The shoes stampeded toward me down the antique carpet. Gales forced snow through our open windows. I dashed between two chairs, then veered off course to avoid a triplet. Gunner was right behind me and he cornered violently and I heard his claws tearing the rug. We were running away from the African masks. My eye was swollen and I could not see well. “Lead the way, Gunner,” I called to the Doberman, and sure enough the dog sprinted out ahead of me and bounded over a low table that seemed to rise out of nowhere. I jumped with all my might and sailed over and landed on the icy floor without breaking a single ashtray, vase, or empty glass. This gave me hope and made me feel that I was not an old man. Youthful feelings did not last because I can never allow myself to feel good for very long. The dog skittered through slushy ice piled high beneath the windows. I glanced out a window and was relieved to see that the bad weather had reduced visibility, and that the fires in our meadow were little more than faraway lights, glowing, almost fading, set beautifully against the night.

Out of sight, out of mind, as they say.

And already I was having trouble breathing. I clutched the sofa pillow. Men pursuing me were not far behind. The Doberman regarded me with mournful eyes. I whispered to him, “Everything is going to be all right, Gunner.”

“Kill Doug! Kill the Corn King! Carve out his heart!” a voice called. I turned and watched Clay vault over the coffee table. Behind Clay came Gregory. After Gregory came Arthur, Rex, Pierce, Kevin, Vaughan, and—at the rear of this line, though not far behind and moving forward quickly, taking long strides and towering over other men—Zachary. Another group of ten approached from the north, cutting off escape in this direction. Stragglers grabbed knives from our dinner table and made serpentine runs around card tables and chairs. “Go this way! Go that way!” men yelled. Windows rattled and the rotting curtains sailed upward on drafts of air. Siegfried, Porter, Raymond, and Tom jogged in a group across the rug. Siegfried was sweating and red in the face beneath lights that dangled like clock weights over all our heads; and the water streamed down in a river from Father’s mouth; and somewhere in the near distance another article of glass or china crashed to the floor. I said, “Gunner, we need to hide,” and the dog wagged his tail then dashed immediately off through the snow and ice.