This is what happens when you’re so bored you could puke. I stand on a patch of grass next to the guy in the box. And even though my pulse dances erratically like Parker Gibson at the sixth grade end-of-year sock-hop, I spit out, “Is this a camp site?”

A burly man crawls out of the nearest tent. He has the reddest hair I’ve ever seen. He eye-balls me. I guess you can’t hide much through thin tent walls, because he answers.

“Not officially.”

Mr. Red has a broad smile that takes up half his face and makes his eyes disappear. I take it that he’ll not end my life if I sit on the grass, so I do. The guy in the box’s eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn’t tell me to get lost.

“So, do you live here, then?” I say to them both.

Mr. Red answers, “For now.” He sits on the grass opposite me.

“Did you used to work at the mill?” I say. “Is that why you live here now, because it closed down?”

“That’s a fact. And that’s why the others are here now too.”

“So, how do you guys live? How do you get food and stuff?”

They stare at me like I’m being nosy and it occurs to me that I am. “I’m sorry, I’m just curious. I’ve never met anyone who didn’t live in a house or condo before.”

“No harm,” Mr. Red says. “We manage. Nothing for your young head to worry about.”

Mr. Red leaves and I’m alone with the guy in the box. I hear his stomach growl and we both grow rosy with embarrassment. I feel especially bad because I have money in my pocket.

“Do you need some money?”

The guy in the box gets that hard cold look again. “I don’t need your charity, boy.”

Those are the first words I’ve heard him speak.

“I just thought...” The guy in the box’s eyes flit away from my face. He focuses on something down the alley, something that’s not me, and I get the message that our little visit is over. I stand up and brush the dead grass off my legs. “Okay, well, I should go now. Bye.” He nods and I bolt.

I’m halfway home before I stop jogging. I feel bad for the guy in the box and Mr. Red, but what can I do? I’m just a kid. But someone has to do something, don’t they? I decide to talk to Gramps about it as soon as I see him.

Except that he’s not alone. Mrs. Pershishnick is here. It didn’t seem that long ago since I’d spied on her at her shop. Is it possible that time actually sped up for a change?

Mrs. Pershishnick waits at the kitchen table, her hands folded in her lap. She’s wearing a green dress and has a flower attached to her perm.

“Hello, Owen,” she says when she sees me.

“Hi, Mrs. Pershishnick.” The last thing I want is to be sucked into a conversation with her. “Um, I’m just going to go find Gramps.”

Gramps is coming out of his bedroom. He’s all dressed up too. A tie and everything.

“What’s going on?” I can hear the accusation in my voice but if Gramps heard it, he’s acting like he didn’t.

“There’s a dance going on in Edson,” Gramps says while he messes with a shoehorn to get his dancing shoes on.

“What kind of dance?” I’m picturing something like the lame dances we have at our middle school, with a DJ and stuff. I can’t picture Gramps shaking his bootie like that. At least I hope not.

“Ballroom. I haven’t danced in ages, not since...” He doesn’t finish, but I know the ending. Not since Gran died.

“But, what about me?” Suddenly I wish I were six. I don’t want Gramps to go out with Annabelle Pershishnick. Is it like a date? Isn’t he a little old for that? I mean, is Annabelle his girlfriend? I haven’t even had a girlfriend yet, and now my Gramps does? That’s just weird.

Gramps does this tricky double step when he sees Mrs. Pershishnick in her green dress.

He sings, “A white sport coat and a pink carnation, I’m on my way to the dance.”

Mrs. Pershishnick giggles like a seventh grader.

“Gramps?” I didn’t like him singing to her.

“You’re okay for a little while, right? We won’t be late. Just watch TV or read a book?” Man, everyone is ditching me. I really must stink.

“Ah, sure, but can you wait until I’ve had my shower before you go?” No way did I want to go to the dungeon with no one else in the house.

Gramps waits and when I’m done they get up to leave. “I’ll be home before you know it. Annabelle has one of them cell phones. I’ve left the number on the counter if you need to get me.”

I make myself a peanut butter and jam sandwich and then I sit at the table with my plate and glass of milk and eat in the silence. Daisy is lying by the front door, but is sleeping like usual. The house feels really quiet and strange. Suddenly I just need to get outside. I don’t even finish my dinner.

I find myself in the back yard with a strong itch to chuck rocks at something. I head for the log and before I know it I’m pitching stones into the creek as hard as I can. Pitch. I can’t help the guy in the box. Pitch. I can’t stop Gramps from dancing with Annabelle Pershishnick. Pitch. I can’t make Mikala hang out with me. Pitch. I can’t get my own mother to call.

I wear myself out with all my worries and whipping my arm half way out of my socket. I have nothing left to do but sit down on the log and prop my chin in my hand. There may not be much to do in Haywire, but it gives me loads of time to feel sorry for myself.

I’m so busy moping, at first I don’t notice the whistle. When it sounds again, my head pops up and my heart starts thumping. I search the tracks and sure enough the fog is forming again. I wish I had time to fetch Mikala, but like last time, my legs get weak with nerves. I can’t move. I can feel my heart pulsing in my neck.

The fog swirls into a roll and takes the form of a train. It’s more defined this time. At least, my eyes are seeing it more clearly than before. It’s a definite train, with car after car, each with a bunch of windows.

At first the windows are just dark squares, but then foggy limbs, like arms, poke out. I’m ready to sprint back to the house but my butt feels glued to the log.

The limbs form hands and then heads pop out, one out of each window. The faces are more than just fog swirls with dots for eyes. They have actual features like people. Noses and mouths, eyes with eyelids and eyebrows.

And the beings are huge. This is the biggest train, with the largest occupants I’ve ever seen.

Even though they don’t appear to be dangerous or want to cause me any harm, I’m terrified. So scared, I’m afraid I’ll crap my pants. Why am I seeing them? What do they want from me?

Car after foggy car shoot by and I feel like ducking, afraid one of those creatures’ arms would grow long enough to grab me. Then it chugs out of sight, evaporating into the distance.

My legs finally listen to my head and sprint back to the house. This time I lock the door. If feels like an eternity before Gramps gets home.