done terrible things. Unspeakable things. But I cannot call them
accidents
.” She whipped her head around so quickly that Homer jumped in his seat. “You should keep that coin in a safe place. The City is full of thieves.” She reached into her bag again and pulled out a matchbook. “If you tuck your coin into this, it will be safe. No thief would want to steal a matchbook.”
Homer smiled nervously, then took the matchbook. It read: ZELDA’S TRINKET SHOP . As the lady watched, he tucked the coin into the matchbook, then stuck it in his pocket. It seemed like a good idea. Not as brilliant as hiding it beneath a fold of sagging basset hound skin, but good nonetheless. A whistle blew and the train slowed.
“Gloomy Moor,” the conductor announced from the doorway. “All off for Gloomy Moor.” Brakes squealed as the train came to a full stop.
“This is my destination.” The tall woman collected her bag and lantern, then raised herself from the seat,bending to keep from bumping her head. “It was nice to meet you, Homer Pudding.”
“It was nice to meet you, too,” he said.
Once the woman had departed, Homer returned to his sister’s row. Dog followed, eating a piece of discarded bubble gum along the way. “Did you find your coin?” Gwendolyn asked, dusting off one of her stuffed rats.
“Yeah.”
“Did you give it to the conductor?”
“No. But the tickets are paid for, so don’t worry.” Homer shuffled his feet. “Hey, Gwendolyn. Could you not tell anyone about the coin? I mean, that it was from Uncle Drake?”
Gwendolyn shrugged. “I don’t care about your stupid coin.”
Homer took the window seat opposite his sister. Outside, at the edge of the Gloomy Moor station, the woman raised her lantern and looked back at Homer. Then she waved. He politely waved back. With a swirl of her black cape, she disappeared into a cloud of steam. It had been nice of her to pay the fare. But he wondered, as the train pulled away, what kind of terrible, unspeakable things she had done. And then a shiver darted down his backside.
She’d called him Homer Pudding.
He didn’t recall mentioning his name.
Tomato Soup Girl
H omer.”
Homer rubbed his eyes. A bad dream evaporated until only its edges could be remembered—flames, sirens wailing, more flames. Dog lay across Homer’s lap. With the armrest pushed out of the way, Dog took up two seats. His drool had seeped through Homer’s jacket sleeve. “What’s going on?” Homer asked.
“We’re here,” Gwendolyn said.
Homer pressed his sleepy face to the window. Tallbuildings whizzed past, illuminated by streetlights and the first rays of morning. Block after block of bricks and cement, iron and steel, colorless, cold and rigid. Home, with its dappled hills and shady trees, seemed a world away.
The conductor hurried through the car. “Next stop The City. All off for The City.” A nervous flutter tickled Homer’s stomach. He had a lot to accomplish, but wasn’t sure where exactly to begin.
The train screeched to a stop. After tying Dog to the rope leash, Homer followed Gwendolyn into the station. Frantic people swarmed every inch of the building. Coming and going, lugging suitcases and backpacks, they pushed around Homer, while a few tripped over Dog. The front of the station proved louder, with honking trucks, shouting vendors, and roaring engines. The noise hit Homer square on, like a box to the ears. A blast of stink collided with his face, thanks to a row of taxicabs that sat idling at the curb, their tailpipes spitting out snakes of exhaust. “Yuck,” Gwendolyn said, plugging her nose.
Because Milkydale’s air was always sweet with fruit blossoms and freshly mowed grass at this time of the year, taking a deep breath was an enjoyable activity. Homer didn’t realize that if you took a deep breath in The City at this time of year, or at any time of year forthat matter, you stood a good chance of inhaling one of those exhaust snakes and
accidents
.” She whipped her head around so quickly that Homer jumped in his seat. “You should keep that coin in a safe place. The City is full of thieves.” She reached into her bag again and pulled out a matchbook. “If you tuck your coin into this, it will be safe. No thief would want to steal a matchbook.”
Homer smiled nervously, then took the matchbook. It read: ZELDA’S TRINKET SHOP . As the lady watched, he tucked the coin into the matchbook, then stuck it in his pocket. It seemed like a good idea. Not as brilliant as hiding it beneath a fold of sagging basset hound skin, but good nonetheless. A whistle blew and the train slowed.
“Gloomy Moor,” the conductor announced from the doorway. “All off for Gloomy Moor.” Brakes squealed as the train came to a full stop.
“This is my destination.” The tall woman collected her bag and lantern, then raised herself from the seat,bending to keep from bumping her head. “It was nice to meet you, Homer Pudding.”
“It was nice to meet you, too,” he said.
Once the woman had departed, Homer returned to his sister’s row. Dog followed, eating a piece of discarded bubble gum along the way. “Did you find your coin?” Gwendolyn asked, dusting off one of her stuffed rats.
“Yeah.”
“Did you give it to the conductor?”
“No. But the tickets are paid for, so don’t worry.” Homer shuffled his feet. “Hey, Gwendolyn. Could you not tell anyone about the coin? I mean, that it was from Uncle Drake?”
Gwendolyn shrugged. “I don’t care about your stupid coin.”
Homer took the window seat opposite his sister. Outside, at the edge of the Gloomy Moor station, the woman raised her lantern and looked back at Homer. Then she waved. He politely waved back. With a swirl of her black cape, she disappeared into a cloud of steam. It had been nice of her to pay the fare. But he wondered, as the train pulled away, what kind of terrible, unspeakable things she had done. And then a shiver darted down his backside.
She’d called him Homer Pudding.
He didn’t recall mentioning his name.
Tomato Soup Girl
H omer.”
Homer rubbed his eyes. A bad dream evaporated until only its edges could be remembered—flames, sirens wailing, more flames. Dog lay across Homer’s lap. With the armrest pushed out of the way, Dog took up two seats. His drool had seeped through Homer’s jacket sleeve. “What’s going on?” Homer asked.
“We’re here,” Gwendolyn said.
Homer pressed his sleepy face to the window. Tallbuildings whizzed past, illuminated by streetlights and the first rays of morning. Block after block of bricks and cement, iron and steel, colorless, cold and rigid. Home, with its dappled hills and shady trees, seemed a world away.
The conductor hurried through the car. “Next stop The City. All off for The City.” A nervous flutter tickled Homer’s stomach. He had a lot to accomplish, but wasn’t sure where exactly to begin.
The train screeched to a stop. After tying Dog to the rope leash, Homer followed Gwendolyn into the station. Frantic people swarmed every inch of the building. Coming and going, lugging suitcases and backpacks, they pushed around Homer, while a few tripped over Dog. The front of the station proved louder, with honking trucks, shouting vendors, and roaring engines. The noise hit Homer square on, like a box to the ears. A blast of stink collided with his face, thanks to a row of taxicabs that sat idling at the curb, their tailpipes spitting out snakes of exhaust. “Yuck,” Gwendolyn said, plugging her nose.
Because Milkydale’s air was always sweet with fruit blossoms and freshly mowed grass at this time of the year, taking a deep breath was an enjoyable activity. Homer didn’t realize that if you took a deep breath in The City at this time of year, or at any time of year forthat matter, you stood a good chance of inhaling one of those exhaust snakes and
Similar Books
