Invasion

fell.
        The wind picked up.
        I tucked my chin down deeper in my neck scarf.
        Darkness lowered behind the clouds.
        Nothing…
        At last I turned and walked up the hill to the house.
        What the hell was happening here?

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    8.
        
        At first I thought I would tell Toby that I hadn't been able to find a trace of Blueberry-reserving the full story for Connie. However, when I had a few minutes to think about it-as I stripped off my coat and boots, and as I thankfully clasped my hands around a mug of coffee laced with anisette-I decided not to shield him from the truth. After all he was a strong boy, accustomed to adversity, especially emotional adversity which was much more difficult to bear than any physical suffering; and I was confident that he could handle just about any situation better than other children his age. Besides, over the past several months I had worked at getting him to trust me, to have confidence in me, confidence deep down on a subconscious level where it really mattered; and now if I lied to him, I very well might shatter that confidence, shatter it so badly that it could never be rebuilt. Therefore, I told both him and Connie about
        Blueberry's fleshless skeleton which I had found in that forest clearing.
        Surprisingly, he seemed neither frightened nor particularly upset. He shook his head and looked smug and said, "This is what I already expected."
        Connie said. "What do you mean?"
        "The animal ate Blueberry," Toby said.
        "Oh, now-"
        "I think he's right," I said.
        She stared at me.
        "There's more to come, and worse," I said. "But I'm not crazy. Believe me, I've considered that possibility, considered it carefully. But there are several undeniable facts: those strange tracks in the snow, the yellow-eyed thing at the window,
        Blueberry's disappearance, the bones in the clearing-none of that is the product of my imagination. Something-ate our pony. There is no other explanation, so far as I can see."
        "Crazy as it may be," Connie said.
        "Crazy as it may be."
        Toby said, "Maybe there really is an old grizzly bear running around out there."
        Connie reached out and took one of his hands away from his cup of cocoa.
        "Hey, you don't seem too upset for having just lost your pony."
        "Oh," he said, very soberly, "I knew when I first came back from the barn that the animal had eaten Blueberry. I went right upstairs and cried about it then. I got over that.
        There's nothing I can do about it, so I got to live with it." His lips trembled a bit, but he didn't cry. As he had said, he was finished with that.
        "You're something," I said.
        He smiled at me, pleased. "I'm no crybaby."
        "Just so you know it's not shameful to cry."
        "Oh, I know," he said. "The only reason I did it in my room was because I didn't want anyone to kid me out of it until I was good and finished."
        I looked at Connie. "Ten years old?"
        "I truly believe he's a midget," she said, as pleased with him as I was.
        Toby said, "Are we going to go out and track down that old grizzly bear, Dad?"
        "Well," I said, "I don't think it is a grizzly bear."
        "Some kind of bear."
        "I don't think so."
        "Mountain lion?" he asked.
        "No. A bear or a mountain lion-or just about any other wild, carnivorous animal-would have killed the horse there in the barn and would have eaten it on the spot. We would have found blood in the barn, lots of it. A bear or a mountain lion wouldn't have killed Blueberry without leaving blood at the scene, wouldn't have carried her all the way down into the forest before it had supper."
        "Then what is it?" Connie asked. "What is big enough to carry off a pony? And leave a whistle-clean skeleton. Do you have any ideas, Don?"
        I  hesitated. Then: "I have one."
        "Well?"
        "You won't like it. I don't like it."
        "Nevertheless, I have to hear it," she said.
        I sipped my coffee, trying to get my thoughts arranged, and finally I told them all about the flashing purple light in the woods and, more importantly, about the force that had attempted to take control of my mind. I minimized my fear-reaction in the retelling and made it sound as if the takeover attempt had been relatively easy to resist. There was no need to