at midnight and they wouldn’t care.”
Helen smiled at him indulgently. “Midnight, Anthony?”
“Yes.” The boy paused for a moment, then continued. “It’s my birthday today and they don’t even care about that!”
Helen stared at him, startled. “You’re kidding! Really?”
He nodded forlornly and her heart went out to him. “What a crummy birthday!”
“I’m okay.” Anthony glanced up with a cheerful grin. “I made a friend.”
Helen brightened. “Me too,” she said.
Quite suddenly, the car emerged from the woods.
Peering through the windshield, Helen was surprised to see that the road ahead ran in a straight line between fields covered by parched grass. This was obviously farmland, but it lay fallow and unplanted, weeds its only crop. Under the dark and moonless sky, the horizon receded into deeper shadows without any evidence of lighted dwellings. It looked like the middle of nowhere.
Then, quite abruptly, the car’s headlights focused on a white two-story house looming up directly ahead at the far end of the road.
As they approached, Helen noted that the architecture was Victorian, like something out of an old picture-book, rising from a complementary setting of green lawn surrounded by a white picket fence. It seemed as out of place here as if it had been dropped from the sky.
Helen parked before the gateway, noting as she did so that there were lights faintly visible behind the closed shutters.
“Here we are,” said Anthony.
They got out of the car and Helen moved around the side to join the boy as he started forward and opened the fence gate.
Together they moved up the walk bisecting the neat, well-trimmed lawn.
“What a lovely house!” Helen murmured.
Anthony seemed pleased by her reaction. “You like it?”
Helen nodded. “It’s so peaceful. Way out here by itself.”
Nearing the front door, Helen was surprised to see three cars standing in the shadows before the left-hand side of the structure. She couldn’t make out details too clearly, but in the dim light she got a curious impression that they were coated with a fine layer of dust.
Anthony followed her gaze and she nodded toward him. “Three-car family, right?”
He smiled but made no reply. Stepping forward, he opened the front door. Chimes jangled faintly against a tinny background of music issuing from somewhere within.
Anthony gestured toward the open doorway. “C’mon in,” he said.
Helen moved across the threshold and the boy followed her, closing the door behind him. They stood in a hallway lighted by old-fashioned wall lamps. A staircase rose directly ahead, leading to the floor above.
Now that the front door had closed, the music’s fast jerky tempo was louder; it seemed to be coming from the doorway of the room down the hall at their left.
Anthony took Helen’s hand and started toward it, then halted at the entrance just long enough for Helen to get a fleeting glimpse of the room beyond.
It was here that she discovered the source of the music: its ricky-ticky rhythm emanated from the television set against the far wall as cartoon figures leaped and bounded across the flickering screen.
Both the images on the tube and the television itself seemed oddly incongruous in this setting. The darkened parlor looked almost like a reproduction of a Currier and Ives print; the red plush carpet was heavy, the overstuffed furniture massive, the fireplace against the right wall surmounted by a huge marble mantel.
Now, rising from behind high-backed chairs placed directly before the television screen, an elderly man and a young girl turned toward the doorway with startled stares. For a moment Helen had the curious impression that both of them were less than pleased at this sudden invasion, but almost instantly their faces broke into bright, toothy smiles as they hurried forward, nodding at the boy beside her.
“Hi, Anthony!” They spoke simultaneously, then fell silent, turning their attention to
Helen smiled at him indulgently. “Midnight, Anthony?”
“Yes.” The boy paused for a moment, then continued. “It’s my birthday today and they don’t even care about that!”
Helen stared at him, startled. “You’re kidding! Really?”
He nodded forlornly and her heart went out to him. “What a crummy birthday!”
“I’m okay.” Anthony glanced up with a cheerful grin. “I made a friend.”
Helen brightened. “Me too,” she said.
Quite suddenly, the car emerged from the woods.
Peering through the windshield, Helen was surprised to see that the road ahead ran in a straight line between fields covered by parched grass. This was obviously farmland, but it lay fallow and unplanted, weeds its only crop. Under the dark and moonless sky, the horizon receded into deeper shadows without any evidence of lighted dwellings. It looked like the middle of nowhere.
Then, quite abruptly, the car’s headlights focused on a white two-story house looming up directly ahead at the far end of the road.
As they approached, Helen noted that the architecture was Victorian, like something out of an old picture-book, rising from a complementary setting of green lawn surrounded by a white picket fence. It seemed as out of place here as if it had been dropped from the sky.
Helen parked before the gateway, noting as she did so that there were lights faintly visible behind the closed shutters.
“Here we are,” said Anthony.
They got out of the car and Helen moved around the side to join the boy as he started forward and opened the fence gate.
Together they moved up the walk bisecting the neat, well-trimmed lawn.
“What a lovely house!” Helen murmured.
Anthony seemed pleased by her reaction. “You like it?”
Helen nodded. “It’s so peaceful. Way out here by itself.”
Nearing the front door, Helen was surprised to see three cars standing in the shadows before the left-hand side of the structure. She couldn’t make out details too clearly, but in the dim light she got a curious impression that they were coated with a fine layer of dust.
Anthony followed her gaze and she nodded toward him. “Three-car family, right?”
He smiled but made no reply. Stepping forward, he opened the front door. Chimes jangled faintly against a tinny background of music issuing from somewhere within.
Anthony gestured toward the open doorway. “C’mon in,” he said.
Helen moved across the threshold and the boy followed her, closing the door behind him. They stood in a hallway lighted by old-fashioned wall lamps. A staircase rose directly ahead, leading to the floor above.
Now that the front door had closed, the music’s fast jerky tempo was louder; it seemed to be coming from the doorway of the room down the hall at their left.
Anthony took Helen’s hand and started toward it, then halted at the entrance just long enough for Helen to get a fleeting glimpse of the room beyond.
It was here that she discovered the source of the music: its ricky-ticky rhythm emanated from the television set against the far wall as cartoon figures leaped and bounded across the flickering screen.
Both the images on the tube and the television itself seemed oddly incongruous in this setting. The darkened parlor looked almost like a reproduction of a Currier and Ives print; the red plush carpet was heavy, the overstuffed furniture massive, the fireplace against the right wall surmounted by a huge marble mantel.
Now, rising from behind high-backed chairs placed directly before the television screen, an elderly man and a young girl turned toward the doorway with startled stares. For a moment Helen had the curious impression that both of them were less than pleased at this sudden invasion, but almost instantly their faces broke into bright, toothy smiles as they hurried forward, nodding at the boy beside her.
“Hi, Anthony!” They spoke simultaneously, then fell silent, turning their attention to
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