《The Unlucky Third》


 Chapter 1

    He saw the first tree shudder and fall. far off in the distance Then he heard his Mother call out thekitchen window: ¡°James! inside. Now."


    He had never disobeyed the order to hide even if he clearly didn¡¯t know the reason for it. Even as a baby, barely able to walk in the backyard''s tall grass, he had somehow understood the fear that her Mother''s voice carried whenever she called for him. But on this day, the day they began taking the tall trees away, he hesitated. A part of him hesitated to go back even when he could understand the fear and the urgency in his Mother¡¯s voice. James felt like he was losing a part of himself and if he went back inside, it would all become real. He took one last breath of the fresh air, scented with clover and honeysuckle and coming from far away pine smoke. He laid his hoe down gently, and savored one last moment of feeling warm soil beneath his bare feet and the smell of¡­¡­ outside.


    He reminded himself, "I will never be allowed outside again. never again as long as I live,¡± as a mantra inside his mind. He turned and walked into the house, as silently as a shadow in the night.


    ¡°Why?" he asked at the dinner table that night. It wasn''t a common question in the Carter house. There were plenty of like how much rain the backfield get? How''s the planting going? Even ¡®whats¡¯¡ªWhat''d Billy do with the five-sixteenth wrench? What''s Dad going to do about that busted tire? But "why" wasn''t considered much worth asking.


    James asked again. "Why''d you have to sell the woods?" James''s dad harrumphed, and paused in the midst of shoveling forkfuls of boiled potatoes his Dad had brought back this morning, into his mouth.


    "Told you before. We didn''t have a choice. The Government wanted it. You can''t tell the Government no."


    Mother came over and gave James''s shoulder a reassuring squeeze before turning back to the stove. They had defied the Government once, with James. That had taken all the defiance they had in them. Maybe more. Now they had no more of the spirit of rebellion inside of them anymore.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    "We wouldn''t have sold the woods if we hadn''t had to," she said, ladling out thick tomato soup. ¡°The Government didn''t ask us if we wanted houses there." She pursed her lips as she slid the bowls of soup onto the table.


    "But the Government''s not going to live in the houses," James protested.


    At twelve years of age, he knew better, but sometimes he still pictured the Government as a very big, mean, fat person, two or three times as tall as an ordinary man, who went around yelling at people, "Not allowed!" and "Stop that!" or ¡°Don¡¯t do this!¡± It was because of the way his parents and older brothers talked about the Government: "Government won''t let us plant corn there again." "Government''s keeping the prices down." "Government''s not going to like this crop."


    "Probably some of the people who live in those houses will be Government workers," Mother said. "It''ll all be city people."


    If he''d been allowed, James would have gone over to the kitchen window and peered out at the woods, trying for the umpteenth time to picture rows and rows of houses where the firs and maples and oaks now stood. Or had stood¡ªJames knew from a sneaked peek right before dinner that half the trees were now toppled. Some already lay on the ground. Some hung at weird angles from their former lofty positions in the sky. Their absence made everything look different, like a fresh haircut exposing a band of untanned skin on a forehead. Even from deep inside the kitchen, James could tell the trees were missing because everything was brighter, more open. For someone who had spent all his life up until now in closed and dark places, that image of bright open lands, scared him.


    "And then, when those people move in, I have to stay away from the windows?" James asked, though he already knew the answer.


    The question made Dad explode. He slammed his hand down on the table.


    "Then? You gotta stay away now! Everybody and their brother''s and sister¡¯s are going to be tramping around back there, to see what''s going on. They see you¡ª" He waved his fork violently. James wasn''t sure what the gesture meant, but he knew it wasn''t good.


    No one had ever told him exactly what would happen if anyone saw him. Death? Death was what happened to the runt pigs who got stepped on by their stronger brothers him now. his first chance all day to sit down? It was a question James always heard the end of from the other side of a door. Today, skittish because of the woods coming down, he scrambled up faster than usual, dashing for the door to the back stairs. He knew without watching that Mother would take his plate from the table and hide it in a cupboard, would slide his chair back into the corner so it like an unneeded spare. In three seconds she would hide all evidence that James existed, just in time to step to the door and offer a weary smile to the fertilizer salesman or the Government inspector or whomever else had come to interrupt their dinner.

 Chapter 2

    There was a Decree against James.


    Not him personally¡ªeveryone like him, kids who were born after their parents had already had given birth to two children. Actually, James didn''t know if there was anyone else like him. Maybe he was the only one of his kind? Maybe he was the only one. He wasn''t supposed to exist. They did things, which he didn¡¯t fully understand right now, to women after they had their second baby, so they wouldn''t have any more. And if there was a mistake, and a woman got pregnant anyway, she was supposed to get rid of it.


    That was how Mother had explained it, years ago, the first and only time James had asked why he had to hide all the time. He had been just six years old at that moment.


    Before that, he had thought only very little kids had to stay out of sight. He had thought, as soon as he was as old as Billy and Mark, he would get to go around like they did, riding to the backfield and even into town with Dad, hanging their heads and arms out the pickup truck¡¯s window. He had thought, as soon as he got as old as Billy and Mark, he could play in the front yard and kick the ball out into the road if he wanted. He had thought, as soon as he got as old as Billy and Mark, he could go to school.


    They complained about it, whining, "Jeez, we gotta do homework!" and, "Who cares about spelling?" But they also talked about games at recess, and friends who they shared candy with at lunchtime or loaned them pocket knives to carve different stuff with.


    Somehow, James never got as old as Billy and Mark. The day of his sixth birthday, Mother baked a cake, a special one with raspberry jam dripping down the sides, his favorite. At dinner that night she put six candles on the top and placed it in front of James and said, "Make a wish." Staring into the ring of candles, proud that the number of his years finally made a ring, all around the cake, James suddenly remembered another cake, another ring of six candles. Mark''s. He remembered Mark''s sixth birthday. He remembered it because, even with the cake in front of him, Mark had been whining, "But I wanna have a party. Robert had a party on his birthday. He got to have three friends over." Mother had said, "Ssh," and looked from Mark to James, saying something with her eyes that James didn''t understand.


    Startled by the memory, James let out his breath. All of his candles flickered, and one went out. Billy and Mark laughed.


    "You ain''t getting that wish," Mark said. "Baby. Can''t even blow out candles."


    James wanted to cry. He''d forgotten even to make a wish, and if he hadn''t been surprised he would have been able to blow out all six candles. He knew he could have. And then he would have gotten¡ªoh, he didn''t know. A chance to ride to town in the pickup truck. A chance to play in the front yard. A chance to go to school. Instead, all he had was a strange memory that couldn''t be right? Surely James was thinking about Mark''s seventh birthday, or maybe his eighth. Mark couldn''t have known Robert when he was six, because he would have been hiding then, like James. James thought about it for three days. He trailed along behind his Mother as she hung wash out on the line, made strawberry preserves, scrubbed the bathroom floor.


    Several times he started to ask, "How old do I have to be before people can see me?" But something stopped him every time. His mind hesitated to ask the question he wanted to ask as if deep down he knew the answer and he just feared asking it would make it a reality.


    Finally, on the fourth day, after Dad, Billy, and Mark scraped back their chairs from the breakfast table and headed out to the barn, James crouched by the kitchen''s side window, one he wasn''t supposed to look out from because people driving by might catch a glimpse of his face. He tilted his head to the side and raised up just enough that his left eye was above the level of the windowsill. He watched Billy and Mark running in the sunlight, the tops of their hog boots thumping against their knees They were in full sight of the whole world, it seemed, and they didn''t care. They were racing to the front door of the barn, not the side one off the backyard that James always had to use because it was hidden from the road. James turned around and slid to the floor, out of sight.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Billy and Mark never had to hide did they?" he asked. Mother was scrubbing the remains of scrambled eggs out of the skillet. She turned her head and looked at him carefully.


    "No," she said.


    "Then why do I?"


    She dried her hands and left the sink, something James had almost never seen her do if there were still dirty dishes left to be washed. She crouched beside him and smoothed his hair back from his forehead.


    "Oh, James, do you really need to know? Isn''t it enough to know¡ªthings are just different for you?"


    He thought about that. Mother was always saying he was the only one who would ever sit on her lap and cuddle. She still read bedtime stories to him, and he knew Billy and Mark thought that was sissified. Was that what she meant? But he was just younger. He''d grow up. Wouldn''t he be like them then?


    With unusual stubbornness, James insisted, "I want to know why I''m different. I want to know why I have to hide all the time."


    So Mother told him. Later, he wished he''d asked more questions. But at the time it was all he could do to listen to what she told him. He felt like he was drowning in the flow of her words.


    "It just happened," she said. "You just happened. And we wanted you. I wouldn''t even let your dad talk about... getting rid of you."


    James pictured himself as a baby, left in a cardboard box by the side of a road somewhere, the way Dad said people used to do with kittens, back when people were allowed to have pets. But maybe that wasn''t what Mother meant.


    "The Population Decree hadn''t been around long, then, and I had always wanted lots of kids. Before, I mean. Getting pregnant with you was like¡­¡­ a miracle. I thought the Government would get over their foolishness, maybe even by the time you were born, and then I''d have a new baby to show everyone."


    "But you didn''t," James managed to say. "You hid me." His voice sounded strangely hoarse, like it belonged to someone else. It felt like it was not James who was talking but someone inside of him was doing all the talking because whoever was talking to Mother right now wasn¡¯t something James would had ever done when Mother had always showed so much love.


    Mother nodded. "Once I started showing, I didn''t go anywhere. That wasn''t hard to do¡­¡­ where do I go, anyway? I didn''t let Billy and Mark leave the farm, for fear they''d say something. I didn''t even say anything about you in letters to my Mother and sister. I wasn''t really scared then. It was just superstition. I didn''t want to brag. I thought I''d go to the hospital to give birth. I wasn''t going to keep you secret forever. But then...¡±


    "Then what?" James asked.


    Mother wouldn''t look at him.


    "Then they started running all that on the radio about the Population Police, how the Population Police had ways of finding out everything, how they''d do anything to enforce their ways. James glanced toward the hulking radio in the living room. He wasn''t allowed to play it. Was that why?


    "And your dad started hearing rumors in town, about other babies..."


    James shivered. Mother was looking far off into the distance, to where the rows of new corn plants met the horizon.


    "I always wanted a John, too," she said. "Billy, Mark, James, and John, bless the bed that I lie on. But then I thank the Lord that I have you, at least. And it''s all worked out, the hiding, hasn''t it?"


    The smile she offered him was wobbly. He felt he had to help her.


    "Yes," he said.


    And somehow, after that, he didn''t mind hiding so much anymore. Who wanted to meet strangers, anyway? Who wanted to go to school, where, if Billy and Mark were to be believed, the teachers yelled, and the other boys would double-cross you if you didn''t watch out? He was special. He was secret. He belonged at home, where his Mother always let him have the first piece of apple pie because he was there and the other boys were away. Home, where he could cradle the new baby pigs in


    the barn, climb the trees at the edge of the woods, throw snowballs at the posts of the clothesline. Home, where the backyard always beckoned, always safe and protected by the house and the barn and the woods.


    Until they took the woods away.

 Chapter 3

    James lay on his stomach on the floor and idly ran the black colored toy train back and forth on the tracks. The train had once belonged to Dad when he was a little boy, and his own Father before him. The train was of something of a family heirloom in James view.


    James could remember a time when his greatest longing had been for Mark to outgrow the train so James could have it all to himself, but it wasn¡¯t what he wanted to play with today. There was a beautiful day unfolding outside, with fleecy clouds in a blue, sky, and a mild breeze rustling the grass in the backyard. The cutting of the trees in the backfield had begun since last week and so he hadn''t left the house in a week now. He could almost hear the whispers of the outdoors calling out to him like a tempting mistress late at night, but now he wasn¡¯t even allowed in the same room as an uncovered window.


    "Are you trying to be discovered?" Dad had bellowed at James just that morning, when he had held the shade a few inches back from the kitchen window and peeked out longingly, James jumped. He''d been so busy thinking about running barefoot through the grass and lost in other fantasies playing in his mind that he¡¯d half-forgotten there was anyone or anything behind him, in the house.


    "No one''s out there," he said, glancing again to be sure.


    He''d been trying not to look beyond ragged edge of the backyard to the torn down branches, trunks,


    leaves, and mud that had once been his beloved woods, his sanctuary.


    "Yeah?" Dad said. "Did it ever occur to you that if there is, they might see you before you see them?"


    He grabbed James by the arm and jerked him back a good three feet. Freed from James''s grasp, the bottom of the shade banged against the windowsill.


    "You can''t look out at all," Dad said. "I mean it. From now on, just stay away from the windows. And don''t go into a room unless we''ve got the shades or curtains pulled,"


    "But then I can''t see anything," James protested.


    ¡°Better that than to get turned in." Dad replied back.


    Dad sounded like he might feel sorry for James, but that only made things worse. James turned around and left, scared he might cry in front of Dad.


    Now he gave the toy train a shove, and it drifted off the track. It landed upside down, wheels spinning.


    "Who cares?" James muttered,


    There was a harsh knock on his door.


    "Population Police! Open up!"


    James didn''t move.


    ¡°That''s not funny, Mark!" he shouted,


    Mark opened the door and bounded up the stairs that led to James''s room proper. James''s room was also the attic, a fact he had never minded, Mother long ago had shoved all the trunks and boxes as far as they could go under the eaves, leaving prime space for James''s brass bed and circular rag rug and books and toys. James had even heard Billy and Mark grumble about James having the biggest room.


    But they had windows in their rooms.


    ¡°Scared you this time, didn''t I?" Mark asked with a grin on his face.


    ¡°No,¡± James said. Nothing would force him to admit that his heart had nearly jumped out of his chest. Mark had been playing the "Population Police¡± joke for years, always out of their parents'' earshot. Normally, James would just have ignored Mark, but now, with dad acting so skittish... What would James have done if it really had the Population Police? What would they do to him?


    ¡°Billy and me, we''ve never told anyone about you¡± Mark said, suddenly serious, which was strange for him.


    ¡°And you know Mother and Dad don''t say anything. You''re good at hiding. So you¡¯re safe, you know?"


    ¡°I know,¡± James muttered.


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    Mark kicked the toy train James had crashed. "Still playing with baby toys?" he asked, as if to make up for slipping his usual fa?ade and being nice.


    James shrugged. Normally, he wouldn''t have wanted Mark to know he played with the train anymore. But today everything else was so that it didn''t matter.


    ¡°Did cone just to bug me?" James asked.


    Mark put on an offended look.


    ¡°Thought you might want to play checkers," he said. James squinted.


    ¡°Mother told you to, right?¡± he asked.


    ¡°No!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re lying,¡± James said, not caring how harsh he sounded.


    ¡°Well, if you''re going to be that way¡­¡­¡±


    ¡°Just leave me alone, okay?"


    "Okay, okay." Mark backed down the stairs. ¡°Jeez! What¡¯s up with kids these days¡± whispered Mark sounding like some adult even though he wasn¡¯t one.


    Alone again, James felt a little sorry he''d been so mean. Maybe Mark had told the truth. James should apologize. But he didn''t really feel like it. James got up and started pacing around his room. The squeak of third board in from the stairs annoyed him. He hated to duck under the rafters on the far side of his bed.


    Even his favorite model carriages and horses, lined up on the shelves in the corner, bothered him today. Why should he have model carriages and horses? He¡¯d never even sat in a real one. He never would. He¡¯d never get to do anything or go anywhere. He might as well just rot up here in the attic. He''d thought about that on the rare occasions when Mother, Dad, Billy, and Mark all went somewhere and left him behind¡ªwhat if something happened to them and they never came back? Would someone find him years from now, abandoned and dead? He''d read a story in one of the old books in the attic about a bunch of kids finding a deserted pirate ship, and then a skeleton in one of the rooms. He¡¯d be like that skeleton. And now that he wasn''t


    allowed in rooms with uncovered windows, he''d be a skeleton in the dark.


    James looked up automatically, as if to remind himself that nothing lit the rafters but the single bulb over his head. Except¡ªthere light at either of the ceiling, leaking in under the peak of the roof. James stood up and went to investigate. Of course. He should have remembered. There were vents at each end of the roof.


    Dad grumbled occasionally about heating the attic for James¡ª ¡°It''s just like throwing money out those vents¡± but Mother always fixed him with one of her stares, and nothing changed.


    Now James climbed on top of one of the largest trunks and looked down through the vent. He could see out! He could see a strip of the road and the cornfield beyond, its leaves waving in the breeze. The vent slanted down and limited his view, but at least he was sure nobody would ever be able to see him. For a moment, James was excited but that quickly faded.


    He didn''t want to spend the rest of his life watching the corn grow. Without much hope, he stepped down from the trunk and went to the other end of the attic, the portion that faced the backyard. He had to slide boxes around and drag an old step stool from the opposite end of the attic, but finally his eyes were level with the back vent. The view was not of the backyard¡ªit was too close¡ª but of the former woods.


    He''d never realized it before, but the land there sloped away from his family''s house, so he had a clear view of acres and acres that once had been covered with trees. The land was abuzz with activity now. Huge gray ¡®Elephant carriages¡¯ shoved brush back from a rough road that had been traced out with gravel.


    Elephant carriage were big and slow like an elephant meant to flatten and harden the surface. They are powered by electric core. The mechachines would use a lot of water to keep the electric core cooled that tented to heat up. The elephant carriage released a lot of steam from a chimney on the top of its body.


    Other mechachines James couldn''t identify were digging holes while being supported by long spider like limbs, for huge steel pipes, James watched in fascination. He knew about many mechachines; equipment and carriages powered by electric cores were called mechachines. But these mechachines were different, each designed for different jobs. And they were all operated by different people.


    James had even read about the Electric cores in a book in his free time. Nobody knows what or exactly how they are made. They are a fist sized ball with metallic surface that provides power to mechachines. Only produced by the government. They are a state secret.


    Once, when James was younger, a tramp had walked up to the house and James had only had time to hide under the sink in the mudroom before the man was in the house, begging for food. The door of the cabinet was cracked, so James had been able to peek out and see the man''s patched trousers and holey shoes. He''d heard his whiny voice: ¡°I ain''t got no job, and I ain''t eat food in three days.... No, no, I can''t do no farm work for my food. What do you think I am? I''m sick, I''m starving... "


    Other than that tramp and pictures in books, James had never seen another human being besides his parents and Billy and Mark. He''d never dreamed there was such variety.


    Many of the people running the Elephant carriage and shovel like contraptions were stripped of their shirts, while others standing nearby even wore clocks and coats. Some were fat and some were thin; some were browned by the sun and some were paler than James himself, who would never tan again. They were all moving¡ªshifting gears and lowering pipes, waving others into position or, at the very least, talking at full speed. All that activity made James dizzy. The pictures in books always showed people still.


    Overwhelmed, James closed his eyes, then opened them again for fear of missing something.


    "James?"


    Reluctantly, James slid down from his step stool perch and scrambled over to recline innocently on his bed.


    "Come in," he called to his Mother


    She climbed the stairs heavily


    "You okay?"


    James dangled his feet over the side of the bed.


    "Sure. I''m fine."


    Mother sat on the bed beside him and patted his leg.


    "It''s¡ª" she swallowed hard. "It''s not easy, the life you''ve got to live. I know you''d like to look outside. You''d like to go outside¡­¡­"


    "That''s okay, Mother," James said.


    He could have told her then about the vents¡ªhe didn''t see how anyone could object to him looking out there¡ªbut something inside stopped him. What if they took that away from him, too? What if Mother told Dad, and Dad said, "No, no, that''s too much a risk. I forbid it"? James wouldn''t be able to stand it. He kept silent.


    Mother ruffled his hair.


    "You''re a soldier," she said. "I knew you''d hold up all right."


    James leaned against his Mother''s arm, and she moved her arm around his shoulders and hugged him tight to her side. He felt a little guilty for keeping a secret, but mostly reassured¡ªloved and reassured.


    Then, more to herself than to him, Mother added, "And things could be worse,"


    Somehow, that wasn''t comforting. James didn''t know why, but he had a feeling what she really meant was that things were going to get worse. He snuggled tighter against Mother, hoping he was wrong.

 Chapter 4

    James found out what Mother meant a few days later when he came down for breakfast. As usual. he opened the door from the back stairs to the kitchen only a crack. He could remember barely a handful of times in his entire life when someone had dropped by before breakfast and each time Mother had managed to send Billy or Mark up to warn James to stay out of sight. But he always checked. Today he could see Dad and Billy and Mark at the table, and knew from the sound of frying bacon that Mother must be at the stove.


    "Are the shades closed?" he called out softly.


    Mother opened the door to the stairs. James started to step into the kitchen, but she immediately put out her arm to keep him back. She handed him a plate full of scrambled eggs and bacon right there.


    ¡°James, honey? Can you eat sitting on the bottom steps there?¡±


    ¡°What?" James asked being baffled.


    Mother looked beseechingly over her shoulder.


    ¡°Dad thinks¡ªI mean, it¡¯s not safe anymore to have you in the kitchen, you can still eat with us, and talk to us and all, but you''ll be... over here."


    She waved her hand toward the stairs behind James.


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    "But with the shades pulled¡ª" James started.


    ¡°One of those workers asked me yesterday, ¡®Hey, farmer, you got a Breeze maker in that house of yours to keep it cold in this summer?¡¯¡± Dad said from the table.


    He didn''t even turn around. He didn''t seem to want to look at James.


    ¡°We keep the shades pulled, hot day like today, people get suspicious. This way is safer. I''m sorry."


    And then Dad did turn around and glance at James, once. James tried to keep from looking upset.


    "So what''d you tell him?" Billy asked, as if the worker''s question was only a matter of curiosity.


    "Told him of course we don''t have Breeze maker. Farming don''t make nobody a millionaire and like hell we can afford an electric core to run them."


    Dad took a long sip of coffee.


    "Okay, James dear?" Mother questioned James.


    "Yes," he mumbled.


    He took the plate of eggs and bacon, but it didn''t look good to him now. He knew every bite he ate would stick in his throat. He sat down on the step, out of sight of both the kitchen windows.


    "We''ll leave the door open," Mother said. She hovered over him, as if unwilling to return to the stove.


    "This isn''t too much different, is it?"


    "Mother¡ª" Dad said warningly.


    Through the open windows, James could hear the rumble of several mechachines and carriages. The workers had arrived for the day, he knew from watching through the vent the past few days that the caravan of mechachines of different kinds he didn¡¯t even knew of, came up the road like a parade. Carriages would also be present to peel off to the side and unload the nicer dressed men. The more rugged carriages pulled on in to the muddiest sections, and the people inside would scatter to the elephant carriages and other mechachines that had been left outside overnight. But the machachines barely had time to get cold, because the workers were there now from sunup to sundown. Someone was in a hurry for them to finish the project.


    "James¡ªI''m sorry," Mother said, and scurried back to the stove. She loaded a plate for herself, then sat down at the table, beside James¡¯s usual spot. His chair wasn''t even in the kitchen anymore.


    For a while, James watched Dad, Mother, Billy, and Mark eating in silence, a complete family of four. Once, he cleared his throat, ready to protest again. You can''t do this¡ª it''s not fair--- Then he choked back the words, unspoken. They were only trying to protect him. What could he do?


    Resolutely, James stuck his fork in the pile of scrambled eggs on his plate and took a bite. He ate the whole plateful of food without tasting any of it.

 Chapter 5

    James ate every meal after that on the bottom step. It became a habit, but a hated one. He had never noticed before, but Mother often spoke too softly to be heard from any distance, and Billy and Mark always made their nasty comments under their breath. So they would start laughing, often at James¡¯s expense, and he couldn''t defend himself because he didn¡¯t know what they had said. He couldn''t even hear Mother saying "Now, be nice to you little brother, boys.¡±


    After a week or two, most of the time, he didn¡¯t even try to listen to the rest of the family¡¯s conversation. But even he was curious that hot July day when the letter arrived about the pigs.


    Billy brought the mail in that day from the mailbox at the crossroads a mile away. James had never seen them, of course, but Billy and Mark had told him there were three mailboxes there, one for each of the families that lived on their road. People usually didn¡¯t have mail boxes just outside their homes but instead a whole block would have one at a common place.


    Usually the Carters'' mail was just bills or thin envelopes carrying curt orders from the Government about how much corn to plant, which fertilizer to use, where to take when it was harvested or another brain washing propaganda of the Government, of that¡¯s what Dad says.


    A letter from a relative was a cause to celebrate and Mother always dropped whatever she was doing and sat down to open it with trembling hands, calling out loud at intervals,


    ¡°Oh, Aunt Effie¡¯s in the hospital again¡­.¡±


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    ¡°Tsk, Elisabeth¡¯s going to marry that fellow after all¡­¡±


    James almost felt like he knew his relatives, though they lived hundreds of miles away and he hasn¡¯t even seen them. And, of course, they didn¡¯t even know he existed. The letters Mother wrote back painstakingly, late at night, when she¡¯d saved up enough for a stamp, contained plenty of news of Billy and Mark, but never once Mother mentioned James¡¯s name.


    This letter was as thick as some James¡¯s grandmother usually sent, but it bore an official seal, and the return address was embossed on the letter.


    Billy held the letter at arm''s length, the way James had seen him hold dead baby pigs when they had to be carried out of the barn. Dad looked worried the minute he saw the letter in Billy¡¯s hand. Billy put the letter beside Dad¡¯s silverware. Dad sighed.


    "Can''t be anything but bad news,¡± Dad spoke in a low voice.


    ¡°No use ruining a good meal. It can wait"


    He went back to eating chicken and dumplings. Only after his last belch did he turn the envelope over and run a dirt-rimmed fingernail under the flap, He unfolded the letter and,


    ¡°It has come to our attention¡­¡±  he read aloud. "We understand it¡± Then he read silently for a while,


    calling out at intervals, "Mother, what''s ''offal''?  and that dictionary? Billy, look up ''reciprocity''. "


    Finally, he threw down the whole thick packet and proclaimed. ¡°They''re going to make us get rid of our hogs."


    ¡°WHAT!?¡± Billy asked. More serious than Mark, he had talked for as long as anyone could remember about, ¡°When I get my own farm, it''s going to be all hogs, I''ll make the Government let me do that, somehow¡­¡±


    Now he looked over Dad''s shoulder. "You mean they''re just going to make us sell a lot at one time, right? But we can build the herd back up¡­¡­"


    "Nope,¡± Dad said. "Those people in them fancy new houses won''t be able to stand pig smell. So we can''t raise hogs no more."


    He threw the letter out into the center of the table for all to see.


    "What''d they expect, building next to a farm?¡±


    From his seat on the stairs, James had to hold himself back from going to fish the edge of the letter out of the chicken gravy and looking at it himself.


    "They can''t do that, can they?" he asked.


    Nobody answered. Nobody needed to. James felt like a fool for asking as soon as the words were out of his mouth. For once, he was glad of his hiding place. Mother twisted a dishrag in her hand.


    "Those hogs are our bread and butter," she said. "With grain prices the way they are...what are we going to live on?¡±


    Dad just looked at her. After a moment, so did Billy and Mark. James didn''t know why.

 Chapter 6

    The tax bill arrived two weeks later, the day that Dad, Billy, and Mark loaded the hogs onto the live-


    stock trailer and took them all away. Most were going to the slaughterhouse. The ones too young and too small to bring a decent price were going to an auction for feeder pigs.


    James watched through the vent at the front of the house as Dad drove by in the battered carriage with each load. Billy and Mark sat in the back of the carriage while Dad sat at the coachman seat, making sure the trailer stayed hitched right. Even three stories up, James could see Billy''s hangdog expression.


    Then when the three of them came into the house for dinner, after washing the last of the hog smell off their hands in the mudroom, Dad handed Mother the tax bill without comment. She put down the wooden spoon she''d been using to stir the stew and unfolded the letter. Then she dropped it.


    "Why, that''s¡ª" she seemed to be doing the math in her head as she bent to retrieve it. Math wasn¡¯t his Mother¡¯s good point so it took her some time. "That''s three times what it usually is. There must be a mistake!"


    Dad shook his head grimly.


    ¡°No mistake. I talked to Walker at the auction.¡±


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    The Walkers were their nearest neighbors, with a house three miles down the road. James always pictured them with monster scales and fierce claws because of the number of times he''d been cautioned,


    ¡°You don¡¯t want the Walkers to see you."


    Dad went on.


    ¡°Walker says they raised everyone¡¯s taxes because of them fancy houses. Makes our land worth more."


    "Isn''t that good?" James asked eagerly.


    It was strange¡ª¡ª he should hate the new houses for replacing his woods and forcing him to stay indoors. But he¡¯d half-fallen in love with them, having watched every foundation poured, every wooden skeleton of walls and roofs raised to the sky. They were his main entertainment, aside from talking to Mother when she came upstairs for what she called ¡°my James breaks." Sometimes she pretended his room needed cleaning as badly as the bread needed baking or the garden needed weeding. Sometimes she just sat and talked.


    Dad was shaking his head in disgust over James¡¯s question.


    "No. It''s only good if we''re selling. And we ain¡¯t. All it means for us is that the Government thinks they can get more money out of us."


    Billy was slumped in his chair at the table.


    ¡°How are we going to pay?¡± he asked. "That''s more than we got for all the hogs, and that was supposed to carry us through for a long time-¡ª-¡°


    Dad didn''t answer even Mark. Who normally had a smart-alecky comeback for everything stupefied.


    Mother had turned back to her stew.


    "I got my work permit today,'' she said softly. "The factory''s hiring. If I get on there, I can maybe get an advance on my paycheck"


    James''s jaw dropped.


    ¡°You can''t go to work" he said ¡°Who will--¡ª-¡°


    He wanted to say, who will stay with me? Who will I talk to day when everyone else is outside? But that seemed too selfish. James looked around. No one else looked surprised by Mother''s news. He shut his mouth.

 Chapter 7

    By mid-September, James''s days had fallen into a familiar pattern. He got up at dawn just for the chance to sit on the stairs and watch the rest of his family eat breakfast. They all rushed now, Mother had to be at the factory by seven. Dad was trying to get all the machinery in working order before harvest, he had to check if any of the electric cores needed repairing. And Billy and Mark were back in school. Only James had time to linger over his undercooked bacon and dry toast. He didn''t bother asking for butter because that meant someone would have to stand up and bring it over to him, all the while pretending for the sake of the open window that they''d just forgotten something upstairs.


    As soon as the rest of his family had stomped out the door, James went back to his room and watched out the vents¡ªfirst out the front, to see Billy and Mark climb onto the school carriage that took other kids from the neighborhood before going to school. Then James checked out the back, where the new houses were practically finished. They were mansions, as large as the Carters'' house and barn put together They gleamed in the morning sunlight as though their walls were studded with precious jewels. For all James knew, maybe they were.


    Hordes of workmen still arrived every morning, but almost all of them worked indoors now. They headed into the houses first thing, carrying rolls of carpet, stacks of drywall, cans of paint. James couldn''t see much of them after that. He spent more time now watching a new kind of traffic: expensive-looking carriages driving slowly down the newly paved stone streets. Sometimes they pulled into a drive- way and went into one of the houses, usually trailing a woman who appeared to be talking nonstop. It had taken James a while to figure it out¡ªhe certainly hadn''t dared ask anyone else in his family¡ªbut he thought maybe the people were thinking about buying the houses. Once he realized that, he studied each potential neighbor carefully.


    He''d overheard Mother and Dad marveling that the people moving into the new houses were not just going to be city people, but Barons. Barons were unbelievably rich, James knew. They had things ordinary people hadn''t had in years. James wasn''t sure how the Barons had gotten rich, when everybody else was poor. But Dad never said the word "Baron" without a curse word or two in front of it.


    The people streaming through the houses did look different from anyone in James''s family. They were mostly thin, beautiful women in formfitting dresses, and heavyset men in what James''s Dad and brothers called sissy clothes¡ª shiny shoes and clean, dressy pants and jackets or clocks.


    James always felt a little embarrassed for them, showing up like that. Or maybe he was embarrassed for his family, that they never looked like any of the Barons. James preferred it when the adults had children with them and he could concentrate on them. The smallest ones were always as dressed up as their parents, with hair bows and suspenders and other gewgaw¡¯s James knew his parents would never buy. The older kids usually seemed to be wearing whatever they''d grabbed first out of their closet that


    morning.


    Though he knew no one would dare show up with three kids, he always counted:


    "One, two. .."


    "One..This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "One, two..."


    What if a family with just one kid moved in behind them, and he sneaked into their house and pretended to be their second child? He could go to school, go to town, act like Billy and Mark. ...


    What a joke¡ªJames living with Barons. More likely he''d be shot for trespassing or turned in.


    When he began thinking things like that, he always jumped down from his perch by the vent and grabbed a book from one of the dusty stacks by the eaves. Mother had taught him to read and do math, as much as she knew herself.


    ¡°At least we have a few books for you...¡±  she often mumbled sadly when she left in the morning.


    He''d read all their books dozens of times, even the ones with titles like Diseases of the Porcine species and Common Grasses of our Countryside. His favorites were the handful of adventure books, the ones that let him pretend he was a knight fighting a dragon to rescue a kidnapped princess, or an explorer sailing on the high seas, holding tight to a mast while a hurricane raged about him.


    He liked to forget he was James Carter, third child hidden in the attic. Sometime around noon he''d hear the door from the mudroom to the kitchen swing open and he¡¯d go down and eat at the same time as his Dad. Without Mother there were no homemade pies now, no mashed potatoes, no roasts that sent good smells throughout the house. Dad always made four sandwiches, checked to make sure no one could see him, then handed two of them to James in the stairwell.


    Dad never talked¡ªhe''d explained that he didn¡¯t want anyone overhearing him, and wondering. But he did turn the radio on for the noon farm report, and there was usually a song or two after that before Dad silenced the radio and went outside to work again. When Dad left, James went back to his to read or watch the houses again.


    At six-thirty Mother came home, and she always stopped in and said hi to James before rushing out to do a whole day¡¯s work in the few hours before bedtime. Usually Billy or Mark came up to visit him, too, they could never stay long either. They had to help Dad before supper, then do homework afterwards. And they always had been nicest to James outdoors.


    Before the tree came down, the three of them often had played kickball or football or spud in the backyard, after school and chores. Billy and Mark always fought about who got to have on his team, because, even if James wasn¡¯t very good, together could always beat the third.


    Now they played halfhearted games of cards or checkers with James, but James could tell they''d rather be outside.


    So would he.


    He not to think about it.


    The best part of the day came at the end, when Mother tucked him in. She''d be relaxed then. She''d stay for an hour sometimes, asking him what he''d read that day, or telling him stories about the factory.


    Then one night, when she was telling how her plastic glove had gotten stuck in a chicken she''d de-gutted that day Mother suddenly stopped in the middle of a sentence.


    ¡°Mother?'' James said.


    She answered with a snore. She''d fallen asleep sitting up. James studied her face, seeing lines of fatigue that hadn''t there before, noticing that the hair around her face now held as much gray as brown.


    ¡°Mother?¡± he said again, gently shaking her arm.


    She jerked. ¡°¡ªbut I cleaned that chicken al¡ª Oh. Sorry, James You need tucking in, don''t you?"


    She fluffed his pillow, smoothed his sheet. sat up.


    "That''s okay, Mother I''m getting too old for this any¡± ¡ªhe swallowed a lump in his throat¡ª "anyway. I bet you weren''t still tucking Billy or Mark in when they were twelve."


    "No," she said quietly.


    "Then I don''t need it, either."


    "Okay," she said.


    She kissed his forehead, anyhow, then turned out the light. James turned his face to the wall until she left before lightly sobbing.

 Chapter 8

    One cool, rainy morning a few weeks later, James''s family left in such a rush, they barely had time to say


    goodbye. They dashed out the door after breakfast, Billy and Mark complaining about their packed


    lunches,


    Dad calling back, "I''m going to that auction up at the Walker estate. Won''t be home until supper."


    Mother hurried back and handed James a bag of cracklings and three pears and some biscuits from the night before.


    She muttered, "So you won¡¯t get hungry," and gave him a quick kiss on the head. Then she was gone, too.


    James peeked around the stairway door, surveying the chaos of dirty pans and crumb-covered plates left in the kitchen He knew not to look out as far as the window, but he did, anyway. His heart gave a strange jump when he saw the window was covered. Someone must have pulled the shade the night before, to try to keep the kitchen warm, and then forgotten to raise it in the morning. James dared to lean out a little further¡ªyes, the shade was down on the other window, too. For the first time in almost six months, he could step out into the kitchen and not worry about being seen. He could run, skip, jump¡ªdance, even¡ªon the vast linoleum without fears. He could clean up the kitchen and surprise Mother He could do anything.


    He put his right foot out, tentatively, not quite daring to put his full weight on it. The floor squeaked. He froze. Nothing happened, but he retreated, anyway. He went back up the stairs, crawled along the second-floor hallway to avoid the windows, then climbed the stairs to the attic. He was so disgusted with himself, he could taste it.


    I am a coward. I am a chicken. I deserve to be locked gag in the attic forever, ran through his head. No, no, he countered himself, I''m cautious. I''m making a plan.


    He climbed up onto the stool on top of a trunk that served as his perch for watching out the back vents. The neighborhood behind his house was fully occupied now. He knew all the families and had come up with names for most of them. The Big Carriage Family had four expensive carriages sitting in their driveway, each driven by 2 beautiful white horses. The Gold Family all had hair the color of sunshine. The Birdbrain Family had set a row of thirty birdhouses along their backyard fence, even though James could have told them it was pointless to do that until


    spring. The house he could see best, right behind the Cartars'' backyard, was occupied by the Sports Family. Two teenaged boys lived there, and their deck overflowed with soccer balls, baseball bats, tennis rackets, basketballs, hockey sticks, and apparatus from games James could only guess at.


    Today, he wasn''t interested in games. He was interested seeing the families leave.


    He had noticed before that all of the houses were empty by nine in the morning, with kids off to school and grown-ups off to work. Three or four of the women didn''t seem to have jobs, but they left, too, returning late in the afternoon with shopping bags. Today, he just had to make sure one was staying home sick.


    The Gold Family left first, two blond heads in one car, blond heads in another. The Sports Family was next, the boys carrying football pads and helmets, their mother teetering on high heels. Then there was a flurry of carriages driven by horses of various colors and breeds, streaming from every driveway onto the still-sparkling new paved streets, James counted each person, keeping track so carefully that he made scratches on the wall, and counted the scratches twice again at the end. Yes¡ªtwenty-eight people gone. He was safe.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    James scrambled down from his chair, his head spinning plans. First, he''d clean up the kitchen; then he''d start some for supper. He''d never made bread before, but he''d watched Mother a million times. Then maybe he could pull the shades in the rest of the house and clean it thoroughly. He couldn''t vacuum¡ªthat''d be too loud¡ªbut he could dust and scrub and polish. Mother would be so pleased. Then. in the afternoon, before Billy or Mark got back, or the kids in the got back, he could put something on for potato soup. Why, he could do every day. He''d never housework or cooking particularly thrilling before- Billy and Mark always scoffed at it as women''s work but it was better than nothing.


    And maybe, just maybe, if this worked, he could convince Dad to let him sneak out to the barn and help him there, too.


    James was so excited, he stepped into the kitchen without a second thought this time. Who cared if the floor creaked? No one was there to hear it. He gathered up dishes from the table and piled them into the sink, scrubbing everything with extraordinary zeal, He measured out flour and lard and milk and yeast and was putting it all in a bowl when it occurred to him it might be okay to turn on the radio, very softly. Nobody¡¯d hear; And if they did, they''d just figure the family had forgotten to turn it offs just as they''d forgotten to raise the shades.


    The bread was in the oven and James was picking up lint by hand from the living room rug when he heard tires on the gravel driveway. It was two o''clock in the afternoons too early for the school bus or Mother or Dad. James sprinted for the stairs, hoping whoever it was would just go away.


    No luck. He heard the side door creaking open, then Dad exclaiming, "What the¡­¡­"


    He was back early. That shouldn¡¯t matter. but hiding on the staircase, James suddenly felt like the radio was as loud as an entire orchestra, like the smell of baking bread could fill three counties.


    ¡°James!¡± Dad yelled.


    James heard his Father¡¯s hand on the doorknob. He opened the door.


    ¡°I was just trying to help,¡± James blubbered. ¡°I was safe. You left the shades so I thought it was okay, and I made sure everyone was gone from the neighborhood.¡±


    Dad glared. ¡°You can¡¯t be sure!¡± he snapped. ¡°People like that--¡ªthey get delivers all the time, they get sick and come home from work, they have maids come during the day¡­.¡±


    James could have protested, no, the maids never come before the kids get home from school. But he didn¡¯t want to give away any more than he already had.


    ¡°The shades were down,¡± he said ¡°I didn¡¯t turn on a single light. Even if there were a thousand people back there, nobody would know I was here! Please¡ªI''ve just got to do something. Look I made bread and cleaned up, and¡­...¡±


    ¡°What if government inspector or someone had stopped by here?¡±


    ¡°I would have hidden as always¡±


    Dad vas shaking his head ¡°And leave them smelling the bread baking in an empty house? You don''t seem to understand¡± He said ¡°You can¡¯t take any chances. You cannot because¡­.¡±


    At the precise moment buzzer on the oven went off, sounding as loud as a siren. Dad gave James a dirty look and stalked over to the oven. He pulled out the two bread pans and tossed them on the stove top. He turned off the radio.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want you in the kitchen again,'' he said. "You stay hidden. That¡¯s an order¡±


    He went out the door without looking back. James fled up the stairs. He wanted to stomp, angrily,


    but he couldn''t. No noise allowed. In his room, he hesitated, too upset to read, too restless to do anything else.


    He kept hearing You stay hidden. That''s an order, echoing in his ears. But he''d been hidden- He''d been careful. To prove his point¡ªto himself, at least¡ªhe climbed back up on his perch by the back vents and looked out on the quiet neighborhood.


    All the driveways were empty. Nothing moved, not even the flag on the Gold Family¡¯s flagpole or the spokes on the Birdbrain Family¡¯s fake windmill. And then, out of the corner of his eye, James caught a glimpse of something behind one window of the Sports Family''s house.


    A face. A child''s face. In a house where two boys already lived.

 Chapter 9

    James was so surprised, he lost his balance and almost fell backwards off the trunk. By the time he recovered and righted himself, the face was gone. Had he imagined it? Was it just one of the Sports Family brothers home early from school? Kids got sick, like Dad said, or they decided to play hooky.


    James tried to remember every detail of the face he''d seen, or thought he''d seen. It had been younger than either of the Sports Family brothers''. Softer. Hadn''t it?


    Maybe it was a thief. Or a maid, come early. No. It had been a child. A¡ªHe didn''t even let himself think what another child in that house would be. He stared for hours at the Sports Family''s house, but no


    face reappeared. Nothing happened until six, when the two Sports Family boys came back home in a carriage, unloaded their football gear, and carried it into the house. They didn''t run out screaming about being robbed.


    And he''d seen no thief leave. He''d seen no maid leave. At six-thirty, James reluctantly climbed down from his perch when he heard his mother''s knock on the door. He sat down on his bed and muttered a distracted, "Come in." She rushed to hug him.


    "James¡ªI''m sorry. I know you were just trying to help. And everything is amazingly clean. I''d love it if you could do every day. But your Father thinks¡ªI mean, you can''t¡ª"


    James was so busy thinking about the face in the window that at first he couldn''t figure out what she was talking about. Oh. The bread. The housecleaning. The radio.


    "That''s okay," James mumbled.


    But it wasn''t, and it never would be. His anger came back. Why did his parents have to be so careful? Why didn''t they just lock him in one of the trunks in the attic and be done with it?


    "Can''t you talk to him?" James asked. "Can''t you convince him¡ª"


    Mother pushed James''s hair back from his face. "I''ll try," she said. "But you know he''s just trying to protect you. We can''t take any chances."


    Even if the face in the window of the Sports Family house was another third child, so what? James and the other kid could live right next door all their lives and never meet James might never see the other kid again. And he''d certainly never see James.


    James lowered his head.


    "What am I supposed to do?" he asked. "There''s nothing for me to do. Am I supposed to just sit in this room the rest of my life?"


    Mother was stroking his hair now. It made him feel itchy and irritable.


    "Oh, James," she said. "You can do so much. Read and play and sleep whenever you want.... Believe me, I''d like to live a day of your life right about now."


    "No you wouldn''t," James muttered, but he said it so softly, he was sure Mother couldn''t hear. He knew she wouldn''t understand.


    If there was a third child in the Sports Family, would he understand? Did he feel the way James?


    ¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­¡­If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    When James went down to supper, he saw that Mother had set his two loaves of bread out on the china plate she used for holidays and special occasions. She was showing off the bread the way she used to tape up the crooked drawings Billy and Mark brought home from school when they were little.


    But something had gone wrong¡ªmaybe James hadn''t used enough yeast, or he''d kneaded the dough too much or too little¡ªand the loaves had turned out flat. They looked lopsided and  pathetic in the center of the table.


    James wished Mother had just thrown them away.


    "It''s cold out now. Nobody''d notice if you pulled the shades. Why can''t I sit at the table with all of you?" he asked when he reached the bottom of the stairs.


    "Oh, James¡ª" Mother started.


    "Someone might see your shadow through the shade," Dad said.


    "They wouldn''t know it was mine," James said.


    "But there''d be five. Someone might get suspicious,"


    Mother said patiently. "James, we''re just trying to protect you. How about a big slice of your bread? There''s cold beef and canned beans, too."


    Resignedly, James sat down on the stairs. Billy asked about the auction Dad had gone to.


    "I drove all that way for nothing," Dad said disgustedly. "I waited four hours for the tractors to come up, and then I couldn''t even afford the first bid."


    "At least you got home in time to fix that back fence before dark," Mother said, cutting the bread.


    And yell at me, James thought bitterly. What was wrong with him? Nothing had changed. Except he''d maybe seen a face that maybe belonged to someone like him¡ªBilly and Mark suddenly noticed the bread Mother was doling out.


    "What''s wrong with that?" Mark asked.


    "I''m sure it will taste fine," Mother said. "It''s James''s first try."


    James muttered, "And my last," too softly for anyone to hear. There were advantages to sitting on the other side of the room from everyone else.


    "James made bread?" Mark said incredulously. "Yuck."


    "Yeah. And I put special poison in one of the loaves, that only affects fourteen-year-olds," James said.


    He pantomimed death, clutching his hands around his own neck, letting his tongue hang out of his mouth, and lolling his head to the side.


    "If you''re nice to me, I''ll tell you which loaf is safe."


    That shut Mark up but earned James a frown from Mother. James felt strange about the joke, anyway. Of course he''d never poison anyone, but¡ªif something happened to Billy or Mark, would James have to hide anymore? Would he become the public second son, free to go to town and to school and everywhere else that Billy and Mark went? Could his parents find some way to explain a "new" child already twelve years old?


    It wasn''t something James could ask. He felt guilty just thinking about it.


    Mark was making a big ceremony out of bringing the bread to his mouth.


    "I''m not scared of you," he taunted, and took a big bite. He swallowed with great difficulty and pretended to gag. "Water, water¡ªquick!" He gulped down half his glass and glared at James.


    "Tastes like poison, all right".


    James bit into his bread. It was dry and crumbly and tasteless, not like Mother''s at all. And everybody knew it. Even Dad and Mother had pained expressions on their faces as they chewed. Dad finally pushed his slice away.


    "That''s okay, James," he said. "I''m not sure I''d want any son of mine getting too good at baking, anyhow. That''s what a man gets married for."


    Billy and Mark guffawed.


    "Getting married soon, James?" Mark teased.


    "Sure," James said, struggling to sound as devil-may-care as Mark. "But don''t think I''d invite you to the wedding."


    He felt a cold, hard lump in his stomach that wasn''t the bread. Of course he''d never get married. Or do anything. He''d never leave the house.


    Mark switched to teasing Billy, who evidently did have a girlfriend. James watched the rest of his family laughing.


    "May I be excused?" James asked.


    Everyone turned to him in surprise. Usually he was the last one to make that request. Mother often begged Billy and Mark, "Can''t you wait, and talk to James a little bit longer?"


    "Done already?" Mother asked.


    "I''m not very hungry," James said.


    Mother gave him a worried look but nodded, anyway. James went to his room and climbed onto the stool by the back vents. In the dark, it was easier than ever to see into the houses of the new neighborhood. Their windows were lit up against the night. Some families were eating, like his. He


    could see one set of four people around a dining room table, and one set of three. Some families had their curtains or shades drawn, but sometimes the material was thin and he could still see shadows of the people inside.


    Only the Sports Family had all their windows totally blocked, covered by heavy blinds.

 Chapter 10

    James watched the Sports Family house constantly after that. Before, he had just looked out the back vents in the early morning and late afternoon, when he knew people were about. But he''d seen the face at two o''clock. Maybe the other kid knew the rhythms of the neighborhood, too, and let his guard down only during times he considered safe.


    For three long days, James saw nothing.


    Then on the fourth day, he was rewarded: One panel of one of the blinds on an upstairs window flipped quickly up and down at eleven o''clock.


    The seventh day the blinds in a downstairs window were left up in the morning. James saw a light go on and off at 9:07, two full hours after the last of the Sports Family had left. A half hour later, the Sports Family mother returned back in a carriage and stomped into the house. Two minutes later, the blind in the downstairs window went down. The mother left immediately.


    The thirteenth day was unseasonably warm, and James sweated in his attic. Some of the Sports Family''s windows were left open, though still covered by the blinds. The wind blew the blinds back a couple times. James saw lights on in some of the rooms some of the time, in other rooms as the day wore on. He had no doubts anymore. Someone was hiding in the Sports Family house.


    The question was, what could he do about it?


    Harvest came. Billy and Mark stayed out of school to help Dad bring the crops in, the three of them working some days from dawn until midnight. Mother''s factory got busier, too, and she began working two or three hours of overtime every day. She brought up a store of food to James''s room so he wouldn''t get hungry while they were all away.


    "There!" she said cheerfully, lining up boxes of crackers and bags of fruit.


    "This way, you won''t even miss us."


    Her eyes begged him not to complain.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    "Uh huh," he said, trying to sound game. "I''ll be fine."


    He watched the Sports Family house only sporadically now. What other proof did he need? What good did it do him to know about the other third child? What did he expect¡ªthat the other kid would run out in his backyard and yell, "Hey, James, come out and play!"?


    He munched his solitary apples. He ate his crackers alone. And in spite of himself, a crazy idea grew in his mind, sprouting new details daily.


    What if he sneaked into the Sports Family house and met the other third child?


    He could do it. It was possible. Theoretically.


    He spent entire days plotting his route. He''d be hidden by bushes and the barn through much of his yard. It was only about six feet from there to the nearest tree in the Sports Family''s backyard. He could crawl on his stomach. Then he''d be hidden by the fence the Sports Family shared with the Birdbrain Family¡ªall those birdhouses might actually help.


    After that, it was only three steps to the Sports Family house. They had a sliding-glass door at the back, and on warm days they''d been leaving it open, with just a screen. He could go in there.


    Would he dare?


    Of course he wouldn''t, but still, still¡ªThe first time he looked out the vents and saw maple leaves shot through with shades of red and yellow, he panicked. He needed those leaves to hide him on his way to the Sports Family house. If he waited too long, the leaves would be gone. He began waking up every morning in a cold sweat, thinking, Maybe today.


    Do I dare?


    Just thinking about it made his stomach feel funny. It rained three days in a row in early October, and he was almost relieved because that meant he couldn''t go on those days, didn''t even have to think about going. He couldn''t risk leaving footprints in the mud. And Dad and Billy and Mark were in the way, hanging around the house and the barn, grumbling because they couldn''t get into the fields. Finally, the rain stopped and the fields dried up and Dad and Billy and Mark went back to the farm, acres away from the house.


    The backyard and the Sports Family''s backyard were dry, too.


    And it was warm again. The Sports Family left their sliding-glass door open.


    The rain hadn''t knocked all the leaves off the backyard trees, but the next rain probably would.


    On the third morning after the rain, James''s stomach churned as he sat on his perch watching the neighborhood empty out. He knew without question that today was the day he''d have to go, if he ever intended to. He couldn''t wait until spring. He wouldn''t be able to stand it.


    He watched twenty-eight people leave in eight carriages heading in towards different places. None of the rich people sharing a carriage even amongst their own family.


    Hands trembling, he made scratches on the wall again and recounted, once, twice, three times. Twenty-eight. Yes. Twenty-eight. Yes. Twenty-eight. The magic number. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears. He moved in a daze. Off his perch. Down the stairs. Into the kitchen.


    And then¡ªout the back door

 Chapter 11

    He had forgotten what fresh air felt like, filling his nostrils and lungs. It felt good. With his back pressed against the house, he stood still for a moment, just breathing. All the months he''d spent inside suddenly seemed like a dream. He''d been like some confused animal hibernating during nice weather. The last real thing that had happened to him was being called inside when the woods were coming down. Real life was outdoors.


    But so was danger. And the longer he stayed out, the greater the danger.


    He forced himself down into a crouch and half-crawled, half-ran alongside the house and the hedges and the barn. At the back edge of the barn he hesitated, staring into the seemingly endless gulf between the barn and the trees at the boundary between his backyard and the Sports Family''s. Everybody''s gone, he told himself. There''s not a soul around to see you.


    Still, he waited, staring at the blades of grass just beyond his feet. He''d been taught all his life to fear open spaces like the one in front of him. It faced dozens of windows. He''d never stepped foot in any place that public, even if it was deserted. Still hidden by the barn, he made himself inch his foot


    forward. Then he drew it back.


    He turned around and looked at his family''s house, so safe and secure. His sanctuary. He heard his mother''s voice in his head: James! Inside. Now. It seemed so real, he remembered something he''d read in one of the old books in the attic about telepathy¡ªsupposedly if people really loved you, they could call out to you from miles away if you were in danger.


    He should go back. He''d be safe there.


    He took a deep breath, looking forward toward the Sports Family''s house, then back again toward his own. He thought about returning home¡ªtrudging up the worn stairs, going back to his familiar room and the walls he stared at every day. Suddenly he hated his house. It wasn''t a sanctuary. It was a


    prison.


    Before he had time to think again, he pushed himself off into a sprint, recklessly streaking across the grass. He didn''t even stop to hide at any trees. He ran right to the Sports Family''s door and tugged at the screen.


    It was locked.


    In all his plotting¡¯s, James had never thought of the screen door being locked. Though he knew his own parents locked up at night¡ªwhen they didn''t forget¡ªthe doors at his house had always been open for him. And he''d never been near anyone else''s door.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    "Idiot," he muttered to himself.


    He tugged harder on the door, but he couldn''t concentrate enough to make his hands work together. Each second that passed made the hair on the back of his neck stand up more. He''d never been so exposed in his entire life.


    Hurry, hurry, hurry. Get out of sight....


    The door didn''t budge. He''d have to turn around. Now.


    That was what his brain said. What his hand did was plunge through the screen. He pulled the wire away from the frame and reached through. The screen scraped the back of his hand and his arm, but he didn''t stop. He fiddled with the lock inside until he heard it click.


    He silently slid the screen door back and stepped past the hanging blinds into the Sports Family''s house.


    Even with the blinds blocking every window, the room he entered was airy and bright. From the freshly painted walls to the sparkling glass tables to the polished wood floor, everything looked new. James stared. Almost all the furniture in his own house had been around as long as he could remember, and whatever patterns and designs it originally carried had long ago been worn away. At his house, even the once-orangish couch and the once-greenish chairs were now all a matching sort of brownish gray. This room was different. It reminded him of a word he''d never heard, only read: "pristine." Nobody had ever stepped on these white rugs with manure-covered boots. Nobody had ever sat on those pale blue couches with corn-dust-covered jeans.


    James might have stood by the door forever, in awe, but someone coughed in another room. Then he heard a strange be-be-be-beep. He tiptoed forward. Better to discover than to be discovered.


    He went down a long hallway. The beeps had turned into a drawn-out "buzzzzz," coming from a room at the end. Holding his breath, James stopped outside the door to that room and gathered the nerve to peek in. His heart pounded. There was still time to escape unseen, to go back to his house and attic and normal, safe life. But he''d always wonder¡ª James leaned forward slowly, moving a fraction of an inch at a time, until he could just barely see around the door.


    Inside the room was a chair and a desk and a big apparatus that James vaguely recognized as a big orb. And staring at the big orb was a girl.


    James blinked, thrown off. Somehow he''d never thought about the Sports Family''s third child being a girl. She was mostly facing away from James, and she wore jeans and a gray sweatshirt not much different from what the Sports Family brothers always wore. Her dark hair was almost as short as James''s. But there was something about the curve of her cheek, the tilt of her head, the way her sweatshirt clung or didn''t cling to her body¡ªall of that made James certain she wasn''t like him.


    He blushed. Then he gulped.


    The girl turned her head.


    "I¡ª" James croaked.


    Before he had a chance to think of another word, the girl was across the room and had knocked him down. Then she pinned him to the floor, his arms twisted behind his back, his face buried in the carpet James struggled to turn his head to breathe.


    "So," the girl hissed in his ear. "You think you can sneak up on a poor, innocent, unsuspecting girl, who''s home all alone? Guess nobody told you about our alarm system. A bell went out to our security guards the minute you stepped on our property. They''ll be here any second."


    James panicked. So this was how he''d die. He had to explain. He had to escape.


    "No," he said. "They can''t come. I¡ª"


    "Oh, yeah?" the girl said. "Who are you to stop them?" James raised his head as much as he could. He said the first words that came into his mind. "Population Police."


    The girl let go.