through the interlocking arms of the trees and he saw the bone-colored façade of the factory beyond. Sweat had suddenly sprung out along his skin and there was a cold needling at the base of his spine now. He felt…strange.
“Maybe I was wrong,” Matthew said. “I mean, maybe there’s no one here and I was just seeing things.”
“What do you call those visions people see when they’re real thirsty in the desert?” Dwight asked.
“A mirage?” Matthew said. He had read a story about mirages in one of his comic books. They were like hallucinations. Sometimes people out wandering in the desert dropped to their knees and downed mouthfuls of sand that their addled minds had fooled them into believing was water.
“Yeah,” Dwight said, “a mirage. Maybe that’s what it was.”
“But I’m not thirsty.”
Dwight shrugged. “Maybe you don’t gotta always be thirsty to see a mirage.”
“Maybe,” he said, though he knew it hadn’t been a mirage, hadn’t been a hallucination. Only people dying in the desert saw mirages and only crazy people had hallucinations. Matthew knew he was neither.
At their backs, thunder rolled as angry-looking clouds filled the sky over the mountaintop. The boys cast wary glances at each other as the sunlight retreated from the long lashes of yellow grass that sprouted up all around them.
The old plastics factory, rotting away in a bowl of weeds and scrubland and hidden behind a fence of trees, looked like the forgotten relic that it was. Matthew had never been this close to the building before—he’d never crossed Route 40 and the Narrows before—and just seeing it caused a cool, unbalanced chill to infiltrate his body. That needling icicle drove deeper into his spine.
“It’s bigger up close, huh?” Dwight intoned. He stepped closer to the stone wall and stood on his tiptoes to peer into one of the multicolored windows. The bars on the windows looked rusty and dangerous, foreboding, and Matthew wondered what would happen if someone were to cut their hand open on one of those bars. He’d heard of tetanus and other such infections, and he wondered if touching those angry-looking bars would result in him rotting away in some sterile, white hospital room somewhere, his skin slowly peeling away from his skeleton, his musculature shriveling like paper thrown into a bonfire. What exactly was tetanus, anyway? Tiny microbes that got into your bloodstream and wreaked havoc until your joints disassembled and your limbs fell off? Did it cause you to go blind? Deaf? Would he spend the rest of his miserable life slumped over in a wheelchair?
“Where exactly did you see him?” Dwight asked, moving slowly around the side of the building.
Matthew was frozen and unable to speak. He stared up at the two immense smokestacks that rose up and pierced the gunmetal sky, nearly breaching the low-hanging storm clouds.
“Hey!” Dwight thumped him on the forearm with his stick. “Did you hear me?”
“What?”
“Where did you see him?”
Matthew pointed toward the hollow of shadow against the side of the building, where the trees crowded in and caused spangles of strained sunlight to filter down against the whitish, moss-covered wall of the factory. “There,” he said dryly.
Dwight bent down and dipped beneath the overhanging trees. He faded into the shadows, mingling within the space where Matthew had seen the strange figure he believed to have been his father…but of course there was no one there now. Dwight stomped around, trampling wildflowers and swatting at gnats.
“There’s nobody here,” he said, relief evident in his voice.
“That’s where he was.”
“And then what? Where did he go?”
How could he explain it? “He just sort of…backed up and faded into the background,” Matthew said.
Dwight laughed sharply. “What background?” He placed one hand against the outer wall of the factory. “Is there a trapdoor or secret passageway or something? There’s
“Maybe I was wrong,” Matthew said. “I mean, maybe there’s no one here and I was just seeing things.”
“What do you call those visions people see when they’re real thirsty in the desert?” Dwight asked.
“A mirage?” Matthew said. He had read a story about mirages in one of his comic books. They were like hallucinations. Sometimes people out wandering in the desert dropped to their knees and downed mouthfuls of sand that their addled minds had fooled them into believing was water.
“Yeah,” Dwight said, “a mirage. Maybe that’s what it was.”
“But I’m not thirsty.”
Dwight shrugged. “Maybe you don’t gotta always be thirsty to see a mirage.”
“Maybe,” he said, though he knew it hadn’t been a mirage, hadn’t been a hallucination. Only people dying in the desert saw mirages and only crazy people had hallucinations. Matthew knew he was neither.
At their backs, thunder rolled as angry-looking clouds filled the sky over the mountaintop. The boys cast wary glances at each other as the sunlight retreated from the long lashes of yellow grass that sprouted up all around them.
The old plastics factory, rotting away in a bowl of weeds and scrubland and hidden behind a fence of trees, looked like the forgotten relic that it was. Matthew had never been this close to the building before—he’d never crossed Route 40 and the Narrows before—and just seeing it caused a cool, unbalanced chill to infiltrate his body. That needling icicle drove deeper into his spine.
“It’s bigger up close, huh?” Dwight intoned. He stepped closer to the stone wall and stood on his tiptoes to peer into one of the multicolored windows. The bars on the windows looked rusty and dangerous, foreboding, and Matthew wondered what would happen if someone were to cut their hand open on one of those bars. He’d heard of tetanus and other such infections, and he wondered if touching those angry-looking bars would result in him rotting away in some sterile, white hospital room somewhere, his skin slowly peeling away from his skeleton, his musculature shriveling like paper thrown into a bonfire. What exactly was tetanus, anyway? Tiny microbes that got into your bloodstream and wreaked havoc until your joints disassembled and your limbs fell off? Did it cause you to go blind? Deaf? Would he spend the rest of his miserable life slumped over in a wheelchair?
“Where exactly did you see him?” Dwight asked, moving slowly around the side of the building.
Matthew was frozen and unable to speak. He stared up at the two immense smokestacks that rose up and pierced the gunmetal sky, nearly breaching the low-hanging storm clouds.
“Hey!” Dwight thumped him on the forearm with his stick. “Did you hear me?”
“What?”
“Where did you see him?”
Matthew pointed toward the hollow of shadow against the side of the building, where the trees crowded in and caused spangles of strained sunlight to filter down against the whitish, moss-covered wall of the factory. “There,” he said dryly.
Dwight bent down and dipped beneath the overhanging trees. He faded into the shadows, mingling within the space where Matthew had seen the strange figure he believed to have been his father…but of course there was no one there now. Dwight stomped around, trampling wildflowers and swatting at gnats.
“There’s nobody here,” he said, relief evident in his voice.
“That’s where he was.”
“And then what? Where did he go?”
How could he explain it? “He just sort of…backed up and faded into the background,” Matthew said.
Dwight laughed sharply. “What background?” He placed one hand against the outer wall of the factory. “Is there a trapdoor or secret passageway or something? There’s
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