“Well,” he said slowly, “that doesn’t sound too promising, does it?”
“I think it
sounds marvelous,” said Susan. “The sooner Toby stops having those awful
dreams, the better.”
“Susan, it’s
not just dreams. It’s waking visions as well. What about that old man’s face I
saw on Toby last night? What about the man in the white coat that Toby saw?
What about the guy standing on the bay?”
Susan stared at
him. “What guy standing on what bay? What are you talking about?”
He glanced at
her, and then he lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry. I was meaning to tell you, but I
didn’t know how. It was just something that happened today. Or rather it was
something I thought happened today.”
She leaned
forward and put her arm around his shoulder. “You didn’t know how to tell me?
But Neil, I’m as worried about all this as you are! I’m your wife. That’s what
I’m here for, to confide in.”
He said,
huskily, “Sure, honey, I know. It’s just that it’s kind of hard to admit to
yourself that you might be flipping your lid, or suffering from some kind of
kids’ hysteria.”
“Don’t be so
ridiculous! If you saw something, you saw it. Maybe there’s a natural
explanation.
Maybe it was
some kind of mirage. But if you saw it, that’s it, I believe you.”
He shrugged.
“I’m glad you’ve got some confidence in me. I’m not sure that I’ve got much
confidence in myself.”
Susan kissed
his head”. “I love you,” she said simply. “If there’s something making you
worried, then it worries me, too. Don’t forget that.”
Neil reached
inside the Manila envelope and took out a sheaf of brightly colored drawings.
Susan drew up a
chair beside him, and they looked through them, one by one.
The drawings,
although they varied in style and color, were strangely alike. They showed
trees, mountains, and struggling figures. Some of them depicted twenty or
thirty stick people, their arms all flung up in the air, with splashes of
scribbled red all around. Others showed only one or two people, lying on their
backs amid the greenery. There were arrows flying through the air in about a
dozen drawings, and in others there were men holding rifles.
Only about eight
or nine children had written names or words beside their pictures. Toby had
written “Alien, help.” Daniel Soscol had written “ Alun ” and then crossed it out. Debbie Spurr had put down “Alien, Alien, didn’t come back.”
There were some
odd names, too. “Ta-La-Ha-Lu-Si” was written in heavy green crayon on one
picture. Another bore the legend “ Kaimus .” Yet
another said “ Oweaoo ” and “ Sokwet .”
Susan and Neil spent twenty minutes going through the drawings, but in the end
they laid them down on the desk and looked at each other in bewilderment.
“I don’t know
what the hell it all means,” admitted Neil. “It just doesn’t seem to make any
kind of sense at all.”
“It’s strange
that they all have the same kind of picture in their minds, though,” said
Susan. “I mean, how many other groups of twenty-one different people would all
have the same nightmare? Look at this one – this is Toby’s. His drawing is
almost the same as everyone else’s.”
Neil pushed
back his chair and stood up. Outside, through the cheap net curtains, he could
see Toby in the backyard, shoveling up dust with his Tonka bulldozer. Neil felt
such a wave of protectiveness toward him that the tears prickled his eyes. What
on God’s earth was Toby caught up in? Were these really just nightmares, or
were they something arcane and dangerous?
Susan
suggested, “Maybe we ought to talk to Doctor Crowder again. Perhaps it’s some
kind of psychological sickness.”
Neil slowly
shook his head. “Toby’s not sick, and neither are the rest of those kids. Nor
am I, if it comes to that. I feel it’s more like something from outside,
something trying to get through to us, you know?”
“You’re talking
about something like a
“I think it
sounds marvelous,” said Susan. “The sooner Toby stops having those awful
dreams, the better.”
“Susan, it’s
not just dreams. It’s waking visions as well. What about that old man’s face I
saw on Toby last night? What about the man in the white coat that Toby saw?
What about the guy standing on the bay?”
Susan stared at
him. “What guy standing on what bay? What are you talking about?”
He glanced at
her, and then he lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry. I was meaning to tell you, but I
didn’t know how. It was just something that happened today. Or rather it was
something I thought happened today.”
She leaned
forward and put her arm around his shoulder. “You didn’t know how to tell me?
But Neil, I’m as worried about all this as you are! I’m your wife. That’s what
I’m here for, to confide in.”
He said,
huskily, “Sure, honey, I know. It’s just that it’s kind of hard to admit to
yourself that you might be flipping your lid, or suffering from some kind of
kids’ hysteria.”
“Don’t be so
ridiculous! If you saw something, you saw it. Maybe there’s a natural
explanation.
Maybe it was
some kind of mirage. But if you saw it, that’s it, I believe you.”
He shrugged.
“I’m glad you’ve got some confidence in me. I’m not sure that I’ve got much
confidence in myself.”
Susan kissed
his head”. “I love you,” she said simply. “If there’s something making you
worried, then it worries me, too. Don’t forget that.”
Neil reached
inside the Manila envelope and took out a sheaf of brightly colored drawings.
Susan drew up a
chair beside him, and they looked through them, one by one.
The drawings,
although they varied in style and color, were strangely alike. They showed
trees, mountains, and struggling figures. Some of them depicted twenty or
thirty stick people, their arms all flung up in the air, with splashes of
scribbled red all around. Others showed only one or two people, lying on their
backs amid the greenery. There were arrows flying through the air in about a
dozen drawings, and in others there were men holding rifles.
Only about eight
or nine children had written names or words beside their pictures. Toby had
written “Alien, help.” Daniel Soscol had written “ Alun ” and then crossed it out. Debbie Spurr had put down “Alien, Alien, didn’t come back.”
There were some
odd names, too. “Ta-La-Ha-Lu-Si” was written in heavy green crayon on one
picture. Another bore the legend “ Kaimus .” Yet
another said “ Oweaoo ” and “ Sokwet .”
Susan and Neil spent twenty minutes going through the drawings, but in the end
they laid them down on the desk and looked at each other in bewilderment.
“I don’t know
what the hell it all means,” admitted Neil. “It just doesn’t seem to make any
kind of sense at all.”
“It’s strange
that they all have the same kind of picture in their minds, though,” said
Susan. “I mean, how many other groups of twenty-one different people would all
have the same nightmare? Look at this one – this is Toby’s. His drawing is
almost the same as everyone else’s.”
Neil pushed
back his chair and stood up. Outside, through the cheap net curtains, he could
see Toby in the backyard, shoveling up dust with his Tonka bulldozer. Neil felt
such a wave of protectiveness toward him that the tears prickled his eyes. What
on God’s earth was Toby caught up in? Were these really just nightmares, or
were they something arcane and dangerous?
Susan
suggested, “Maybe we ought to talk to Doctor Crowder again. Perhaps it’s some
kind of psychological sickness.”
Neil slowly
shook his head. “Toby’s not sick, and neither are the rest of those kids. Nor
am I, if it comes to that. I feel it’s more like something from outside,
something trying to get through to us, you know?”
“You’re talking
about something like a
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