old Pluto is, he thought, he sure takes good care of things.
Thomas made his way around the house. He took notice of every window, flower bed and what few bad pieces of siding there were. He missed nothing of what there was to see. There were fifteen windows on the first floor, and five of them were floor to ceiling. He counted six 5-foot window boxes loosely packed with fresh earth and seeded already.
What do you suppose he planted in them? Thomas wondered. He leaned over one of the boxes. He could see shoots of some kind, perhaps summer and autumn blooms, but he didn’t know much about flowers. He tried smelling the soil.
It smells sweet, he thought. Why did he have to do everything!
Thomas would have liked planting the boxes himself, carefully seeding them in evening, when soil seemed most fresh. He would have planted them with hyacinth, maybe, and pale green fern.
He might’ve planted them with poison, that Mr. Pluto, Thomas thought. Just a good-smelling poison. When you leaned over a box to see what was growing, you would get a whiff of it and that would be the end of you !
“Then he could be king,” Thomas said out loud. “That’s what he thinks he’s going to be.”
There were five entrances to the house. There was the front entrance, with the oak door and the steps with the tunnel beneath. There was one on either side of the house and two in the rear. One rear door led to the kitchen. The other looked quite old, was boarded up, and had been replaced by the newer one. Thomas examined the rear of the house more carefully. He had the feeling that there was something odd about it.
He backed away from the house to get a clearer view. Behind him, the land rose to the top of the hill.
There were trees up there—big, ancient trees, dense and wet with rain.
Just trees, he thought. If I climb one, I can see how the house looks from the roof down.
Thomas worked his way up the hill. Closer to the trees, he saw that they were a variety he didn’t know.
“Won’t be able to climb those,” he said eyeing the sharp needles. He looked behind him down the hill and was surprised to find he could see beyond the house to the stream below it. He saw that the house hadn’t been built directly facing the stream, but at an angle to it.
It looks like it faces the stream when you’re standing down there, he thought.
Thomas squatted down to study what lay before him. Then he stretched out on the damp ground with his head propped on his elbow. Slowly he grew calm and tired. After what had happened under the house, he was content to be where he was.
“The house doesn’t look so scary from up here,” he said. “It’s not pretty though, but that flat roof makes it look more graceful.”
Thomas stared a long time at the house and landscape, thinking of nothing in particular. He must have dozed. When at last he started and sat up, his legs were stiff. He got up, and his arms and face were cool.
He felt strange all of a sudden. He looked around him. The trees held darkness; below him, lights were on in the house. It seemed as though night had risen from the earth.
Thomas was ready to start down the hill as fast as he could go, when something rooted him where he was. He must have been hearing the sound for some time.
He couldn’t move now if he tried, for the sound was dreadful, there in the dark trees.
“Ahhh, ahhh. Ahhh, ahhh.”
It came from behind Thomas. The night was still; he could hear the sound clearly. Moving ever so slowly, he turned toward the trees. He listened for a long time, and, standing there, he became hidden by night.
Thomas was afraid, but it wasn’t the first time today he had been afraid.
It’s my birthday, he thought.
Papa, don’t turn out the lights. Please don’t.
He slipped through the trees, so used to walking in woods he could calculate where the pine boughs would touch him and have his hands in position to push them away. He walked on his toes, with one foot in front of the
Thomas made his way around the house. He took notice of every window, flower bed and what few bad pieces of siding there were. He missed nothing of what there was to see. There were fifteen windows on the first floor, and five of them were floor to ceiling. He counted six 5-foot window boxes loosely packed with fresh earth and seeded already.
What do you suppose he planted in them? Thomas wondered. He leaned over one of the boxes. He could see shoots of some kind, perhaps summer and autumn blooms, but he didn’t know much about flowers. He tried smelling the soil.
It smells sweet, he thought. Why did he have to do everything!
Thomas would have liked planting the boxes himself, carefully seeding them in evening, when soil seemed most fresh. He would have planted them with hyacinth, maybe, and pale green fern.
He might’ve planted them with poison, that Mr. Pluto, Thomas thought. Just a good-smelling poison. When you leaned over a box to see what was growing, you would get a whiff of it and that would be the end of you !
“Then he could be king,” Thomas said out loud. “That’s what he thinks he’s going to be.”
There were five entrances to the house. There was the front entrance, with the oak door and the steps with the tunnel beneath. There was one on either side of the house and two in the rear. One rear door led to the kitchen. The other looked quite old, was boarded up, and had been replaced by the newer one. Thomas examined the rear of the house more carefully. He had the feeling that there was something odd about it.
He backed away from the house to get a clearer view. Behind him, the land rose to the top of the hill.
There were trees up there—big, ancient trees, dense and wet with rain.
Just trees, he thought. If I climb one, I can see how the house looks from the roof down.
Thomas worked his way up the hill. Closer to the trees, he saw that they were a variety he didn’t know.
“Won’t be able to climb those,” he said eyeing the sharp needles. He looked behind him down the hill and was surprised to find he could see beyond the house to the stream below it. He saw that the house hadn’t been built directly facing the stream, but at an angle to it.
It looks like it faces the stream when you’re standing down there, he thought.
Thomas squatted down to study what lay before him. Then he stretched out on the damp ground with his head propped on his elbow. Slowly he grew calm and tired. After what had happened under the house, he was content to be where he was.
“The house doesn’t look so scary from up here,” he said. “It’s not pretty though, but that flat roof makes it look more graceful.”
Thomas stared a long time at the house and landscape, thinking of nothing in particular. He must have dozed. When at last he started and sat up, his legs were stiff. He got up, and his arms and face were cool.
He felt strange all of a sudden. He looked around him. The trees held darkness; below him, lights were on in the house. It seemed as though night had risen from the earth.
Thomas was ready to start down the hill as fast as he could go, when something rooted him where he was. He must have been hearing the sound for some time.
He couldn’t move now if he tried, for the sound was dreadful, there in the dark trees.
“Ahhh, ahhh. Ahhh, ahhh.”
It came from behind Thomas. The night was still; he could hear the sound clearly. Moving ever so slowly, he turned toward the trees. He listened for a long time, and, standing there, he became hidden by night.
Thomas was afraid, but it wasn’t the first time today he had been afraid.
It’s my birthday, he thought.
Papa, don’t turn out the lights. Please don’t.
He slipped through the trees, so used to walking in woods he could calculate where the pine boughs would touch him and have his hands in position to push them away. He walked on his toes, with one foot in front of the
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