Mr. and Mrs. DeLace, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just would not abide by such bullcrap.

Mr. DeLace was the director of a company called Lennings, which made screwdrivers and other tools. He was a big, beefy, brown haired man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache. Mrs. DeLace was thin and red haired and had nearly twice the normal amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors. The DeLaces had a small daughter called Alicia and in their opinion there was no finer girl anywhere.

The DeLaces had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and they were terribly afraid of it being discovered. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Torrances. was Mr. DeLace's brother, but they hadn't met in years; in fact, Mr. DeLace pretended he didn't have a brother, because his brother and his good-for-nothing wife were as unDeLace-ish as it was possible to be. The DeLaces shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Torraces arrived in their neighborhood. The DeLaces knew that the Torrances had a small son, too, but they had never even seen him. This boy was another good reason for keeping the Torrances away; they didn't want Alicia mixing with a boy like that.

When Mr. and Mrs. DeLace woke up on the dull, gray Thursday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the U.S.A. Mr. DeLace hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work, and Mrs. DeLace gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Alicia into her high chair.

None of them noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window.

At half past seven, Mr. DeLace picked up his briefcase, kissed Mrs. DeLace on the cheek, and tried to kiss Alicia good-bye but missed, because she was now throwing a tantrum and tossing her cereal at the walls.

"Little freak," chortled Mr. DeLace as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of the driveway.

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar — a dog reading a map. For a second, Mr. DeLace didn't realize what he had seen — then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a beagle dog standing on the corner of Lincoln Street, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr. DeLace blinked and stared at the dog. It stared back. As Mr. DeLace drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the dog in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Lincoln Street. No, looking at the sign; dogs couldn't read maps or signs. Mr. DeLace gave himself a little shake and put the dog out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought of nothing except a large order of screwdrivers he was hoping to get that day.

But on the edge of town, screwdrivers were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr. DeLace couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes — the outfits you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr. DeLace was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr. DeLace that this was probably some silly stunt —these people were obviously collecting for something… yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr. DeLace arrived in the Lennings parking lot, his mind back on screwdrivers.

Mr. DeLace always sat with his back to the window in his office on the seventh floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on tools that morning. He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime. Mr. DeLace, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a donut from the bakery. He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This bunch were whispering excitedly, too. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large donut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying. "The Torrances, that's right, that's what I heard "

" Yes, their son, Nathan…"

Mr. DeLace stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it.

He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his mustache, thinking… no, he was being stupid. Torrance wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Torrance who had a son called Nathan. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his nephew was called Nathan. He'd never even seen the boy. It might have been Nelson. Or Mark. There was no point in worrying Mrs. DeLace; she always got so upset at any mention of his brother. He didn't blame her, he had an absolute freak of a brother after all.

He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon and when he left the building at five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.

"Sorry," he grunted, as the tiny old woman stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before

Mr. DeLace realized that the woman was wearing a violet cloak. She didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, her face split into a wide smile and she said in a squeaky voice that made passersby stare, "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Normles like yourself should be celebrating this happy, happy day!"

And the old woman hugged Mr. DeLace around the middle and walked off.

Mr. DeLace stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Normle, whatever that meant. He was pissed. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination.

As he pulled into the driveway of his home, the first thing he saw (and it didn't improve his mood) was the beagle dog he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same colored stripes.

The dog didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. "Was this normal dog behavior?" Mr. DeLace wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife.

Mrs. DeLace had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her son and how Alicia had learned a new word ("Won't!"). Mr. DeLace tried to act normally. When Alicia had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to catch the last report on the evening news:

"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." The newscaster allowed herself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Lisa McBrown with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Lisa?" "Well, Tamara," said the weatherwoman, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Los Angeles, Chicago, and Atlanta have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early, it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."

Mr. DeLace sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Torrances…

Mrs. DeLace came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er, Poppy, dear, you haven't heard anything about my brother lately, have you?"

As he had expected, Mrs. DeLace looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended he didn't have a brother.

"No," she said sharply. "Why?"

"Funny stuff on the news," he mumbled. "Owls… shooting stars… and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today…"

"So?"

"Well, I just thought, maybe, it was something to do with his crowd."

Mrs. DeLace sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. DeLace wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name "Torrance." He decided he didn't dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could, "Their son — he'd be about Alicia's age now, wouldn't he?"

"I suppose so," said Mrs. DeLace stiffly.

"What's his name again? Nelson, isn't it?"

"Nathan."

"Oh yes"

He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs. DeLace was in the bathroom, Mr. DeLace crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The dog was still there. It was staring down Lincoln Street as though it were waiting for something.

Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Torrances? If it did… if it got out that they were related to a pair of… well, he didn't think he could bear it.

The DeLaces got into bed. Mrs. DeLace fell asleep quickly but Mr. DeLace lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Torrances were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs. DeLace. The Torrances knew very well what he and Poppy thought about them and their kind… He couldn't see how he and Poppy could get mixed up in anything that might be going on — he yawned and turned over — it couldn't affect them…

How very wrong he was…