Beyond the forest border, an area of wilted weeds and decaying trees comprised the place known as Wrathwood. There, inside a large, rotting stump was the underground home of the Boggans.

A Boggan general named Dagda made his way through Wrathwood to meet with his boss. Dagda was known for being big and scary. His boss, Mandrake, the leader of the Boggans, was even bigger and scarier! Mandrake was the kind of guy who would pull the wings off a fly just for fun. He had the ability to bring destruction to anything he touched.

Dagda found Mandrake stirring a pool of simmering ooze with a club.

“Did you find the location of the ceremony?” Mandrake asked.

“Yes, sir,” answered Dagda. “But it’s way outside our borders.”

“Good. Then they’ll be totally surprised,” said Mandrake with a lethal smile. “The Leafmen think they can keep us contained. They try and try and try, but they just can’t stop the rot.”

He lifted the club and watched it drip with sizzling poison. He held up a large, green leaf and touched the club to it. The leaf instantly disintegrated into ash. This pleased him. “Isn’t decay just as natural as growth? Isn’t gray just as lovely as green?”

“Doesn’t ‘fungus’ start with ‘fun’?” added Dagda.

Mandrake didn’t laugh. At all.

“Today we fight back,” Mandrake declared, ignoring Dagda’s last comment. The Boggan leader was tired of hiding in the shadows. “If their queen dies before choosing an heir, the forest dies with her. And who doesn’t want that?” He looked at Dagda, expecting an answer.

Dagda fidgeted nervously. “The . . . Leafmen?”

Mandrake took an arrow and placed a drop of the poisonous liquid on it. He handed it carefully to Dagda.

Dagda took the arrow, understanding the importance of what was to come. “I will not disappoint you . . . Dad.”

Not too far away, another dad was busy making plans, too. But he was up in a tree, adjusting a mini-camera.

M.K. wandered outside the house looking for her father. “Dad? Is this a good time to talk?” she asked, when she found him.

“Hold on,” said Bomba. “I’ll be right down—”

WHUMP! He fell out of the tree, and the camera was hurled across the yard.

Bomba got up from the ground and called to his dog. “Ozzy, Ozzy! Fetch the camera!”

Ozzy didn’t do “fetch.” Instead, he tried to scratch an itch, then tipped over.

“Why do you have security cameras anyway?” asked M.K. “Do people around here steal old newspapers?”

“Oh, no, they’re not security cameras,” Bomba explained. “I have an extensive network all through the forest. I don’t know how much your mother told you about my work.”

“Um, nothing, just that you have a delusional belief in an advanced society of tiny people living in the woods, and it ruined your career, not to mention your marriage,” said M.K. “Or something.”

Bomba tried to cover up feeling hurt. With a forced smile, he said, “Your mother had a wonderful sense of humor.” Then he added, “But I’m not delusional. They’re out there—a civilization that’s thrived in these woods for who knows how long. And I will prove it!”

He ran inside the house and retrieved his mp3 player and a small portable speaker. He scrolled through a playlist, then clicked on a selection. Whining sounds came through the speaker.

“You have bat sounds? Why?” asked M.K.

“To study them,” replied her father. “I was trying to identify the frequencies that draw bats to gather with their own kind. So I slowed the sounds down, put them through some proprietary filters, and guess what I heard?”

“Voices?” M.K. asked hesitantly, worried she would be right.

“Yes!” Bomba exclaimed. He played the slowed-down sounds. It sounded like faint whispers. “Isn’t that cool?” he said.

M.K. took a deep breath. “Okay. If tiny men are flying around in the forest, how come I’ve never seen them?”

“That’s easy!” Bomba declared. “It’s the same reason we can’t hear them—they move too fast, like insects!”

“Have you ever seen one?” asked M.K.

“I, ah . . . ,” began Bomba. “You know what? Just because you haven’t seen something doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

M.K. was losing patience with her father’s stories of the tiny men living in the woods. It was time to get serious. “Okay, we need to talk, for real. Dad, look, I’m almost old enough to be on my own anyway, so I think it would be better if I just . . .”

Suddenly Bomba understood. “You don’t want to live here? That’s what you want?”

“No,” said M.K., trying to fight back tears. “It’s not what I want. I want you to stop all this . . . and be normal. I want a dad who’s not—”

Beep! Beep! Beep! One of Bomba’s alarms flashed.

Bomba was giddy with excitement. “Oh, this is big. This is a big thing going on. Let me just find, uh . . .”

M.K. watched him rush around, collecting things. “Where are you going?”

“I’m just going to investigate. Something must be happening,” said Bomba, unable to contain his anticipation. “You have to catch these things in the moment. Otherwise, you miss a chance that could be gone forever.”

“You’re missing a chance right now!” said M.K., exasperated. “Are you even listening?”

“Look, you’ve got to believe me,” Bomba said. “I’m so close. All I need is one little breakthrough. This could be it!” At the doorway, he turned and faced his daughter. “I’ll clear this all up when I get back. I promise you.”

“Sure, Dad, I’ll be here,” she said sadly, “in reality.”

A few minutes later, M.K. taped a note to one of her father’s computer monitors. Ozzy appeared and nudged her leg.

“Bye, Ozzy. It’s not you,” she said to the dog, petting him. Then she dragged her suitcase outside the front door and tried to call for a cab. But she couldn’t get a signal on her cell phone.

Just then, the dog bolted outside, heading straight for the woods.

“Ozzy! Heel! Stop! Play dead!” shouted M.K. “How are you so fast on three legs? Ozzy!”

She raced after him, almost tripping over her suitcase. It fell from the stoop and tumbled into the bushes. M.K. began to turn back to get it, but then noticed Ozzy dashing into the forest, with no intention of stopping.

“Ozzy!” she called again. When he didn’t come back, M.K. knew she only had one choice: follow him.