The Magic Spectacles by James P. Blaylock

airplane, but it was so far away that it might have been a bird or something that Uncle Deener dreamed up.”
    “Where was the airplane going?”
    “I don’t know: Where do they go?”
    “Places,” said John. “They go to places.” This kind of talk was starting to scare him. His house suddenly seemed farther away than ever, like a photograph faded by sunlight.
    “How do you know about airplanes if you never see them?”
    “I remember them,” she said. “And there’s pictures in books. And anyway, it was probably something Uncle Deener dreamed up, like I said. Do you remember when you first saw an airplane?”
    John shook his head. He couldn’t remember when he first had seen almost anything. Maybe it was better not to think about that. “What about Mrs. Barlow?” he asked. “Where is she from?”
    Polly shrugged. “She came years ago. She knew Uncle Deener from a long time ago, and came to help one day. She just came to the door. I don’t know how she got here.”
    The autumn wind felt chilly just then. John zipped up his jacket. What had Polly said? Just something Uncle Deener dreamed up.
    “Are you and Aunt Flo
really
Mr. Deener’s imaginary friends?” he asked.
    “Of course we are,” Polly said. She laughed then, and took off running. Over her shoulder she hollered, “Race you to the meadow,” and her laughter carried back to him on the wind. He ran after her, but he couldn’t catch up.

Chapter 3: Mrs. Owlswick’s Window
    They found Mr. Deener on the meadow, setting out his “apparatus,” as he called it. There were two bottles of colored glass chips and a glass magnifying lens as big as a plate. There were jars of mint tea and pond water, and three of Mrs. Barlow’s china saucers and a moon-shaped green cheese. The soap gun lay in the grass over by the creek. Henny-penny men flew through the air, swooping down to say things into Mr. Deener’s ears. He swatted at them, sending the leaves flying.
    In the middle of the apparatus sat an open basket, and inside the basket sat the coffee grinder that Mr. Deener had used last night to grind up the spectacles’ lens.
    “There,” Mr. Deener said, taking off his glasses and polishing them on his shirt. “I’m a stickler for arranging things just so. “I’m…” He looked at John and Danny, and then looked away and polished his glasses again. “I’m…dreadfully sorry that I borrowed your spectacles and ground them up. I won’t do it again, I can assure you.” He put his glasses back on.
    “It’s okay,” John said. Really it wasn’t okay, but so what? It was a new day. There was no point being mean about things. Danny nodded, but he didn’t say anything. He walked out across the meadow looking for the place where the window should have been. The grass and wildflowers were even more smashed down than they had been lat night, and there were fish bones scattered everywhere. A crowd of goblins had pretty clearly been out there snooping around.
    Mr. Deener stood back and looked, first through his glasses and then over the top of them. “There’s something there,” he said. “Definitely something there.”
    “Can you see it?” John asked, excited all of a sudden.
    “See what?” Mr. Deener asked.
    “Why, the window,” John said.
    “No,” Mr. Deener said. “Perhaps I’ll eat a doughnut. Mrs. Barlow wants me to eat at least two dozen this morning.”
    “So soon?” Polly asked. “We’ve just finished breakfast.”
    Mr. Deener looked at the picnic basket and began to blink very rapidly, grabbing at the air with his hands as if he was trying to find something to hold on to.
    “Steady, Uncle Deener!” Polly said.
    “I think he’s starting up again,” John said.
    “Thank you,” said Mr. Deener, “I believe I
will
have one. And he took a tremendous bite out of a pretend doughnut and smacked his lip. “My,” he said, rubbing his stomach. “I’ll just have another one. I’m a big doughnut man. A
big
doughnut