Alvin tried to picture that, and with Taleswapper saying it, the picture came easy to his mind. Words as invisible as air, coming out of Taleswapper’s mouth and spreading from person to person. Growing larger all the time, but still invisible.

Then, suddenly, the vision changed. He saw the words coming from the preacher’s mouth, like a trembling in the air, spreading out, seeping into everything—and suddenly it became his nightmare, the terrible, dream that came on him, waking or sleeping, and spiked his heart to his spine till he like to died. The world filling up with an invisible trembling nothing that seeped into everything and shook it apart. Alvin could see it, rolling toward him like a huge ball, growing all the time. He knew from all the nightmares before that even if he clenched his fists it would thin itself out and seep between his fingers, and even when he closed his mouth and his eyes it would press on his face and ooze into his nose and ears and—

Taleswapper shook him. Shook him hard. Alvin opened his eyes. The trembling air retreated back to the edges of his sight. That’s where Alvin saw it most of the time, waiting just barely out of sight, wary as a weasel, ready to flit away if he turned his head.

“What’s wrong with you, lad?” asked Taleswapper. His face looked afraid.

“Nothing,” said Alvin.

“Don’t tell me nothing,” said Taleswapper. “All of a sudden I saw a fear come over you, as if you were seeing a terrible vision.”

“It wasn’t a vision,” said Alvin. “I had a vision once, and I know.”

“Oh?” said Taleswapper. “What vision was that?”

“A Shining Man,” said Alvin. “I never told nobody about it, and I don’t reckon to start now.”

Taleswapper didn’t press him. “What you saw now, if it wasn’t a vision—well, what was it?”

“It was nothing.” It was a true answer, but he also knew it was no answer at all. But he didn’t want to answer. Whenever he told people, they just scoffed at him for being such a baby about nothing.

But Taleswapper wouldn’t let him slough off his question. “I’ve been longing for a true vision all my life, Al Junior, and you saw one, here in broad daylight, with your eyes wide open, you saw something so terrible it made you stop breathing, now tell me what it was.”

“I told you! It was nothing!” Then, quieter: “It’s nothing, but I can see it. Like the air gets wobbly wherever it goes.”

“It’s nothing, but not invisible?”