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A chewed lump of pink bubble gum, falling, had hit a pile of old paper near Jim's foot.

A five-year-old boy, above, crouched on the grille, peered down with dismay after his vanished sweet.

Get! thought Will.

The boy knelt, hands to the grille.

Go on! thought Will.

He had a crazy wish to grab the gum and stuff it back up into the little boy's mouth.

A parade-drum thumped one huge time, then--silence.

Jim and Will glanced at each other.

The parade, both thought, it's halted!

The small boy stuck one hand half through the grille.

Above, in the street, Mr. Dark, the Illustrated Man, glanced back over his river of freaks, cages, at the sunburst tubas and python brass horns. He nodded.

The parade fell apart.

The freaks hurried half to one sidewalk, half to the other, mingling with the crowd, passing out handbills, eyes fire-crystal, quick, striking like snakes.

The small boy's shadow cooled Will's cheek.

The parade's over, he thought, now the search begins.

"Look, Ma!" The small boy pointed down through the grille. "There!"

Chapter 35

IN NED'S Night Spot, half a block from the cigar store, Charles Halloway, exhausted from no sleep, too much thinking, far too much walking, finished his second coffee and was about to pay when the sharp silence from the street outside made him uneasy. He sensed rather than saw the mild intermingled disturbance as the parade melted among the sidewalk crowds. Not knowing why, Charles Halloway put his money away.

"Warm it up again, Ned?"

Ned was pouring coffee when the door swung wide, someone entered, and splayed his right hand lightly on the counter.

Charles Halloway stared.

The hand stared back at him.

There was a single eye tattooed on the back of each finger.

"Mom! Down there! Look!"

The boy cried, pointing through the grille.

More shadows passed and lingered.

Including--the Skeleton.

Tall as a dead tree in winter, all skull, all scarecrow-stilted bones, the thin man, the Skeleton, Mr. Skull played his xylophone shadow upon hidden things, cold paper rubbish, warm flinching boys, below.

Go! thought Will. Go!

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Tags: Ray Bradbury Green Town Fiction