The Lobby

           Hehadtoldthemeverythingexceptwhathadhappenedtohimwhenthesnowhadblockedtheendoftheconcretering.Hecouldn’tbringhimselftorepeatthat.Andbedidn’tknowtherightwordstoexpressthecreeping,lassitudinoussenseofterrorhehadfeltwhenheheardthedeadaspenleavesbegintocracklefurtivelydownthereinthecolddarkness.Buthetoldthemaboutthesoftsoundofsnowfallinginclumps.Aboutthelionwithitsheadanditsbunchedshouldersworkingitswayupandoutofthesnowtochasehim.Heeventoldthemabouthowtherabbithadturneditsheadtowatchneartheend.

           Thethreeofthemwereinthelobby.Jackhadbuiltaroaringblazeinthefireplace.Dannywasbundledupinablanketonthesmallsofawhereonce,amillionyearsago,threenunshadsatlaughinglikegirlswhiletheywaitedforthelineatthedesktothinout.Hewassippinghotnoodlesoupfromamug.Wendysatbesidehim,strokinghishair.Jackhadsatonthefloor,hisfaceseemingtogrowmoreandmorestill,moreandmoresetasDannytoldhisstory.Twicehepulledhishandkerchiefoutofhisbackpocketandrubbedhissorelookinglipswithit.

           "Thentheychasedme,"hefinished.Jackgotupandwentovertothewindow,hisbacktothem.Helookedathismommy."Theychasedmeallthewayuptotheporch."Hewasstrugglingtokeephisvoicecalm,becauseifhestayedcalmmaybetheywouldbelievehim.Mr.Stengerhadn’tstayedcalm.

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