even more, both girls could see why; the visitors to their bedroom were very short. They could make out no details of the small figures because they were still in the dark, but they were close enough for the girls to see their stumpy outlines. Buffy and Willow didn’t care about that, though, because by then, they were paying close attention to what the creatures were saying. They were so caught up in the whispered words, they hardly even noticed the glowing red eyes anymore.
In the dreams, the voices whispered horrible things that frightened both Buffy and Willow at first, but soon made them feel relieved. Because the voices told each of them what was causing all the problems in their lives . . . and how each of them could get rid of it.
Chapter 5
B Y MORNING, THE RAIN HAD STOPPED. T HE CLOUDS pulled back to reveal a clear and astonishingly blue sky, but stayed within sight, indecisive, as if debating a return engagement. Once it rose above the large wreath of clouds, the sun warmed the chilly air and dried up the tiny gems of moisture that clung to the leaves.
While the students of Sunnydale High were just arriving at school by bus, car, or on foot, two aging retirees stepped out onto their front porches in the well-kept residential neighborhood known as Clover Circle. It was one of the oldest neighborhoods in Sunnydale; many of the people who lived there had moved in when it was a new development, and had stayed there long enough to grow old with it.
Tom Niles and Delbert Kepley were two such residents. They had lived next door to each other for over forty years. In their younger days, they and their wives had gone dancing and to movies together, camping, hiking . . . they’d done everything together. As the years wore on, they took up bridge; Tom and Delbert went fishing together several times a year, and their wives got together afternoons to crochet and watch their stories on television. When Tom’s wife died, Delbert and his wife, Madge, had given him the support he needed to adjust to life alone. Tom and Fran had raised two children, who were now gone, grown and with children of their own. Madge was unable to have children, and she and Delbert had discussed adoption, but somehow they’d never quite gotten around to it.
Their yards were immaculate, cared for daily with loving hands. Short, perfectly trimmed shrubs grew along the white picket fences that went around each of their large front lawns, and in the years since Tom’s wife died, Madge had tended the flowers that grew on both sides of the white picket fence that separated their yards.
The two men stood on their porches, surveying their yards. But they did not come down the steps and greet one another or chat over the fence, as they usually did. Nor had they done so the day before, or the day before that. A chill had developed between the two friends, suddenly and for no apparent reason.
Madge had questioned Delbert about it after Tom hadn’t come over to watch “Wheel of Fortune” and “Jeopardy” two nights in a row, but he’d replied with no more than a frown, a shake of his head, and a growling mumble about being fed up with something or other. She assumed he would tell her about it when he was ready, providing it lasted that long; whatever tiff the two men were having would most likely disappear unacknowledged very soon, as it always did.
As Tom disappeared into his garage, Delbert went back into his house and returned with a portable radio and a steaming mug of coffee. There were two battered old chairs on the covered porch, and Delbert sat in the one that rocked. He put his coffee on the porch’s bannister, found a sports talk show on the radio, and set it next to the mug. He sat back in his chair contentedly to rock gently, sip his coffee, and listen to the radio host discuss pro football with his callers.
From next door, a sound roared to life so suddenly and loudly that Delbert jerked in the creaky old rocker and spilled some
In the dreams, the voices whispered horrible things that frightened both Buffy and Willow at first, but soon made them feel relieved. Because the voices told each of them what was causing all the problems in their lives . . . and how each of them could get rid of it.
Chapter 5
B Y MORNING, THE RAIN HAD STOPPED. T HE CLOUDS pulled back to reveal a clear and astonishingly blue sky, but stayed within sight, indecisive, as if debating a return engagement. Once it rose above the large wreath of clouds, the sun warmed the chilly air and dried up the tiny gems of moisture that clung to the leaves.
While the students of Sunnydale High were just arriving at school by bus, car, or on foot, two aging retirees stepped out onto their front porches in the well-kept residential neighborhood known as Clover Circle. It was one of the oldest neighborhoods in Sunnydale; many of the people who lived there had moved in when it was a new development, and had stayed there long enough to grow old with it.
Tom Niles and Delbert Kepley were two such residents. They had lived next door to each other for over forty years. In their younger days, they and their wives had gone dancing and to movies together, camping, hiking . . . they’d done everything together. As the years wore on, they took up bridge; Tom and Delbert went fishing together several times a year, and their wives got together afternoons to crochet and watch their stories on television. When Tom’s wife died, Delbert and his wife, Madge, had given him the support he needed to adjust to life alone. Tom and Fran had raised two children, who were now gone, grown and with children of their own. Madge was unable to have children, and she and Delbert had discussed adoption, but somehow they’d never quite gotten around to it.
Their yards were immaculate, cared for daily with loving hands. Short, perfectly trimmed shrubs grew along the white picket fences that went around each of their large front lawns, and in the years since Tom’s wife died, Madge had tended the flowers that grew on both sides of the white picket fence that separated their yards.
The two men stood on their porches, surveying their yards. But they did not come down the steps and greet one another or chat over the fence, as they usually did. Nor had they done so the day before, or the day before that. A chill had developed between the two friends, suddenly and for no apparent reason.
Madge had questioned Delbert about it after Tom hadn’t come over to watch “Wheel of Fortune” and “Jeopardy” two nights in a row, but he’d replied with no more than a frown, a shake of his head, and a growling mumble about being fed up with something or other. She assumed he would tell her about it when he was ready, providing it lasted that long; whatever tiff the two men were having would most likely disappear unacknowledged very soon, as it always did.
As Tom disappeared into his garage, Delbert went back into his house and returned with a portable radio and a steaming mug of coffee. There were two battered old chairs on the covered porch, and Delbert sat in the one that rocked. He put his coffee on the porch’s bannister, found a sports talk show on the radio, and set it next to the mug. He sat back in his chair contentedly to rock gently, sip his coffee, and listen to the radio host discuss pro football with his callers.
From next door, a sound roared to life so suddenly and loudly that Delbert jerked in the creaky old rocker and spilled some
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