The Stolen Child(28)

post-performance high, or the fact that Oscar was my first true friend. Or maybe I was dying to tell

someone, anyone.

"I've got a confession, Oscar. I'm not Henry Day at all, but a hobgoblin that lived in the woods for

a long, long time."

He giggled so hard, a stream of smoke poured out of his nostrils.

"Seriously, man, we stole the real Henry Day, kidnapped him, and I changed into him. We

switched places, but nobody knows. I'm living his life, and I guess he's living mine. And once upon a

time, I was somebody else, before I became a changeling. I was a boy in Germany or somewhere where

they spoke German. I don't remember, but it comes back to me in bits and pieces. And I played piano

there a long time ago, until the changelings came and stole me. And now I'm back among the humans,

and I hardly remember anything about the past, but it's like I'm part Henry Day and part who I used to

be. And I must have been one cool musician way back when, because that's the only explanation."

"That's pretty good, man. So where's the real Henry?"

"Out in the woods somewhere. Or dead maybe. He could be dead; it happens sometimes. But

probably hiding out in the woods."

"Like he could be watchin' us right now?" He jumped off the car and whispered into the darkness.

"Henry? Is that you?"

"Shut up, man. It's possible. But they're afraid of people, that much I know."

"The whosits?"

"The changelings. That's why you never see them."

"Why they so afraid of us? Seems like we should be afraid of them."

"Used to be that way, man, but people stopped believing in myths and fairy tales."

"But what if Henry's out there, watching us right now, wanting to get his body back, and he's

creeping up, man, to get you?" And he reached out quickly and snatched my ankle.

I screamed, embarrassed to be fooled by such a simple joke. Oscar sprawled on the hood of the

car, laughing at me. "You've been watching too many horror movies, man."

"No, the truth is ..." I socked him on the arm.

"And there's pods in your cellar, right?"

I wanted to punch him again, but then I realized how ridiculous my story sounded, and I started

laughing, too. If he remembered that night at all, Oscar never again brought up the matter, and maybe he

thought I was hal-lucinating. He drove off, cackling to himself, and I felt empty after the truth had been

told. My impersonation of Henry Day had succeeded so well that no one suspected the real story. Even

my father, a natural skeptic, believed in me, or at least kept his doubts hidden deep in his soul.

The ground floor of our house was as dark and silent as a cave. Upstairs everyone slept soundly. I

turned on the kitchen light and poured a drink of water. Attracted to the brightness, moths crashed and

flapped up against the window screen. They scritched up and down, a sound menacing and forebod-ing.

I turned off the lights, and they flew away. In the new darkness, I searched for a moving shadow,

listened for footsteps among the trees, but nothing stirred. I crept upstairs to check on my sisters.

When the girls were young children, I often feared that Mary and Eliz-abeth would be snatched

away by the hobgoblins and two changelings would be left in their place. I knew their ways, their tricks

and deceptions, and also knew they could strike the same family twice, or, indeed, three times. Not far

from here, the story goes, back in the 1770s, the Church family had seven children stolen and replaced

by changelings, one by one, each at age seven, until there were no Churches at all, only simulacra, and

pity those poor par-ents with an alien brood. My sisters were as susceptible, and I watched for the

telltale changes in behavior or appearance—a sudden winsomeness, a certain detachment from life—that

would reveal a possible switch.

I warned the twins to stay out of the woods or any shadowy places. "Dangerous snakes and bears

and wildcats wait near our patch of land. Do not talk to strangers. Why go out to play," I'd ask, "when

there is something per-fectly good and interesting on television?"

"But I like exploring," Elizabeth said.

"How will we ever find our way back home if we never leave home?" Mary added.

"Did you ever see a timber rattler? Well, I have, and copperheads and water moccasins. One bite

and you're paralyzed, your limbs go black, then you're dead. Do you think you can outrun or outclimb a

bear? They climb trees better than cats, and they would grab your leg and gobble you up. Have you ever

seen a raccoon foaming at the mouth?"

"I never get to see anything," Elizabeth cried.

"How can we ever avoid danger if we don't know what danger is?" Mary asked.