happens once,â Gustav said, âit can happen more than once. And if it can happen more than once, it can happen all the time. Itâs not my fault that youâve never noticed it before.â
âIâm surprised enough that it happened even once.â
Gustav shrugged. âSo now youâve seen it happen once and you donât have to be surprised the next time it happens.â
Again, Fernie wanted to stamp her foot. âBut that doesnât explain anything! Shadows canât run around by themselves!â
âWho says they canât?â
The simple question nearly swept Fernieâs legs out from under her. Because as it turned out, she didnât have an answer. She couldnât remember anybody in her life ever telling her what a shadow could or could not do; not even her father, who knew fourteen ways television sets could explode if you changed channels too quickly. No, she realized now, her general understanding of the things a shadow could or could not do had just come into being all by itself. Even so, it still hurt her head to think about. âEven mine?â
âWhy not?â
âBecause itâs a shadow! It does what I do!â
âYou havenât been watching it carefully enough.â
âI could watch it all day!â Fernie cried. âIt would still only do what I do! Thatâs what a shadow is!â
âThen,â Gustav said, âexplain the dog.â
Across the street, Mrs. Everwiner had reached the part of her epic story where the local TV station got involved, devoting the longest segment of the nightly news to her complaint about the cashier, preempting the story about all the missing people entirely.
The repercussions of Mrs. Everwinerâs one moment of inconvenience at the supermarket just seemed to keep expanding outward, like a stubborn weed intent on overgrowing the entire world. At this rate, Fernie would not have been surprised to find out that wars had been fought over it.
Pearlie and their dad still feigned interest, unaware that Fernie was involved in a much more interesting conversation just across the street. As much as Fernie wanted to resolve the confusion over what shadows could or could not do, she found herself needing to get back to them, if only for a moment, just to make sure she could return to a world that made sense.
âGo ahead,â Gustav Gloom said, sounding sadder than ever. âLeave. I can tell you want to.â
Fernie felt terrible. âDonât take it personally. Iâm just busy moving in. We have lots of boxes to take in.â
âIâm sure you do,â said Gustav Gloom. âAnd Iâm sure that youâll be warned not to come over here ever again, because this house is a
bad place
and thereâs nothing but trouble for you here.â
âIs that true?â
âItâs what people will say. And theyâll also say to stay away from me, because I live here and that makes me as bad as the house.â
Fernie felt worse with every word the strange little boy spoke. âWell, if the house is the problem, why do we have to talk here? Why canât you come across the street with me and meet my family?â
Gustav Gloom looked at Fernie and flashed one of the oddest expressions Fernie had ever seen: not sadness, but not happiness, either. It struck her as the look a person gets when he knows a joke thatâs funny only to him. âIâm sorry. I canât leave my yard.â
Something about the way he said it made his meaning clear: It wasnât a case of being forbidden from leaving his yard by parents whoâd promised to punish him if he did; it was a case of being unable to leave, of being confined by the fence and the clouds that cast a shadow over his house like an animal inside a cage.
Fernieâs mouth hung open. âAre you locked in there?â
âNo.â
âThen why canât you leave?â
âI