"We've been hoping you would come to us with Bart's
secret."
None of it was easy to say. "Well," I began
slowly, hoping to find the right words, "first, you
should know Bart has lots of nightmares in which he
wakes up crying. He pretends too much, such as
hunting big game and normal kid stuff like that, but
when I catch him crawling around sniffing the ground,
then digging up a nasty old bone and carrying it
between his teeth to bury it somewhere else, that's
going too far." I paused and waited for them to say
something. Mom had her head turned as if she was
listening to hear the wind. Dad leaned forward,
watching me intensely.
"Go on, Jory," he urged. "Don't stop now.
We're not blind. We see how Bart is changing." Dreading to tell more, I hung my head and
spoke very low. "I've tried several times to tell you
before. I was afraid then too. You've both been so
worried about Bart that I couldn't speak."
"Please don't hold anything back," Dad said. I looked only at my father, unable to meet my mother's fearful gaze. "The lady next door gives Bart all sorts of expensive gifts. She's given him a St. Bernard puppy he calls Apple, two miniature electric trains along with small village and mountain settings-- the complete works. She's had one huge room of hers turned into a playroom just for him. She
would give me gifts too, but Bart won't let her." Stunned, they turned to one another. Finally
Dad said, "What else?"
I swallowed and heard my odd, husky voice.
This was the worst part, the part that really hurt.
"Yesterday I was in the backyard near the wall . . .
you know, where that hollow tree is. I had the hedge
clippers and was pruning like you showed me, Dad,
when I smelled something putrid. It seemed to come
from that hole in the tree. When I checked . . . I found