The man held a bladed yo-yo. The string was silver. The blades glinted around the yo-yo’s edge. Staring at Brian, the man let it drop once, beckoned, and drew it back up into his hand. He had not been harmed. He kept on with his yo-yoing. The metal edges flashed. He did not seem to notice the yo-yo in his hand, he was so intent on peering at Brian.
Brian pretended to read.
The man sat back in his chair. He wound the string of the yo-yo around his fingers. He stared. His fingers were tightly wrapped. He did not seem to notice. His fingers were turning white. Where the yo-yo string was wrapped around them, they had a tinge of red.
After scanning a few pages in a distracted, disjointed manner, Brian looked up again. The man was rising from his seat. The yo-yo string went slack around his fingers. His hands were purple now from the lack of circulation, webbed with white where the string had bitten into the flesh.
Brian squirmed. He kicked the sole of Gregory’s sneaker. Gregory was intent on his game. Brian kicked him again.
Gregory said, “Cut it out.”
Glaring at Brian, the man shook out one hand, then the other. He closed and opened his fists.
He walked toward Brian. Brian froze in his seat. He was terrified.
The man was beside them. He looked down at Gregory, and then at Brian, and smiled.
Brian didn’t know what to do.
The man walked on down the aisle. He staggered past the conductor into the train car.
Gregory was looking out at the hills, his face reflected in the glass. “It makes you want to travel, doesn’t it?” he asked. “I mean, I see mountains like this and I want to do something exciting when I’m older.”
“Gregory,” whispered Brian. “Did you see that guy? With the yo-yo?”
“I’m talking about my life,” said Gregory. He raised his hand poetically. “Someday, I want to be a shower curtain repairman.”
“This guy was staring at us. He had this bladed yo-yo.”
“See, you have your rich fantasy life to get you through the day. But me…”
“He was sitting right over there.”
“For me, shower curtain repair offers exactly the right mixture of high adventure and mental challenge. Just right for the man who likes his La-Z-Boy with the footrest flipped up.”
Gregory craned his neck around. “Why didn’t you tell me when he was there?”
“I didn’t want to attract his attention.”
“I can understand that.”
They stared at the spot where he had sat—but there was no one sitting there now.
The train galloped on, over miles of tracks.
Finally, as the day grew dim, the train skidded into Gerenford, a town whose only conspicuous feature was a huge marble monolith dedicated to the town’s founder, a man who’d settled down at the spot when he’d found that his tent pegs were stuck. The two friends lumbered off the train with their bulky luggage and watched the last car snake away to the north.
“There. That man,” whispered Brian, grabbing Gregory’s arm and tugging him. “Into the snack bar.”
“What? He went into the snack bar?”
“No. Walking right there.”
“Because, Brian, people are allowed to go to the snack bar.”
“He was the one staring at us on the train.”
The man was walking toward the station exit. He carried two strangely shaped valises.
“Him?” said Gregory.
“It was weird. It’s like he knew us.”
Gregory smiled. “Cool.”
“Come on!” Brian whispered urgently.
They walked quickly into the little restaurant next to the station. “He was watching us?” said Gregory.
“With a bladed yo-yo?”
“Yes.”
“Huh. Funny that kind of thing would catch on.”
“I think it was some kind of martial arts device.”
“Hate to think what he could do with a Slinky.”
Brian frowned. “You’re not taking this seriously.”
“Calm down,” said Gregory. “It’ll be fine. Hey, the junk food’s on me.”
He ordered a Coke and a bag of Funyuns. Brian ordered some fries. They sat for a while on the swiveling stools, waiting for Uncle Max, peering through the windows. The man with the dark-rimmed eyes had walked off down the street, without even turning to look at them.
The elderly man who ran the place picked up a sugar dispenser and wiped the green, speckled counter beneath it. “You watching for someone?”
“Yeah,” said Gregory. “My uncle.”
“Oh. Ah. He live up here?”
“Well, yeah. I guess he lives on the outskirts of town.”
“Mm. What’s the name?”
“Maximilian Grendle,” said Gregory. “We’re going out to his house.”
The thin old man slammed down the sugar and looked at the two penetratingly. As he spoke, the crags in his face shifted and darkened. “I’d get…you just go now and get on that train and go back to wherever you came from.”
Brian glanced up, surprised.
“What?” said Gregory. “What do you mean?”
“If you’re smart, you’ll leave. No one in Gerenford would go near that place,” said the old man. He added, finally, “No one.” He scratched the inside of his ear. “This summer, real estate developer, name of Deatley, he was found dead there. People disappear there all the time. Old guy disappeared snowmobiling back there a few years ago. Some hunters, too. Gone. I’m telling you. Run back where you came from. You run. Run!”
Gregory nodded and said halfheartedly, “Well, thanks for the…advice.” He slid a few dollars across the counter. “Thanks. Here’s—” The man snatched them and fed them to the cash register. As he poured a small trickle of coins into Gregory’s hand, he said, “I’m warning you. Your uncle is up to his neck in something.”
“Okay.”
“There are terrible things in the woods.”
“All right. Thanks for the Funyuns!”
Gregory headed over to grab the luggage.
As the two picked up their bags, he whispered to Brian, “Well. This might be more of an adventure than we bargained for.”