It was seen first upon things, upon objects. They stopped behaving like they used to. Something solid would turn slippery, something shiny would grow hairs. Sometimes you’d look about and objects wouldn’t be where you’d put them. It was a bit of a joke at first, no one entirely believing it. But then it got out of hand. You couldn’t get things to do what you wanted them to, there was something up with them, they kept breaking. And then some of them, I don’t know how else to say it, some of them seemed so unwell that they were shivering and sweating, and some had sores on them or spots or horrible brown stains. You could really feel that some were in pain. I can’t remember it very well. Only that shortly afterwards, people started getting ill too, they stopped working, their jaws wouldn’t open or they wouldn’t shut, or they’d grow great cracks upon them, or they’d look somehow busted, and they just stayed in a heap and wouldn’t do anything. Yes, that’s it. People started stopping, even as they walked down the street. They’d just stop and they couldn’t be started again afterwards. And then when I came home from the schoolhouse one day there were men outside our basement room, official men with gold braid bay leaves embroidered on their collars, not the green bay leaves that most of the people I knew wore on their everyday uniforms. They wore gloves, these people, and had spray pumps, and the ones that went into our room put on leather masks with round eye windows in them that made them look like some sort of monster. They said I couldn’t go in. I kicked and shrieked hell and smashed my way through but there were Mother and Father, leant up against the wall, quite neatly, as if they were bits of furniture, no life in their faces at all and Father’s ears which were always quite big anyway looked like jug handles. Just for a second, I only saw them for a second, because then other men were screaming that I must not touch, that on no account must there be any touching, and I was pulled away then. And I hadn’t touched.

To see them like that. Father and Mother. I wasn’t allowed to stay. They grabbed me. I didn’t fight so much then. And I was taken away. They asked me if I’d touched, again and again. I said I hadn’t touched, neither Mother nor Father.