Main   St   like   an   arrow   and   the   spire   of   St. Joseph’s   rising   above   it. Hills   rose   on   either   side. Then   past   the   old   railroad   tenements   and   the   dead   factories,   fifty   years   forsaken   on   the   edge   of   Mad   River   passing   in   a   deep   stony   channel   between   them   and   Main. Past   the   ballpark   where   the   big   kids   hung   out   and   drugs   were   dealt,   or   so   it   was   said. His   bus   always   went   to   school   the   long   way   around,   turning   right,   away   from   Winsted,   going   under   the   high   concrete   wall   with   the   pines   above   it   and   a   glimpse   or   two   on   the   left   of   graves   from   the   cemetery   on   the   hill.   Graves   of   Arheled.   He   wondered   where   he’d   heard   that   phrase,   but   he   always   seemed   to   associate   it   with   that   cemetery.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Down   past   the   red   industrial   building   that   said   THE   TIMOTHY   AND   PICKE   T   CO. on   it,   a   wood   of   aspens   with   rusting   old   tractor-trailers,   and   then   a   trucking   place,   and   the   lot   the   school   busses   lived   in,   and   a   left   turn   over   the   river   and   up   New   Street. The   map   called   this   area   Mooreville;   there   were   a   lot   of   nice   country   houses   along   a   back   road,   after   the   highway   bridge,   and   the   bus   picked   up   more   kids   there. Toiling   slowly   up   the   long   hill   by   which   New   St   mounts   over   the   highway,   a   man   was   pushing   an   old   green   bike. Chris   looked   again. The   bike   had   a   basket   in   front,   just   like   the   Wizard’s,   but   it   was   more   sea-green,   and   the   young   man   walking   it   was   different. Reddish   hair,   a   sharp   intense   face   with   a   grim   expression,   and   a   brown   leather   coat. He   was   balancing   an   immense black   garbage   bag   on   that   basket,   and   through   the   holes   in   it   Christopher   saw   soda   cans.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   brown   man—he   had   brown   pants   as   well   as   that   brown   coat—looked   suddenly   up   and   met   Christopher’s   eyes   as   the   bus   passed. Deep   burning   eyes,   bright   and   scorching   as   flame,   stabbed   his;   and   then   the   bus   drew   away,   and   the   dreadful   contact   was   broken. Christopher   fell   back   in   his   seat,   shaken,   as   the   bus turned   left. Toward   Winsted,   and   school.

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<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Stephen’s   bus   was   almost   full   and   he   had   some   trouble   finding   a   seat. The   bus   had   already   started   forward   when   he   saw   the   empty   window   seat   beside   a   girl   with   pale   yellow   hair,   hanging   curly   around   her   face.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Uh—anyone’s   place?”   he   said   to   her,   hanging   on   to   the   seat   for   dear   life.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Oh,   I’m   sorry. I   should   take   the   window   if   I’m   alone,   but   I got   talking.”   the girl   said,   laughing   as   she   slid   over   to   the   window. The   niceness   of   her   manners   was   a   considerable   surprise. Stephen   sat   down   self-consciously   and   didn’t   look   at   her,   saying   nothing.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “What’s   your   name?”   the   girl   said.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Uh? Stephen. I’m   Stephen.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You’re   almost   as   bad   as   Forest.”   she   said,   sounding   amused.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Who?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “A   kid   I   know. I’m   Mindy,   by   the   way. Nice   to   meet   you.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Same   to   you. Why   is   it   bad   to   be   like   Forest?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Mindy   laughed. “Well,   actually   it   turns   out   he’s   the   brother   of   my   best   friend   Bell,   but   they   didn’t   know   it   till   last   year   when   their   parents   married. He’s   just   like   super-shy   and   quiet,   and   you’re   lucky   if   he’ll   even   say   Uh   when   you   talk   to   him. Lives   at   the   little   island,   down   by   Second   Bay.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Where?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Oh,   sorry. Up   by   the   lake. It   has   three   bays:   First, right   up   the   road   from   town;   Second   a   mile   or   so   down, and   Third   at   the   far   end,   out   where   the   lunatic   flood   was   last   year. I’ve   never   managed   to   bike   around   it,   it’s   like   three   miles   long,   seriously. All   the   people   there   are   either   rich   or   weird.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   mean   eccentric?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yeah,   I   guess   that’s   better. You   know,   the   roughneck   old   fellow   who   cuts   his   own   wood   and   does   everything   himself,   that   sort   of   guy. I   guess   Bell’s   folks   count   as   rich;   they’re   both   teachers.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             The   bus,   not   having   far   to   go,   pulled   in   at   this   moment   into   Mary   Hinsdale   Elementary   and   came   to   a   stop.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Well,   see-ya,   Stephen.”   said   Mindy. “Oh   gosh. That   rhymes. Remind   me   to   try   turning   that   into   a   poem.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   write   poems?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Nah,   I   only   try   to   write   them. I   usually   only   make   it   for   a   couple   lines   before   I   break   down. Well,   nice   meeting   you.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hey,   nice   meeting   you   too.”   Stephen   said   in   a   rush.

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<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Recess   arrived,   finally. Stephen   merged   quite   gladly   with   the   jumbled   crowds,   trying   mainly   not   to   be   noticed. Until   he   could   get   outside,   a   crowd   was   just   like   a   thicket   when   it   came   to   hiding. The   less   you   were   noticed,   the   less   you   were   picked   on.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Safely   outside,   he   managed   to   get   over   to   the   bushes   edging   the   field   behind   the   playscape. A   broad   stream   splashed   over   rocks   under   young   ash   and   maple   trees,   and   on   the   far   side   one   of   Winsted’s   typical   cute   back   lanes   wandered   above   the   brook,   bordered   by   tall   thin   old   houses,   until   it   turned   uphill   to   meet   the   main   road. He   wormed   his   way   upstream   through   the   brush   and   found   a   good   spot,   where   he   could   just   sit   there   and   stare   at   the   stream   until   the   bell   rang   for   lunch.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “There   you   are.”   said   Mindy,   pushing   through   after   him. “I   looked   all   over   for   you   and   then   I   saw   you   sneak   off.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   just   like   being   out   of   sight.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yeah,   I   know   what   you   mean,”   said   Mindy,   squatting   on   the   little   sandy   bank   beside   Stephen’s   rock. “I   usually   just   find   my   friends   and   we   zone   everything   else   out. Sometimes   the   boys   will   be   nice   to   you,   and   then   it’s   a   lot   of   fun,   but   boys—you   never   can   tell   with   them.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Which   is   pretty   much   what   we   say   about   girls.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Mindy   laughed. “I   miss   Bell.”   she   said   suddenly. “She   used   to   go   to   school   here,   but   they   homeschool   now.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Cool.”   said   Stephen. Some   of   the   children   at   his   church   were   homeschooled.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Yeah,   I   wish   my   parents   would   homeschool   me. But   then   I’d   probably   miss   seeing   my   friends.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You’re   a   lot   nicer   than   most   girls.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Hey,   thanks. Yeah,   I   guess   I’m   weird   that   way. I   just   like   being   nice. Plus   my   mom   taught   me   manners.”   she   laughed. “Of   course,   I   give   as   good   as   I   get   when   around   the   others,   cause   you   have   to   be   a   little   rude   or   you   get   picked   on,   but   yeah,   if   I   don’t   have   to   I   always   try   to   be   nice.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “What   do   you   think   caused   all   that   weirdness?”   Stephen   said. “Last   year,   I   mean.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Mindy’s   eyes   shone   as   she   leaned   toward   him. “I   think   there   was   some   kind   of   secret   superhero   war   or   alien   battle   going   on.”   she   said   conspiratorially. “You   know,   where   the   superheros   start   fighting   and   they’re   trying   to   keep   it   under   cover   but   some   of   the   fight   leaks   out? I   mean,   it’s   the   only   explanation   that   makes   sense.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Superheros   are   in   comic   books.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Oh,   you   never   know,   there   just   might   be   real   people   out   there   with   superpowers.”   Mindy   said   airily. “Or   maybe   the   dragons   did   it!”   Dragons   were   a   byword   in   Winsted   since   the   carnival,   what   with   the   candlelight   vigils   everyone   had   had   to   suffer   through   and   the   overkill   of   sappy   stories   in   the   papers   and   in   sermons   and   speeches.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   saw   the   Wild   Man.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “You   did?? I   must   have   been   the   only   one   in   Winsted   who   slept   through   it.”   she   complained. “Maybe   he   and   the   dragons   were   the   secret   fighting   superheros!”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “That   actually   makes   sense.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “I   have   my   moments.”   Mindy   said   archly.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Do   you   ever   have   dreams?”   Stephen   said   after   a   companionable   silence.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             Mindy   shook   her   head   pertly. “Nope.”   she   said. “I   mean,   of   course   I   dream,   but   all   I   ever   remember   are   little   random   scraps   of   insanity,   like   me   sipping   milk   from   a   fireplace   or   something.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “My   brother   has   really   epic   dreams.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Actually,”   said   Mindy   suddenly,   “I   did   have   one   dream   last night;   all   I   remember   is   some   old   man   with   a   powerful   face   saying   in   some   weird   special-effects   voice,   ‘The   Men   in    Brown   are   come   to   town.’   It   was   creepy.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “The…”   Stephen’s   voice   trailed   off. Vague   images   of   powerful   forms   in   great   sweeping   robes   of   rich   and   deep   and   pale   brown   stalking   ponderously   through   a   forest   swam   dimly   in   his   mind.

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “And   yes,   I   think   he   was   wearing   brown.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">“That   is   interesting.”   said   Stephen. “No,   we   haven’t   dreamed   of   brown   men. Just   creepy   Numenorean   kings   in   forgotten   caves.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “What?”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Lord-of-the-Rings   stuff.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Cool. I’ve   only   seen   the   movies. Oh   bother,   there’s   the   bell. Well,   see   you   later.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “See   you.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             He   met   her   again   on   the   bus,   but   she   was   sitting   with   a   friend. “Where   do   you   live?”   she   said. “Hubbard? Cool;   I’m   at   Rockwell   St.   Just   over   the   hill.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “And   across   the   ravine…and   up   that   Lake   Street   hill.”

<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;"><span style="line-height: 115%; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">             “Oh,   come   on,   you   can   walk.”

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