Chapter the 8th
Sheila swam through an ocean of stuffed animals, struggling to keep a hold on her candle and the sheets of music as blue stuffed rabbits, green teddy bears, and purple hippopotami crowded in on her. Finally, a pair of hands pulled her through the toys: it was Nigel. Screaming voices filled the air. A soft knock on the head almost knocked her over. Dodge balls of different sizes and colors were flying in all directions. A troop of toy soldiers was marching straight at her. Nigel batted away more balls coming at her and stepped in front of the toy soldiers to divert their course.
“I guess this is a toy store, all right,” Sheila muttered.
“It’s the best,” said Nigel, his eyes glowing.
Morley’s Toy Store was not much brighter than Taverner & Tye’s but the wider aisles made Sheila feel less claustrophobic than the candle shop did. Children were over the place, examining toys and playing with them. The blacks cassocks the choir boys wore created thin shadows among the more colorful clothes worn by the other children. A large picture window filled with toys looked out on a cobbled street that was filled with busy shoppers and a large fountain flowing in the middle. More and more children were running to the store from all directions, jerking the door open so that its bells jangled noisily, and getting into line. Nigel poked Sheila gently on the arm.
“Get in line over here,” he suggested. “As soon as we give him our names, we can get our toys.”
Nigel pointed to a tall, thin man dressed in a shirt and breeches that looked as if they were made from tree bark. He sat with a large book on his lap which he used as a desk for scribbling on a long, narrow sheet of paper while a girl at the front of a long line of children talked to him. The used portion of the paper curled on the floor, creating a spiral that threatened to reach back up to his knee. Nigel placed Sheila in front of himself and absorbed the blow from a couple of boys who tried to knock them out of their places.
“Hey you with the funny glasses!” shouted a boy from several places back.
Suspecting that the boy was calling her, Sheila refused to look back at him. To add to her discomfort, several children in front looked back at her.
“He means you,” said the girl right in front of her.
“So what?” Sheila retorted.
“Who are you anyway?” asked a boy in front of the girl.
“Who let you in here?” asked a girl in front of that boy.
“Are you from Correlee?” asked the boy in front of the girl. “If you are, then you’re under arrest as a prisoner of war.”
Nigel stepped up next to Sheila and stared the other children down.
“I will have you know that this fine girl, Sheila, was escorted to this place by Kevin the Weaver Painter,” the head chorister announced stoutly.
To Sheila’s surprise, that seemed to cow a few of the children for a few seconds.
“Kevin the Weaver Painter’s not with her now,” said a boy, seeming to regain some of his courage.
Being reminded of Kevin did not improve Sheila’s temper. For all he cared, she could still be trapped in Tavener & Tye’s with no idea of what to do or where to go.
“As Nigel, chief chorister of the Royal Carelin Boys’ Choir, I stand in proxy of Kevin the Weaver Painter as Sheila’s escort for the present,” Nigel announced. “I will have you know that this fine girl is carrying a candle from Taverner & Tye’s and she found there some choral music that was lost until she found it.”
Sheila was amazed that Nigel stuck up for her even though he hardly knew her, but the other children did not look any friendlier toward the head chorister of the Royal Carelin Boys Choir than for Sheila.
“I always knew you guys would stab us in the back some day,” said one of the boys.
“Only a choirboy like you would bring a girl from some other kingdom right when we all have to stick together,” said a girl.
“Sorry about this,” Nigel said to Sheila in a low voice. “Usually we treat strangers a lot better. I don’t like what’s happening to our kingdom.”
Finally, Sheila had come close enough to the front of the line that she could hear the man mutter as he constantly scribbled on his list: “Edward, Son of Philip—two pirate swords; Jane, Daughter of Melvin—three dolls—Name?”
It took Sheila a moment to realize it was her turn.
“Uh—Sheila Armstrong.”
“Patronymic, please—Hilary Son of Benjamin: four mechanical ducks—“
“What’s that?” asked Sheila.
“What’s your father’s name?” Nigel asked her.
“Harvey—Harvey Armstrong.”
“Sheila, Daughter of Harvey,” said Nigel to the man.
“Sheila, Daughter of Harvey,” said the man as he wrote it down, “locate your toy and tell me what it is. I need to write it down—Kevin Son of Harold: one caboose—Name?”
Sheila looked over at Kevin, but he was already disappearing into a crowd in one of the aisles with a toy caboose trailing after him.
“Nigel—Son of my father,” Nigel answered the scribbling man.
“Proceed to find your toy,” said the man.
“You didn’t give him your father’s name,” said Sheila as she and Nigel walked towards the shelves of toys.
“That’s what you say when nobody knows your father’s name,” said Nigel grimly.
“Oh, sorry.”
“Not your fault,” said Nigel.
Sheila looked about the store, bewildered at the toys moving in all directions. The line of tin soldiers marched past her. One of them beat a mechanical drum, another played a fife. She almost tripped over a frog hopping along the floor and then had to sidestep a toy spider that almost caught her in a web it was weaving to one girl’s amusement. A couple of airplanes darted at her and Nigel valiantly shielded her and took a blow on his shoulder for his trouble.
“There you are!” cried a boy.
It was Kevin rummaging through some toys with Edmund and a couple other choirboys. He carried a wooden box with the picture of a quill emblazoned on it and his toy caboose continued to follow him around like a puppy.
“Are you okay?” asked Kevin.
“Yes, no thanks to you,” Sheila replied.
“I looked all over for you,” Kevin insisted.
“Well, you didn’t look hard enough,” said Sheila.
Kevin winced so hard at those words that Sheila was almost sorry for saying what she’d said. But before she could think of something to say to him, a beach ball hit her on the head and knocked her off balance. She fell against a shelf, rattling everything so loudly that she covered her head to protect her from an avalanche of toys. To Sheila’s surprise, however, the only a pink toy piano clinked to the floor.
“Hey! Geoffrey!” Nigel cried at the boy who had thrown the beach ball. “Where are your manners?”
Nigel ran after the chorister, leaving Sheila with the toy pink piano that rolled across the floor in Sheila’s direction.
“That’s some piano you bought,” said a girl, looking down at it with evident distaste.
“I didn’t buy it,” Sheila insisted.
“You did, too,” said a boy. “No refunds in this store,” said a boy.
“My father’s a lawyer and he knows how to handle an unfair bill,” said Sheila.
She angrily stomped down the aisle, hoping to get away from everybody. She passed by miniature baseball and football players that moved about on their fields and teddy bears that wrestled playfully with each other. Just as she turned a corner, Sheila felt a nick at the back of her shoe. To her dismay, the pink toy piano had followed her.
“How many times do I have to tell you I don’t want you?” Sheila asked the toy as if it could understand her.
She gave the pink toy piano a kick that sent it skidding back up the aisle until it crashed into Kevin’s toy caboose and another train car that had come along.
“Sheila!” Kevin yelled. “You hurt my caboose.”
Kevin stooped down to pet the caboose as if it really were a puppy. The other train car made a circle around Kevin as if competing for the boy’s attention. Meanwhile, the piano backed away from the caboose, spun around, and rolled itself back toward Sheila.
“I’m sorry,” said Sheila, “I’m just trying to get rid of this yucky toy piano.”
“You shouldn’t do that,” said a small boy. “My Great Aunt says that if you have a quest to do, then you should use the things that come to you.”
Sheila winced when she recognized the boy as Dennis.
“Nobody asked me my permission to organize a quest for me,” said Sheila.
“My Great Aunt says that only people who want to make a quest ever get one,” Dennis insisted.
“Well, somebody made a mistake with me,” said Sheila.
Dennis suddenly burst into tears, which was almost enough to make Sheila feel bad. One of the choirboys stooped down and patted Dennis on the back.
“She doesn’t mean it,” said the boy. “She doesn’t just understand what a quest is.”
“Thanks, Hilary,” Dennis sobbed.
Having comforted his caboose, Kevin picked up the other train car and looked at it. Edmund, Dennis and Hilary crowded around Kevin. Curious, Sheila shoved the toy piano aside with her foot and went over to look for herself. This train car was painted red and it had bars of a cage across it, like a circus car. Under the bars, there were gold letters that read: Fenrir the Sun Swallower. Inside the cage, a miniature gray wolf prowled from side to side.
“Who’s Fenrir?” asked Kevin. “Do you know, Dennis?”
“My Great Aunt told me that Fenrir is the wolf that eats up the sun when the world comes to an end,” said the tedious boy.
“Does that mean he’s on our side or their side?” Kevin asked.
“If we’ve found him here at Morley’s,” said Edmund, “than he must be on our side.”
Kevin put the car back down on the floor next to the caboose and both cars moved around his feet like two puppies on a leash. Another bump against Sheila’s shoe turned her attention away from Kevin’s train cars. The pink toy piano was still pestering her.
“That thing will never leave you alone,” said an old man dressed in black.
“If suggest you kick that piano so hard, it will never come back to you,” said a woman, also dressed in black.
“Otherwise, that thing will haunt you,” said a younger man, also in black.
Liking the suggestion, Sheila gave the piano such a good kick that it flew into a shelf full of teddy bears. The satisfaction Sheila felt dissolved into a chill as the shelf faded away, leaving a pocket of darkness in its place.
“What did you do?” Dennis yelled.
“Now you’ve done it!” cried Edmund.
“What did I do?” asked Sheila, afraid that she had done something terrible in her fit of anger.
“You just brought the Dark Lake into this store,” Edmund replied.
“What’s that?” asked Sheila.
She thought she saw slow waves of motion in the darkness suggestive of thick water, but she wasn’t sure if that was just her imagination or not. The Dark Lake expanded and all the children near it moved back.
“My Great Aunt told me everything that gets lost drops to the bottom of the Dark Lake,” said Dennis.
“Is that the Dark Lake Amarilla warned us about?” asked Kevin.
“There is only one Dark Lake that my Great Aunt has ever talked about,” said Dennis, “and I’m sure that Amarilla would talk of no other.”
“Does you Great Aunt think that some of the lost light has gone to the Dark Lake?” asked Edmund.
“Yes, she does,” Dennis answered.
As Sheila and the other children kept their eyes fixed on the Dark Lake, mesmerized, a pale white patch began to emerge out of the darkness. Gradually, the patch focused itself to a doll house. Sheila had never liked the doll houses her doting parents gave her when she was little, but this one was different. It was a narrow three-storied house in a late nineteenth-century style, wood frame and towers and all. More interesting yet, the house did not look new. Some of the paint on the outside was peeling, and one of the front steps needed repair. But those features only added to the charm of the house.
“Was this house—lost?” Sheila asked.
“It must be, if my Great Aunt is right,” said Dennis.
“And she’s always right,” said Edmund.
“Hey!” cried Kevin, “this place looks . . .”
Loud gunshots and the shattering glass interrupted Kevin. The boys all ran off to see what the noise was all about. Sheila opened the front door of the house and ducked in to get away from it all. Nobody was home, but the house looked lived in. A grand piano filled one corner of the living room was and several other musical instruments lay about among numerous book cases and potted plants. A half-drunk cup of cocoa on the seat of the chair made Sheila wrinkle her nose. Unable to resist a piano at such close quarters, Sheila went over to it and played a note. It was perfectly in tune! She sat down on the bench, put her music manuscripts and the candle on the rack and started to play a piece she knew. After playing a few measures, she stopped and looked around at the potted plants, books and sheet music strewn on the floor, a cello leaning against a book case, a couple more half-drunk cups of tea on a table and a half-eaten sandwich on the floor. Then remembered that she had just walked into a doll house, and yet she was the right size for it. The questions that raised disturbed Sheila so much that she started playing her piano piece once more.
------------------
Shawn slammed the door to Morley’s Toy Store, then stopped short. To all appearances, he was still in the Byrd & Tallis, only this room was even darker than the last. There were no overhead lights and the table candles burned very low or not at all. Blocking Shawn’s way was a table where an old woman was having dinner with several grandchildren or great grandchildren. At the next table over, a family of foxes dressed in fine clothes ate dinner with their paws. A dance band was playing somewhere, but the musicians were not to be seen. Shawn looked back the way he came. Sweat formed on the palms of his hands and the escargots he had just eaten became active in his stomach when Shawn saw no trace of a wall, let alone a door where he had just come in. Tables filled with diners and drinkers surrounded him and there was not a toy in sight. Trying the technique that worked for him and Karen before, Shawn plowed into the chair before him, but he only succeeded in spilling food and drink all over the table and the diners.
“Watch where you're going!” cried a man as he wiped food off his suit coat.
“He doesn't look like somebody who belongs here,” said a woman as she wiped off the wine splattered on her face.
“I’m sorry,” Shawn apologized.
He bolted straight into a waitress carrying a full tray and the plates crashed to the floor amid more cries of outrage. Shawn pivoted into another direction and ended up in the grip of a waiter who did not look amused.
“What are you doing here?” asked the waiter.
“I'm looking for Morley's Toy Store,” Shawn answered.
The room became suddenly and ominously quiet.
“Did you say you were looking for Morley’s Toy Store?” the waiter asked him. “In here?”
“Well, yea. I just—uh—went through a door from the Byrd & Tallis that said it was the entrance to Morley’s Toy Store and I ended up here.”
Several people grumbled in astonishment.
“He doesn’t belong in Morley’s Toy Store!” yelled a man with green eyes.
“He doesn’t belong here, either,” added a woman with cherries in her hair.
“What do you mean I don’t belong in Morley’s Toy Store?” Shawn yelled.
“The answer to that,” said the waiter, “is in your heart.”
On the last word, the waiter stuck a finger right at Shawn’s heart.
“I’m tired of being told I’m not good enough for you guys,” said Shawn.
“Has it occurred to you that we might be tired of having somebody like you come along and take all the light away from us?” asked a woman.
“If you want me to be somebody who steals your precious light,” said Shawn through clenched teeth, “then be my guest.”
Shawn picked up a low-flickering candle from the nearest table at flung it at the mirror over the bar. Where the mirror was a moment ago, a dark hole formed and began to expand. Everybody in the tavern gasped and Shawn could not ignore a sharp chill running through his body.
“The Dark Lake!” cried the bartender.
Everybody became still, as if waiting for something to happen. Shawn thought he heard a train whistle. When it sounded louder, he was sure of it. Shawn glued his eyes to the dark hole with mounting excitement as a train engine poured out of the darkness where of the broken mirror. Across the top of the engine, the sign read: MORLEY’S TOY STORE. The engine slowed chugged into the tavern as tables parted to make room for it. Behind the engine were open roller-coaster cars with cowboys and their horses riding them. As soon as the train stopped, the cowboys mounted their horses and rode them as they leaped out of the cars. They shot at the table candles with their pistols and rode out of the tavern, leaving a thick cloud of dust after them.
“Now we know who you are!” yelled a man, pointing right at Shawn. “YOU MUST BE KING SHAWN THE FIRST OF CORELEE!”
“How did you ever guess?” Shawn replied.
Everybody rose from their seats and converged on Shawn. Not interested in waiting around to see what they wanted to do to him, Shawn leaped into the nearest open cart. As if it were just waiting for him, the train started up. It moved slowly at first, gently pushing people aside. It circled around and headed back to the Dark Lake where the mirror had been. The train picked up speed until Shawn felt as if he were on a roller coaster without the tracks. Then the tracks really disappeared and the train fell. Shawn refused to scream as he hung on to the bar with all his might.
-------------
Up at the front of Morley’s Toy Store, several children shooting toy guns through a broken shop window and soldiers in the street were shooting at something up in the sky.
“There it is!” cried a child. “Get it!”
“Black bird, black bird, fly away before all of us die!” chanted some other children.
One boy shot off a toy cannon that took out a piece of roof. With the patch of open sky exposed, Kevin could see for himself that the children and soldiers were shooting at a large crow flying low over the street. The same three people dressed in black who had crashed Mrs. Lear’s funeral emerged from among the children, walked out the door, and approached the soldiers. The tall thin man at the front was still scribbling and muttering as if nothing were happening. Several children raised their toy rifles and aimed them at the crow.
“DON’T SHOOT IT!” squeaked Dennis.
The children with lowered their rifles and turned to stare at the little choirboy boy who stood boldly before them, his eyes on fire. Several of the choirboys had gathered around him protectively. Kevin held back, wishing he knew where he could be safe.
“You are interfering with the Carelin Militia!” yelled a soldier from outside the door.
“That black bird is trying to steal our light!” a boy charged.
“Don’t you know what my great aunt says about black birds?” Dennis asked.
“I suppose she thinks they carry gold in their beaks or something,” said a girl.
The boy’s lips quivered as he tried to say what he wanted to say. When he couldn’t say it, he burst into tears. Nigel put an arm around the boy’s shoulder to comfort him.
“I’ll bet your great aunt thinks that black birds should be protected if we value our kingdom, right Dennis?” Nigel asked the boy.
“Yes,” Dennis sobbed.
“You heard that, fellow choristers” said Nigel. “CASSOCKS HO!”
The choristers squirmed out of the cassocks and flung them through the broken shop window. The cassocks floated in the air where they turned into blackbirds. Some formed a protective ring around the large crow while others dove at the soldiers and the children and whisked their guns away Before any of the attackers could pick up their weapons, the large crow and the black birds had flown away. A soldier with a slew of medals decorating his uniform stomped into the store, his face flushed with anger.
“As Sargent at Arms for His Majesty King Perezvon XXVI,” announced the soldier, “I demand information as to who unleashed the black birds which have further darkened the glorious Kingdom of Carelin.”
‘They did!” shouted several children in a ragged chorus as they pointed to the choirboys who were now dressed in tan breeches and white shirts.
“They threw their robes out the window!” cried a boy.
“And their robes turned into blackbirds and the blackbirds took our guns away and helped that crow get away,” said a girl.
The Sargent at Arms fixed his eyes on the boys who showed no sign of being intrimidated by him.
“Do you mean to tell me that the Royal Carelin Boys’ choir would further the cause of a crow who has just flown through our sky and darkened it?” he thundered.
Nigel stepped forward to speak for the choir.
“It is not royal policy to shoot down crows,” said Nigel.
“It is too royal policy to shoot a crow when it darkens our skies,” the Sargent at Arms countered, “and it is contrary to royal policy to further darken the skies by sending blackbirds into it.”
“Not even the king can make it a royal policy to shoot at a crow!” cried Geoffrey.
“Crow Face!” yelled a boy.
“Rhinoceros Face!” a chorister yelled back.
“Hippopotamus in the mud!”
“Gargoyle in your grandma’s molasses!”
A stuffed anteater and a stuffed skunk flew in opposite directions, followed by similar missiles and further insults. The tall thin man with the list scribbled away, seemingly oblivious of the stuffed animals, dolls, toy trucks and many other projectiles flying over his head. A blue elephant hit Kevin in the head. Nigel nabbed Kevin and pulled him behind a barricade that the other choristers were already making out of bean bags, punching bags, life size stuffed polar bears and anything else the boys could find to defend themselves from the other children.
-------------------------
Mark Clement could not get enough of the blossoming trees or the people walking about the strange town he and Scott had just walked into. Some of people were dressed in seventeenth century costumes while others looked as if they could adorn the sidewalks of Manhattan with their business suits and psychedelic shirts. A man with a handlebar mustache rode by on a bicycle with a high front wheel and a small back wheel. A group of children rode past on sleek Arabian mares, and a few horse-drawn buggies rolled along on the cobblestones, stirring up a racket. The shops appeared to be restored buildings from an English village, and they had names like the Byrd & Tallis and Morley’s Toy Store. Dominating the street was a fountain which shot up sprays of different colors. At the end of the street was a shipping dock at the edge of a body of water.
“I'm not dreaming am I?” asked Mark.
“Maybe,” Scott replied.
By silent consent, they walked up to the fountain. Stone mermaids and mermen swam in the bubbly water that sparkled with all the colors of the rainbow. Looking over the rim, Mark expected to see the bottom filled with coins, but instead he only saw his reflection. The dark eyes in his reflection grew larger until he saw many other faces reflected in his eyes. The colors in the water formed halos around all of the reflected faces, and in those halos, more faces appeared. The reflected eyes opened wider as if expressing astonishment, and smaller reflections became embedded in the larger reflections.
“It’s too much!” Mark cried suddenly, tearing himself away.
“I know,” said Scott, somberly, having looked away sooner than Mark did.
“What are we supposed to do now that we're here?” asked Mark. “Look for that wolf?”
“We should find out soon enough,” Scott replied.
“How do we find out?” asked Mark.
“I think we’ll just find out, that’s all,” said Scott.
Mark followed Scott as he sauntered along the store fronts and looked in through the windows. A clothing store was selling historical fashions that one might wear while acting in a play. A shop called Morley’s Toy Store had toy soldiers and stuffed animals moving about as frantically as animals in a pet store begging for someone to take them. More curious was a Dime Store with a display window full of dimes. The window of a store called Tavener & Tye’s was filled with candles carved into the shapes of castles and dragons and unicorns.
“Hey!” yelled a man. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”
The man was a heftier person than Mark wanted to tangle with. In spite of his waistcoat and pocket watch, he looked ready for a fight. More ominously, a few other people had stopped to look at the strangers.
“Yea,” said a teenage boy, “who are you and what are you doing here?”
“I am Scott the Harmonica Player,” said Scott as he pulled a harmonica out of his shirt pocket.
“Never heard of you,” said the big man.
“And who’s they guy with you?” asked a woman. I’ve never seen him around here, either?”
“Hey! What’s this?” cried another man.
Everybody in the street forgot the strangers and looked up. A huge black bird, larger than an eagle, but otherwise looking like a crow, was flying low over the street.
“Help! Militia! Help!” cried the big man who had first threatened Scott and Mark.
“Don’t call the militia!” cried a woman. “No crow will hurt us!”
But the sound of tramping feet could be heard already. A company of soldiers wearing blue uniforms with brightly polished brass buttons turned a corner and marched down the middle of the street. Each soldiers carried a musket over his shoulder that would have been in style during the American Revolution. During this time, the crow continued to circle around the area as if looking for a place to land. The commander brought the company to a halt and they stood at attention in front of Morley’s Toy Store.
“Company, aim at the crow!” ordered the commander.
The soldiers raised their muskets and took aim.
“FIRE!”
The muskets fired. Mark and Scott joined several of the townspeople in taking cover behind one of the buggies. Somehow the black bird eluded all of the bullets, as far as Mark could tell. Then a cannon ball shot through the roof of the toy store but it, too, missed the bird. A group of children dashed out of the store with toy guns and fired at the bird. The officer ordered his men to fire a second volley. Several of the bystanders cheered the soldiers and the children but others protested vociferously. One woman threw herself on the commander and treated him with a long stream of abusive verbiage.
“Come on, Crow,” Scott urged the bird as it struggled to avoid the bullets aimed at it.
“How do you know that bird deserves to escape?” asked Mark.
“I always feel sorry for anybody or anything that gets ganged up on,” said Scott.
“I know the feeling,” said Mark.
When more than a dozen black clouds rose out of the hole in the roof of the store, Mark feared that the crow was a goner. But the clouds turned out to be black dresses or coats floating out of the store. More curious still, the dresses flapped their arms as if they were birds, and then they turned into a flock of black birds. Some of the birds flew at the soldiers and the children, knocking the muskets out of the hands of the soldiers and the toy guns out of their hands of the children with their beaks and claws and wings. The rest of the birds formed a protective ring around the crow. A few more shots rang out, but they did no damage to either the crow or the blackbirds as they quickly flew out of range, The commander freed himself from the protesting woman and stomped into the store. People all up and down the street intensified their arguments with each other, some yelling and screaming that the crow was stealing the light and others yelling and screaming that the crow was innocent.
“Hey! You!” yelled the heavy-set man who had caused trouble for Mark and Scott before. “Whose side are you on, ours or the crow’s?”
“You’d better be on the crow’s side!” a woman threatened them as she pointed a parasol at Scott and Mark.
“You’d better be on our side!” yelled an adolescent boy.
“LET THEM SPEAK!” the first man ordered.
“We are on the crow’s side,” said Scott firmly.
The crow’s partisan’s cheered , but the other people growled in threatening tones.
“That crow was stealing our light!” yelled a man.
“Crows bring bad luck!” cried a woman.
“You can’t blame crows for everything that goes wrong in our kingdom!” insisted a woman.
“It isn’t the crow’s fault that the king declared war without finding out who’s taking whose light!” cried a man.
“How dare you criticize his majesty King Perezvon XXVI!” yelled a man.
“How dare you criticize a critic of the royal family!” a woman yelled back in return.
The yelling became more and more intense on both sides and crow’s antagonists started to close in on Scott and Mark while the crow’s supporters wedged themselves between the two boys and their potential attackers. Just when it appeared that the two groups of people would come to blows, more gunshots scattered attackers and defenders alike. What was left of the front window of Morley’s Toy Store shattered and a band of cowboys rode through the broken widow and into the street. They shot several rounds of ammunition in the air and their horses kicked up clouds of dust. When the dust had become so thick that Mark could see hardly anything, the sound of hoofbeats suddenly stopped. Only then did Mark realize that he thought the horses were unicorns. When the dust cleared, Mark thought that Morley’s Toy Store looked odd. The his his stomach collapsed when he recognized Carl’s Hardware Store in its place. Like Morley’s Toy Store, the front window of Carl’s was shattered. Mark recognized the customers as his own neighbors in Milton, but as far as he could tell, nobody inside the store realized yet what had just happened to them.
“What is going on now?” Mark asked, pointing to the store.
“I wish I knew,” said Scott, his face pale. “I think some people are in for the surprise of their lives.”