Afterthoughts
It can’t be said with certainty the mime’s life would have been saved had the snow storm been on time, but it’s the conclusion to which most rationale people would come. The flurry was to have hit at precisely noon; however, it arrived at half-past the hour, and it wasn’t until then that the patrons at the Robust Café realized something was wrong with Boyd Robertson (the mime). From inside the warmth of the Robust, the clientele began to see the mime really was trapped in a box. . .

Something awakened Patrick Granger. Instinctively, he pulled his arms and legs into his body, careful not to topple over his makeshift throne. Registering the twilight of his surroundings, a wave of terror spread over him.

Oh God, no. The fire. I’ve let the fire go out.

Patrick strained to see the floor below, but the semi-darkness cast menacing shadows everywhere. Reaching into his shirt pocket for one of several penlights, Patrick moved the slim beam first left and then right searching the. . .

The darkness spread just outside the cab’s window. It crept up the walk and nuzzled the front door of the Fenter home. Jason looked through it as a familiar silhouette framed by the window pane moved behind drawn shades.

His mother serving dinner.

Jason offered the driver a grand (half now and half later) to ensure he’d wait curb-side. The cabbie took the money and said something, but Jason wasn’t listening. He got out of the taxi—he in the darkness as the still-moving. . .

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My sister is almost all gone now. That’s the reason I need a child. I’ve figured out getting a kid is the only thing I can do to prevent myself from disappearing, too. It has to be the answer. My sister has no children, and she wasn’t around while Mom and Dad died. I’m pretty sure her not being here is the reason that even though she’s younger than I am, she’s almost gone. Besides me, our folks were her only reinforcements, but the two of us are all that’s left of our family now, and she’s too far gone to be of any help to either of us, so if I don’t do something soon, I know I’ll disappear, too.

Harold Melton was seven years old when Wally Logen sprayed Raid in his eyes. It was just after noon on Christmas day, and Harold had gone to the school to ride the bike Santa left. Wally Logen was creeping around in the hallways waiting for kids to show up to play with their new toys. When kids showed up, Wally attacked, and as the bullied children fled, Wally made his own Christmas merrier by taking whatever was left behind.