Hmm...Has this become the town where no one gets off?

I think I'll start a little campfire and spend the night near this pond. Hey, here comes someone down the path. Strange he should be wearing a wool shirt all buttoned up on such a warm day!?

Whatever you do... don't look at his tattoos.

Good advice! I understand they...
MOVE.

Myself, I just brought a sack lunch (including a pickle and deviled ham sandwich and orange pop) and came over to look around a bit.
Uh, anyone see a blue bottle around here?

There's a convenient hill with a good view for observing the end of the world....

I don�t know what�s on the other side of that hill but I see a drummer boy sleeping under a tree. Anyone have a light?

There is what almost appears to be a light up in that window, but it's really Mr. Poe's luminous brow as he peers out to look over the shore where were-creatures and hags stirring their cauldrons and muttering incantations are assembled...

(this is fun!)

The roar of the landing rockets is drowning out the booksong. Where is my mask?

I'd let you borrow my mask and my gun, but I'm fresh out of bees. Anyway, I'm heading into the village with Mr. Xx, as I've heard there's a very special Visitor there...

The hum of rain on the roof has stopped, replaced by the sound of children playing outside. I can�t get out. The closet door is locked.

Look, somebody dropped their wallet. Ooh... it's all slimy and torn, like someone's been chewing on it.

It looks like a boneyard...
And it smells like one, too!

Alone, the trees on the hill silhouetted by the moon. No boneyard this. But wait, a sound at my feet. I put my ear to the ground. The sound of a woman screaming�and off in the distance, the moan of a carnival train.

[This message has been edited by Chapter 31 (edited 02-27-2006).]

"Junk! Junk!
No, sir, not Junk!
Junk! Junk!
No, ma'am, not Junk!
Bricabracs, brickbats!
Knitting needles, knick_knacks!
Kickshaws!
Curios!
Camisoles!
Cameos!
But... Junk! Junk!
No, sir, not ... Junk!"

And what of this jar, here... curiouser and curiouser. It appears to contain... nah, couldn't be. But it looks just like a, um... and so full of wisdom, you can almost... never mind. It must be all that rain pounding upon my head.

Whoa! That sweaty carnival worker was no one to spend time with...especially as darkness approached.

So instead, I'll venture back down this country road. That town ahead seems much like the place of my youth. And it has only been a few years since I left. What? No! It couldn't have been 35 years ago!

Hey, ho! I always thought he had the stuff from which real heroes were made -

The facts about John Huff, aged twelve, are simple and soon stated. ..he could live underwater two minutes and slide fifty yards downstream where you last saw him. The baseballs you pitched him, he hit in apple trees, knocking down harvests. He could jump six-foot orchard walls, swing up branches..and come down, fat with peaches. He ran laughing. He sat easy. He was not a bully. He was kind. His hair was dark and curly, his teeth were white as cream. He remembered all the words to the cowboy songs and would teach you if you asked. ...He was, in fact, the only god living in the whole of Green Town, Illinois, during the twentieth century that Douglas Spaulding knew of.