Farewell Summer by Ray Bradbury Page A

level with whatever was inside it.
    The big bright glass jar held what looked like a giant cold gray oyster. Doug peered at it, mumbled something to himself, then stood up and moved on. The boys followed.
    Suspended within the liquid in the next jar was something that looked like a bit of translucent seaweed or, no, more like a seahorse, a miniature seahorse, sure!
    And the glass jar after that held something that resembled a skinned rabbit or a raw cat with its fur shucked, getting bigger …
    The boys’ eyes moved, darted, stayed, flicked back to examine the first, second, third, fourth jars again.
    â€˜What’s in
this
one, Doug?’
    Five, six, seven.
    â€˜Look!’
    They all looked and it might have been another animal, a squirrel or a monkey – sure, a monkey – but with transparent skin and a strange sorrowful expression.
    Eight, nine, ten, eleven – the jars were numbered but had no names. There was nothing to hint at what the boys were looking at, what it was that froze their veins and iced their blood. Until at last, at the far end of the row, near the exit sign, they reached the last jar and all leaned toward it and blinked.
    â€˜That
can’t
be!’
    â€˜Naw.’
    â€˜It
is
,’ gasped Douglas. ‘A baby!’
    â€˜What’s it
doing
in there?’
    â€˜Being dead, dummy.’
    â€˜Yeah, but … how …?’
    All their eyes swiveled to rush back – eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five and four and three and two and one – to the first jar, the one holding the pale little oyster curlicue.
    â€˜If that’s a baby …’
    â€˜Then,’ said Will, all numbness, ‘what in blazes are all those creepy things in the
other
jars?’
    Douglas counted backward, then forward again, but stayed silent, his icy flesh all goose bumps.
    â€˜I got nothing to say.’
    â€˜Upchuck, Doug, upchuck.’
    â€˜Those things in the jars …’ Doug began, face pale, voice paler. ‘They’re – they’re babies, too!’
    It was as if half a dozen sledgehammers had slammed into half a dozen stomachs.
    â€˜Don’t
look
like babies!’
    â€˜Things from another world, maybe.’
    Another world
, thought Douglas.
In those jars, drowned. Another world.
    â€˜Jellyfish,’ Charlie said. ‘Squids.
You know.’
    I know
, thought Douglas.
Undersea
.
    â€˜It’s got blue eyes,’ Will whispered. ‘It’s looking at us.’
    â€˜No, it’s not,’ said Doug. ‘It’s drowned.’
    â€˜C’mon, Doug,’ Tom whispered. ‘I got the willies.’
    â€˜Willies, heck,’ Charlie said. ‘I got the heebie–jeebies. Where’d all this stuff come from?’
    â€˜I don’t know,’ Douglas said, chafing his elbows.
    â€˜The wax museum last year. That was sort of like this.’
    â€˜These aren’t wax,’ said Tom. ‘Oh, gosh, Doug, that’s a real baby there, used to be alive. I never seen a dead baby before. I’m gonna be sick.’
    â€˜Run outside. Go on!’
    Tom turned and ran. In a moment, Charlie backed off and followed, his eyes darting from the baby to the jellyfish or whatever it was and then to the seahorse or what might be someone’s earlobes, tympanum and all.
    â€˜How come there’s no one here to tell us what all this stuff is?’ Will wondered.
    â€˜Maybe,’ said Doug slowly, ‘maybe they’re afraid to tell, or
can’t
tell, or
won’t.’
    â€˜Lord,’ said Will. ‘I’m froze.’
    From outside the tent’s canvas walls came the sounds of Tom being sick.
    â€˜Hey!’ Will cried suddenly. ‘It moved!’
    Doug reached his hand out to the glass. ‘No, it didn’t.’
    â€˜It moved, darn it. It doesn’t like us staring at it! Moved, I’m telling you! That’s enough for me. So long, Doug.’
    And Doug was