mean," cried Jeff, "all those mascots at all those baseball and football games ... they have ... things ... like you in them?"
"The perfect disguise," said the Alien as his nose lit up. "That way we get to see you at the activity and place that is most important to your livesâyour fun and games."
"And you live right
here
?" asked Jeff. "All the time? Under the stands?"
"I don't think Rolerton would be pleased to know about me," said the Alien. "Too much the outsider. Too curious. So I stay. Everything I need is here."
"Everything? What about food? I mean, do you eat this junk?"
"I only eat once a year. Since I'm here just for the season, I'll be gone in a few days. Next season it'll be another student like me. Not that anyone will know about itâexcept you."
"But ... what if I tell?" asked Jeff.
"You won't," said the Alien.
"Why?"
"Because," said the Alien, "it's time for my annual meal."
And before Jeff could react, the creature's twenty-fingered hands shot out and grabbed him. Jeff struggled, but the Alien's grip was too tight. The costume zipper opened. Pink tendrils whipped out and wrapped around the boy. In a matter of moments Jeff was pulled into the costume. The zipper slid shut.
The costume bulged here, there, here again, and then ceased to move. Then the Alien went out onto the field for the game.
The Astros won.
Jeff was lost.
Inquiries were made. Rolerton's police chief was puzzled. The town didn't lose too many kids, hardly more than one a year.
Usually it was right around the last day of Rolerton's baseball season. Curious.
The Shoemaker and Old Scratch
T HERE ONCE WAS A POOR SHOEMAKER who had little more than the tools of his trade. Not having a place to work, he searched everywhere until he found a very small and dilapidated house. But no sooner did he move in than he discovered the house was overrun with mice. They chewed holes in his leather, drank his glue, and made nests with his thread.
Frustrated, the shoemaker sat upon his front steps to ponder what he could do. After a while a black cat with lemon-colored eyes appeared.
Ah,
thought the shoemaker,
the very creature to do the work.
The shoemaker introduced himself to the cat, explaining that he was a poor maker of shoes who had recently moved into the house only to find it full of mice. "If you get rid of those mice," he said to the cat, "I'll pay you very well."
"How well?" asked the cat.
"Rid my house of mice," said the shoemaker, "and I'll share all my earnings with you."
"How about fifty-fifty?" asked the cat.
"Fifty-fifty," agreed the shoemaker.
"Forever and ever?"
"Forever and ever."
"Deal," said the cat, and she offered a paw, which the shoemaker shook with great solemnity.
The cat went to work. Within a week there was not one mouse to be found in the house.
"Wonderful!" said the shoemaker. "Now I can set down to do my work."
Not only did the shoemaker do that, he soon became quite successful. Each day, however, he waited until he was sure the black cat was sleeping, counted the money he had made, and hid it under the floorboards. He was quite certain the cat did not notice.
One year to the day from when the shoemaker and the cat had made their bargain, the cat announced it was time for her to receive what the shoemaker had promisedâhalf of his earnings.
"Oh, don't be silly," the shoemaker said to the cat. "A cat has no need for money. Besides, you only worked a week. I've worked a whole year. You should be content with a sunny window and the saucer of milk I leave for you each day."
"What about 'forever and ever'?" said the cat.
"Things change," said the shoemaker.
"But a bargain is a bargain," the cat protested.
"Things change," repeated the shoemaker.
The black cat stared up at the shoemaker with her lemon-colored eyes, put up her tail, and went out for a walk. When she returned she did not speak of the matter. In fact, she never spoke to the shoemaker againânot once.
A few days
"The perfect disguise," said the Alien as his nose lit up. "That way we get to see you at the activity and place that is most important to your livesâyour fun and games."
"And you live right
here
?" asked Jeff. "All the time? Under the stands?"
"I don't think Rolerton would be pleased to know about me," said the Alien. "Too much the outsider. Too curious. So I stay. Everything I need is here."
"Everything? What about food? I mean, do you eat this junk?"
"I only eat once a year. Since I'm here just for the season, I'll be gone in a few days. Next season it'll be another student like me. Not that anyone will know about itâexcept you."
"But ... what if I tell?" asked Jeff.
"You won't," said the Alien.
"Why?"
"Because," said the Alien, "it's time for my annual meal."
And before Jeff could react, the creature's twenty-fingered hands shot out and grabbed him. Jeff struggled, but the Alien's grip was too tight. The costume zipper opened. Pink tendrils whipped out and wrapped around the boy. In a matter of moments Jeff was pulled into the costume. The zipper slid shut.
The costume bulged here, there, here again, and then ceased to move. Then the Alien went out onto the field for the game.
The Astros won.
Jeff was lost.
Inquiries were made. Rolerton's police chief was puzzled. The town didn't lose too many kids, hardly more than one a year.
Usually it was right around the last day of Rolerton's baseball season. Curious.
The Shoemaker and Old Scratch
T HERE ONCE WAS A POOR SHOEMAKER who had little more than the tools of his trade. Not having a place to work, he searched everywhere until he found a very small and dilapidated house. But no sooner did he move in than he discovered the house was overrun with mice. They chewed holes in his leather, drank his glue, and made nests with his thread.
Frustrated, the shoemaker sat upon his front steps to ponder what he could do. After a while a black cat with lemon-colored eyes appeared.
Ah,
thought the shoemaker,
the very creature to do the work.
The shoemaker introduced himself to the cat, explaining that he was a poor maker of shoes who had recently moved into the house only to find it full of mice. "If you get rid of those mice," he said to the cat, "I'll pay you very well."
"How well?" asked the cat.
"Rid my house of mice," said the shoemaker, "and I'll share all my earnings with you."
"How about fifty-fifty?" asked the cat.
"Fifty-fifty," agreed the shoemaker.
"Forever and ever?"
"Forever and ever."
"Deal," said the cat, and she offered a paw, which the shoemaker shook with great solemnity.
The cat went to work. Within a week there was not one mouse to be found in the house.
"Wonderful!" said the shoemaker. "Now I can set down to do my work."
Not only did the shoemaker do that, he soon became quite successful. Each day, however, he waited until he was sure the black cat was sleeping, counted the money he had made, and hid it under the floorboards. He was quite certain the cat did not notice.
One year to the day from when the shoemaker and the cat had made their bargain, the cat announced it was time for her to receive what the shoemaker had promisedâhalf of his earnings.
"Oh, don't be silly," the shoemaker said to the cat. "A cat has no need for money. Besides, you only worked a week. I've worked a whole year. You should be content with a sunny window and the saucer of milk I leave for you each day."
"What about 'forever and ever'?" said the cat.
"Things change," said the shoemaker.
"But a bargain is a bargain," the cat protested.
"Things change," repeated the shoemaker.
The black cat stared up at the shoemaker with her lemon-colored eyes, put up her tail, and went out for a walk. When she returned she did not speak of the matter. In fact, she never spoke to the shoemaker againânot once.
A few days
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