He stops and holds the light close to what used to be a stone wall and is now only three-inch wedges of steel spaced three inches or so apart, reaching the ceiling and the floor.

We’re in a cage, Dirk says.

What a twist! one of children says.

And we’re being looked at, Dirk says.

He counts some fifty faces in the green mist beyond the bars. Some of the children step to the bars and grip them like little prisoners.

This is not the end, Dirk says. There’s more. Follow me.

He begins to walk but the children are slow to follow. Dirk turns and sees that some of the people from the outside are at the edge of the cage, bent at the waist and whispering to the children. The children whisper back.

Don’t speak to them! Dirk yells.

A woman from the outside turns to Dirk and frowns and her face slides down her head like jelly.

The children seem to be astonished by what they hear.

Don’t listen to them, Dirk says.

He feels something wet touch his arm. He turns quick. A man has been licking Dirk’s arm.

Come on! Dirk calls to the children.

A hand comes through the bars, reaching for Dirk. Dirk grabs it and bends the fingers back. They squish like dead fruit, like the soft pumpkin flesh of the Goblin Police.

An unbearable howl erupts from the mist and Dirk has to put his hands to his ears. He drops the lamppost as he does. His hands feel fat. His ears feel phony.

Without the light, it feels like a thousand mouths are at the bars, whispering directions.

Dirk struggles to bend at the waist—his body is unevenly bloated—but he takes hold of the lamppost again and says, This is not the end.

Then he’s moving again and some of the children follow.

Dirk can’t look over his shoulder but he knows only five or six are still with him now. A few remain with the people from the outside. Listening to their whispers.

Did he tell you anything? a boy asks, short on breath they are moving so fast.

I didn’t let him, Dirk says.

You should have. It was interesting.

Yeah?

The boy catches up to Dirk.

Yeah. He told me that to be your own boss means something else than what people mean when they say it.

Dirk stops and turns to face the boy. What?

I told you, the boy says. It’s—

But what does it mean? Dirk says.

It doesn’t mean you want to be your own boss. It means you want to be the master of your own mind.

Dirk stares hard into the child’s eyes. He is no longer looking at the boy at all. His eyes glaze over. What the boy said means a great deal to him.

Thank you, Dirk whispers.

He continues. The children follow.