The neighborhood was littered with signs now. It not only took away from Ted’s message, but made a messy time of year look even messier. Leaves were stuck to the road after last night’s rain, clogging sewer entrances. On the lawns that had not yet been raked, they clung together, turning into a mucky brew. The neighborhood was a study in opposites: lawns with leaves, lawns without; houses lit and full with people, houses dark and deserted; lawns with pro-moratorium signs, lawns with anti. The roads were particularly quiet. When, every now and then, a car did drive by, it was jarring.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Ted said to Terrance.

“It’s peaceful at night, Ted.”

“You’re right.”

“I like it at night.”

“Me too.”

“When we were little we were scared of the dark,” Terrance said. “We used to sleep with four night-lights. Remember, Ted? Now they have glow-in-the-dark stars, but they didn’t have that then, Ted, did they? Does Jillian have a night-light or does she have stars? I think she has stars. Do you think they have night-lights in space, Ted? Or do the Martians just have stars?”

Ted was sorry he’d said anything. And not. Terrance’s chatter was a comfort. He’d known it all his life.

He caught the sound of something squeaking, an irregular metallic sound accompanied by a rattling and clunking. What in the world? “Hear that?” Ted said.

“Yes,” Terrance said.

“Is it a bike?” Ted said, though it didn’t quite sound like a bike. “A little weird to be out biking in the cold at night.”

“It’s not normal,” Terrance said.

“Not really. No.”

“But what is normal?” Terrance said. He could sometimes be quite philosophical.

The sign on Cathie and Jim Buchanan’s lawn had been knocked over and was torn, graffiti written in black marker across the front: Move with the times or move away! Ted picked up the pieces and put them in the garbage bag he’d brought, and made note.

The squeak and clatter were coming closer, but there was no light to accompany them. There was also the sound of footsteps—running and jumping feet, as well as more sober walking feet.

“Halt! Who goes there?” Terrance said, shining the flashlight behind them. He moved it through the air till he landed on a woman pulling a child’s wagon. Nina Strauss.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Nina said, covering her eyes.

Terrance waved athletically, as though he were flagging down a rescue boat. The light from the flashlight bounced off the tree branches and the road.

“Why it’s the Brothers Miller,” Nina said.

“The Miller brothers,” Terrance said. “Miller comes first.”

She handed them each a jar of apple butter with a sticker of her face affixed to the side.

“Are you the Apple Butter Fairy?” Terrance said.

“No,” she said, but she sort of was. She gave jars to the neighbors every year.