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something funny is probably going to happen here-if you can give me one piece
of real evidence-then I'll do what I can to help. But as it is, the way things
stand, I have to tell you that I'm powerless."
Neil looked unhappy. But he nodded and said, "Okay, George. I guess you're
right. It sounds crazy, and maybe it is crazy."
Sergeant Murray fitted his cap onto his sweaty pink head. "They said that
Thomas Alva Edison was crazy, didn't they? Just think about that."
Neil said quietly, "There's a difference between being a genius inventor and a
frightened father, George."
He went back home. Susan and Toby were sitting at the kitchen table. Susan was
finishing her supper, corned beef hash and home fries, and Toby was drawing.
As Neil came in the back door, Susan looked up and said, "Well?"
He came over and kissed her, and ruffled Toby's hair. "What do you think? He
said he was sorry, but he couldn't spare the manpower. The taxpayers wouldn't
stand for it."
"Even though the taxpayers' children might get hurt?"
"Susan, he didn't believe me. Not one word."
"Did he try to believe you?"
Neil shrugged. "I guess he made a token effort. But it's pretty farfetched
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stuff. I sat there and I listened to myself trying to convince him, and the
more I told him the stupider it all sounded."
She put down her fork and went to the stove. She dolloped hash onto a plate
for him, and set out a dish of crackers and cheese. They didn't eat too fancy
these days, because of the way Neil's business was going, but they managed.
Weekends, they sometimes ate steak, especially if he had a new order to refit
a yacht, but there wasn't much demand for a one-man craftsman around Bodega
Bay.
Neil washed his hands at the kitchen faucet and sat down. He asked, "How are
you doing, Toby?"
"I'm okay," said Toby, without looking up.
"What are you drawing there? It looks like some kind of a spaceship."
Toby crooked his arm around his picture so that Neil couldn't see. "It's a
secret," he said.
Neil started to eat. Susan sat next to him and watched him with concern and a
little pain. She touched his hand as it rested on the table, and gently
stroked his suntanned knuckles.
She said, "Did you really believe that old man yourself? You don't think he
was pulling your leg?"
"Why should he?"
"For the sake of a drink, and a joke with his friends after you'd gone. I
mean, you know what Doughty's like with his stories. Why should Billy Ritchie
be any better?"
Neil set down his fork. "I don't know. I just believe him, that's all. I can't
think of any other reason for what's been happening, except that I'm losing my
marbles."
Susan rubbed her forehead tiredly and thoughtfully. "The trouble is," she
said, "the man in the white coat is one thing, and the nightmares are one
thing, but all this business about twenty-two medicine men coming back to life
to get their revenge on the white man . . ."
"I know," he said, in a soft, hollow voice. "But you were here when Toby
talked about the day of the dark stars, and the gateway, and all that stuff.
You heard him as clear as I did."
"Maybe Billy Ritchie simply pretended he knew what they were. Think about it.
He's alone in that house all day, with nobody to talk to. He's quite likely to
say anything, just to keep you interested."
Neil didn't answer. He finished his hash in silence, and then he pushed his
plate away from him and sat with his elbows on the table and his chin in his
hands.
Susan said, "Honey, you mustn't let it get you down. I know what you're
feeling, but something's bound to happen soon, and you'll forget all about
it."
Neil looked across at her. "The only something that's going to happen, as far
as I can make out, is a damned great massacre."
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She averted her eyes. "You shouldn't speak that way," she said quietly.
"What way? Is it the 'damned' you don't like, or the 'massacre'?"
"I don't like any of it," she retorted. "I don't like these nightmares and I
don't like all this maddening talk of ghosts and manitous and men in long
white coats who vanish as soon as you look at them. If you want to know what I
really feel, I'll tell you. I don't believe a single word of it. I think
you're probably tired and overworked, and maybe you're worried about money,
and you're letting this whole ridiculous business run away with you."
She had tears in her eyes as she spoke, and she was twisting her apron in her
hands. She looked up at him and said, "You're not behaving like Neil anymore.
You used to be so solid, so down-to-earth. It's not like you to think about
devils and demons. I don't know what's happened to you."
Neil bit his lip while she spoke. Then, with as much control as he could
manage, he told her, "I can tell you what's happened. For the first time in
the whole of my life, I've seen a ghost for real. For the first time in my
whole life, I've come across something spooky and supernatural that I've had
to believe in because it's there in front of my eyes. Worse than that, it's
threatening Toby and it's threatening the rest of his class. I've seen it,
Susan, and I can't stand by and let things get worse just because nobody else
happens to believe me."
He got up from the table and pushed in his chair. "Right now I'm going to go
upstairs and smash that wardrobe, and then I'm going to burn it. I don't care
if Mrs. Novato thinks I'm crazy, and I don't care if George Murray thinks I'm
crazy, and I'm sorry to say it, but I don't care if you think I'm crazy,
either. I'm going to protect Toby the best way I know how, and that's by
making sure those spirits don't get hold of him."
Toby had stopped drawing and was staring at him. Neil, pocketing a box of
matches from the hutch, said, "How about a bonfire, Toby? We'll break up that
horrible old wardrobe, and then we'll take it out in the yard, and-"
Toby opened his mouth and roared.
It wasn't a child's roar. It wasn't even a human roar. It came out of his
wide-open mouth like an avalanche of sound, like a terrifying locomotive
blasting through a black tunnel. It was the kind of sound that drowned,
everything, that opened up visions of endless spaces and impossible distances.
Susan screamed, and Neil found himself clutching for the pine hutch for
support. The cups and plates rattled with the rumbling vibration, and a vase
dropped on to the quarry-tiled floor and shattered.
Toby's mouth closed. He sat at the table, the same small mop-headed boy, but
somehow hideously changed. His eyes were bloodshot and congested, and they
stared at Neil with a terrible, knowing strength. His hand clutched at his wax
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