Neil looked across the porch toward the classroom. The children all looked normal enough. They were giggling and playing around just like ordinary kids, and they certainly didn’t seem to be suffering from any kind of collective breakdown.

“Have you talked to the school doctor about them?” he asked Mrs. Novato. “I mean, as far as Toby’s concerned, I wouldn’t like things to get any worse.”

“I can call the doctor if you like,” agreed Mrs. Novato. “But I think he’ll simply confirm my opinion that this is some kind of passing fad.”

Inside the classroom, the children were playing cowboys and Indians, and pretending to shoot at each other with their fingers. Neil grinned, and said, “I shouldn’t bother, Mrs. Novato. It looks as though they’re pretty healthy to me. Mind you, I don’t know how you manage to keep control.”

“It comes with practice—and iron discipline,” laughed Mrs. Novato.

Neil said, “Okay. If you could just keep an eye on Toby for me, I’d appreciate it.”

“Sure thing.”

He had just turned to leave the porch when he heard one of the children calling above the hubbub of the classroom—calling something in a high, piping voice that penetrated the shouting and laughing and pseudo “gunfire.” It wasn’t Toby. It was one of the other children—a small dark-haired boy in a green T-shirt.

He was calling, “Where’s Allen gone? Where’s Allen gone? Did Allen go for help?”

Neil felt a chill, prickling sensation around his scalp and wrists as if all his nerves were shrinking. He turned back to Mrs. Novato and barked, “Mrs. Novato—Mrs. Novato!”

The teacher blinked at him uncertainly. “Yes, Mr. Fenner? Was there something else?”

Neil could hardly find the words. He was breathing in tight, suffocated gasps, and there seemed to be something pressing on him. Too much gravity, too much air. And all the time, over the noise of the classroom, the boy was calling: “Has anyone seen where Allen went? For the love of God, where’s Allen?”

“Mrs. Novato,” said Neil, “could I speak to your children for just a couple of minutes?”

Mrs. Novato’s helpful expression tightened a little. “I’m afraid we have to start class in just a moment, Mr. Fenner. I really can’t—”

“Mrs. Novato, I think it would help them. I think this, whatever it is, this hysteria—well, I think it’s a little more than hysteria. I think I should talk to them, just for a few minutes.”

Mrs. Novato’s smile had now faded altogether. She was standing in the classroom door with her hand on the doorknob and Neil could see that she was quite prepared to close it in his face if he became too insistent.