This takes place at the beginning of Book 2, The Subtle Knife. Of
course, I don't own anything. Phillip Pullman happens to own the
trilogy.
Will knew there was something wrong as soon as the navy blue
sedan pulled up to the house. Two men got out and knocked on his front door. He heard
his mother answer, and rushed to the top of the stairs to listen. By the time he got to the
stairs, the car was already pulling out of the driveway. "Who was that mom?" "Just some
nice gentlemen asking if I had any kids and how old they are. Go to bed sweetie." Will
said good night and went to bed.
He couldn't get to sleep that night. He tossed and turned; was too hot, then too
cold. He finally settled into a fitful sleep where he had dreams. Terrible dreams. His
dreams always started out pleasant. Like visions of him and his mom making cookies and
then reading a good book or watching a movie in front of a nice, warm fire. But then
something would go wrong. Maybe they'd go to the park and sit on the red wooden
benches in the sunlight. But then his mom would have to touch all the railings. So they'd
run around slapping the pieces of slate as the rough edges dug into their skin. Or
they'd see his dad and run to him, only to find that it wasn't his dad, but some sort of awful
demon like creature. His dreams always reflected his worst fears and his worst memories.
He awoke with a start and kicked off the covers wrapped around his chest. He
glanced at the small alarm clock on his bedside table. The neon red letters said it was
6:04. He immediatley knew something was wrong. He threw yesterday's jeans on over
his boxers. He grabbed a swearshirt, but just wrapped it around his waist as he sprinted
down the stairs. The drawers were all open, and their contents scattered about the floor.
His mother was no where to be found. He looked out the window and saw his mom
running towards the park. He dashed out the door and ran right into the outstretched
arms of a man stepping into a car. The man was about 6'2, and had bright, blonde hair.
His hair was so fine, you could barely see the eyebrows glistening with sweat on his forehead. The
man pushed Will aside and jumped in the car. By the time Will recovered from his fall, the
men had left and he went to find his mother. She had already finished with most the
railings, so Will did a few while she finished up to help her out. Then he took her for a
little walk and went back towards the house. The two men were there again, waiting for
them on the doorsteps.
Come on in, we've got some business to discuss. They sounded tough, but Will
could tell they were nervous by the taller man's constant figiting. I don't need you to
tell me I can go in my own house. I'm not sure if I should even ask you, but would you
like to come in and have a drink? The men glanced at each other and nodded their heads.
Then in we go.
course, I don't own anything. Phillip Pullman happens to own the
trilogy.
Will knew there was something wrong as soon as the navy blue
sedan pulled up to the house. Two men got out and knocked on his front door. He heard
his mother answer, and rushed to the top of the stairs to listen. By the time he got to the
stairs, the car was already pulling out of the driveway. "Who was that mom?" "Just some
nice gentlemen asking if I had any kids and how old they are. Go to bed sweetie." Will
said good night and went to bed.
He couldn't get to sleep that night. He tossed and turned; was too hot, then too
cold. He finally settled into a fitful sleep where he had dreams. Terrible dreams. His
dreams always started out pleasant. Like visions of him and his mom making cookies and
then reading a good book or watching a movie in front of a nice, warm fire. But then
something would go wrong. Maybe they'd go to the park and sit on the red wooden
benches in the sunlight. But then his mom would have to touch all the railings. So they'd
run around slapping the pieces of slate as the rough edges dug into their skin. Or
they'd see his dad and run to him, only to find that it wasn't his dad, but some sort of awful
demon like creature. His dreams always reflected his worst fears and his worst memories.
He awoke with a start and kicked off the covers wrapped around his chest. He
glanced at the small alarm clock on his bedside table. The neon red letters said it was
6:04. He immediatley knew something was wrong. He threw yesterday's jeans on over
his boxers. He grabbed a swearshirt, but just wrapped it around his waist as he sprinted
down the stairs. The drawers were all open, and their contents scattered about the floor.
His mother was no where to be found. He looked out the window and saw his mom
running towards the park. He dashed out the door and ran right into the outstretched
arms of a man stepping into a car. The man was about 6'2, and had bright, blonde hair.
His hair was so fine, you could barely see the eyebrows glistening with sweat on his forehead. The
man pushed Will aside and jumped in the car. By the time Will recovered from his fall, the
men had left and he went to find his mother. She had already finished with most the
railings, so Will did a few while she finished up to help her out. Then he took her for a
little walk and went back towards the house. The two men were there again, waiting for
them on the doorsteps.
Come on in, we've got some business to discuss. They sounded tough, but Will
could tell they were nervous by the taller man's constant figiting. I don't need you to
tell me I can go in my own house. I'm not sure if I should even ask you, but would you
like to come in and have a drink? The men glanced at each other and nodded their heads.
Then in we go.