Stranger Things Happen Read Online Free PDF

tongue that the Biederbecke boy had bitten
off.
    How had she lost her leg? Mrs. Rook watched Carroll with a cold
and methodical eye as he ate, and he held Rachel's hand under the
table for comfort. He was convinced that her mother knew this and
disapproved. He ate his pork and peas, balancing the peas on the
blade of his knife. He hated peas. In between mouthfuls, he gulped
down the pink wine in his glass. It was sweet and strong and tasted
of burnt sugar. "Is this apple wine?" he asked. "It's
delicious."
    "It's strawberry wine," Mr. Rook said, pleased. "Have more. We
make up a batch every year. I can't taste it myself but it's strong
stuff."
    Rachel filled Carroll's empty glass and watched him drain it
instantly. "If you've finished, why don't you let my mother take
you to meet the dogs? You look like you could use some fresh air.
I'll stay here and help Daddy do the dishes. Go on," she said.
"Go."
    Mrs. Rook pushed her chair back from the table, pushed herself
out of the chair. "Well, come on," she said. "I don't bite."
    Outside, the moths beat at his face, and he reeled beside
Rachel's mother on the moony-white gravel, light as a thread spun
out on its spool. She walked quickly, leaning forward a little as
her right foot came down, dragging the left foot through the small
stones.
    "What kind of dogs are they?" he said.
    "Black ones," she said.
    "What are their names?"
    "Flower and Acorn," she said, and flung open the barn door. Two
Labradors, slippery as black trout in the moonlight, surged up at
Carroll. They thrust their velvet muzzles at him, uttering angry
staccato coughs, their rough breath steaming at his face. They were
the size of small ponies and their paws left muddy prints on his
shirt. Carroll pushed them back down, and they snapped at his
hands.
    "Heel," Mrs. Rook said, and instantly the two dogs went to her,
arranging themselves on either side like bookends. Against the
folds of her skirt, they were nearly invisible, only their
saucer-like eyes flashing wickedly at Carroll.
    "Flower's pregnant," Mrs. Rook said. "We've tried to breed them
before, but it never took. Go for a run, girl. Go with her,
Acorn."
    The dogs loped off, moonlight spilling off their coats like
water. Carroll watched them run; the stale air of the barn washed
over him, and under the bell of Mrs. Rook's skirt he pictured the
dark wood of the left leg, the white flesh of the right leg, like a
pair of mismatched dice. Mrs. Rook drew in her breath. She said, "I
don't mind you sleeping with my daughter but you had better not get
her pregnant." Carroll said,
    "No, ma'am." "If you give her a bastard, I'll set the dogs on
you," she said, and went back towards the house. Carroll scrambled
after her.
    #
    On Friday, Carroll was shelving new books on the third floor. He
stood, both arms lifted up to steady a wavering row of psychology
periodicals. Someone paused in the narrow row, directly behind him,
and a small cold hand insinuated itself into his trousers, slipping
under the waistband of his underwear.
    "Rachel?" he said, and the hand squeezed, slowly. He jumped and
the row of books toppled off their shelf, like dominoes. He bent to
pick them up, not looking at her. "I forgive you," he said.
    "That's nice," she said. "For what?" "For not telling me about
your father's—" he hesitated, looking for the word, "—wound."
    "I thought you handled that very well," she said. "And I did
tell you about my mother's leg."
    "I wasn't sure whether or not to believe you. How did she lose
it?"
    "She swims down in the pond. She was walking back up to the
house. She was barefoot. She sliced her foot open on something. By
the time she went to see a doctor, she had septicemia and her leg
had to be amputated just below the knee. Daddy made her a
replacement out of walnut; he said the prosthesis that the hospital
wanted to give her looked nothing like the leg she'd lost. It has a
name carved on it. She used to tell me that a ghost lived inside it
and helped her walk. I