"Where's Mr. Haney?" asked Alan as he stepped inside the principal's office.
"He's experiencing health problems," replied Mr. Ratburn, who then plucked a lollipop from a mug on the desk and began to idly unwrap it. "The school board needed a temporary replacement on short notice, and I was their first choice."
A bit astonished, Alan pulled himself into the seat facing the principal's desk. "I thought the school board asked you to quit," he reflected.
"They apologized for that," Mr. Ratburn told him. "The feds are losing interest in Angela's case anyway, now that the statute of limitations is almost up. It seems unlikely that they'll bring any action against me."
"That's good," said Alan. "I mean, I wouldn't want you to go to jail or anything."
Mr. Ratburn smiled and took a deep relaxing breath. "So, what brings you here, Alan?" he asked in a friendly tone.
Alan looked down at his feet. "It's...it's my teacher. He's got these weird theories about things like unicorns and space aliens, and he's always talking about them in class."
"Mm-hmm," said Ratburn thoughtfully.
"I wish he would stop, but I can't do anything about it. When I complain, he makes me stay after school."
Principal Ratburn's expression grew slightly darker. "I'll have a talk with him," he told Alan.
A few minutes later, as Alan was walking away from the school in the direction of Prunella's, he passed George's house and saw George and Muffy sitting on the mostly-dead grass of the front lawn, their packs sitting open next to them. "Hey, guys," he hailed them.
"Hi, Alan," said Muffy and George in unison. Because of the unusually warm weather, they were dressed in springwear.
"I'm glad you decided to pass by," Muffy told Alan. "We could use a third brain right now."
Alan pushed his way through the gate leading into George's yard. "What's up?" he asked helpfully.
"Mr. Wald made teams and assigned us to write a report about a recent scientific development," George informed him. "Muffy and I are a team, and we're trying to think of something really cool to write about."
Alan scratched his chin. "I don't know...Muffy ought to be really good at science after all the time she spent at Uppity Downs."
"Not...even," Muffy shot back.
After a few seconds of thought, Alan proposed an idea. "I got the latest Popular Science last week, and there was a cover story about the space elevator."
"Space elevator?" Muffy repeated. "You mean, like, an elevator that goes into outer space?"
Alan nodded. "It hasn't been built yet, but scientists are talking about it."
"How would you build something like that?" George inquired wonderingly.
"Carbon nanotubes," Alan answered.
"Carbon what-o-tubes?" asked Muffy, thoroughly confused.
"Nanotubes," said Alan. "As in, very small tubes. They're lighter and stronger than steel."
"If they're so small," Muffy observed, "you'd need billions and billions of them to reach outer space."
"That's a good idea," said George. "Thanks, Alan."
"No problem." Alan turned, exited through the gate, and continued down the sidewalk.
Muffy turned to George. "Imagine what we could do with an elevator that goes into space," she mused.
Lapsing into a fantasy sequence, Muffy imagined a rectangular column that seemed to stretch from one end of the galaxy to the other. A huge glass elevator car was descending through it, and inside of it stood a family of gigantic alien creatures with eyestalks and tentacles. They consisted of a mother with horn-rimmed glasses, a father who wore what looked like a baseball cap, a little boy in a striped shirt, and a little girl with a mop of blond hair on what appeared to be her head.
"Daddy, are we there yet?" asked the little alien girl.
"Just another four light-years," replied the alien father.
"Now, remember, kids," said the alien mother, "the little pink things that wear rags are people, so don't step on them."
"Can we take one home?" asked the alien boy excitedly.
"Maybe, if you promise to clean up after it," replied the mother.
Shortly the elevator car came to a stop, and the doors slid open to reveal a vast hall resembling a convention center. Rows of information booths extended as far as the eyestalk could see in all directions, while creatures of many different cosmic races wandered from booth to booth, listening to the spiels of the human presenters.
"This is so cool!" exclaimed the alien girl. "Is this Earth, Daddy?"
"No, this is just the welcome center," the alien father told her.
As the foursome wriggled out of the elevator car and into the enormous hall, a hologram of Muffy, wearing a red and white dress and stockings, flickered into existence before them. "Welcome to the planet Earth," she said in a somewhat static-filled voice. "I'm Muffy Crosswire, Fashion Consultant to the Stars. You may think it's hard to blend in on Earth when you're an ugly green alien monster, but I'm here to give you a few pointers that will make the job easier. First, clothes. Green is associated with spring, so spring colors are your best bet. As for the tentacles, it's a good idea to leave a little bit of the tip showing, but not too much, especially if there are suckers on the end. Second, hairstyles. Hairstyles, you ask? But I have snakes for hair! Well, believe it or not..."
Meanwhile, on the Earth's surface below, all of the visiting alien females, and even a few of the males, were wearing red and white dresses patterned after Muffy's (with variations for multiple arms and heads where necessary).
While Muffy daydreamed, Alan arrived at Prunella's house and was welcomed in by her mother, Drusilla Prufrock. The woman was clad in a green polka-dot dress, with bead bracelets covering her arms and a red bandanna over her frizzy, mousy-brown hair. "Is Prunella home?" Alan asked her.
"She's upstairs," Mrs. Prufrock replied.
As Alan walked toward the stairway, he noticed that a tall rabbit man with blond hair and a mustache was sitting in an antique chair in front of an old coffee table. The man rose as Alan drew closer, but the boy was attracted by something else--a small, round object lying on the tabletop. It was metallic, gold-colored, and somewhat tarnished, with leaflike engravings on its surface. His first impression was that it might be a case containing a fabulous diamond. Somehow he knew that it was of tremendous value, and he felt compelled to pick it up and handle it...
"Ah..." said the rabbit man, who had placed his large hand over the object to thwart Alan's attempt to touch it.
Alan suddenly felt embarrassed. He had failed to greet, and had hardly acknowledged, the tall stranger to whom the object might possibly belong, but had allowed curiosity to overwhelm him. How could he have been so impolite?
"Uh, I'm Alan Powers, sir," he said anxiously.
"Angus Winslow," the rabbit man replied. Since his right hand was guarding the object, he made no offer to shake hands with the boy. "Sorry to be so protective, but the locket has great historical significance, and I'd rather not allow just anyone to touch it." As Alan stepped back, the jade-colored ring on Winslow's right hand caught his attention. It appeared at first to be a class ring, but there were no markings on it.
At that moment Prunella came down the stairway. "Oh, Alan, you're here," she greeted him. "This is Mr. Winslow from Salem. He wants to buy great-aunt Hannah's locket and put it in a witch museum." Winslow sat down again, but did not remove his hand from the locket.
"A witch museum?" Alan repeated with curiosity.
"Have a seat and I'll tell you the whole story," Winslow offered.
Mrs. Prufrock gestured toward an old cushioned chair, and Alan seated himself in it. "I don't know if Prunella told you this," Winslow began, "but she has ancestors who lived in Davenport, New Hampshire during the time of the Purge."
"What purge?" asked Alan.
"When you think of witch trials, the first place you think of is Salem," said Winslow as Prunella and her mother took seats next to Alan. "And that's how it should be. However, many other places in New England had witch problems at the same time. In Davenport, thirty-two women, all part of the same family, were hanged for witchcraft between 1662 and 1669."
"Interesting," said Alan. "What about the men?"
"The men were left alone," Winslow replied. "Apparently Reverend Matheson thought that only female witches were a threat. By the time he was finished, only one woman survived out of the entire family."
"Charity Proctor," Prunella chimed in. "My great-great-great-great-whatever grandmother on my father's side."
"Charity had a sister named Hannah," Mrs. Prufrock added, "who was hanged. She had a daughter named Dolores, who disappeared and was never heard from again. The locket belonged to Hannah, and has a picture of Dolores in it."
"I thought we could write our history report about the Davenport Purge," Prunella said to Alan.
"That's a good idea," said Alan, smiling. "Let's get started right away."
Prunella led Alan up the stairway leading to her room, while Mr. Winslow stood, lifted his hand, and admired the locket again. Turning to Mrs. Prufrock, who had also risen, he said, "Fifty thousand dollars, ma'am. I may be able to convince my associates to go higher, but I doubt it."
Mrs. Prufrock smiled condescendingly. "That's a generous offer, and I can't say I'm not tempted. However, the locket has great meaning to our family. Every time we open it, we're reminded of everything we stand for and hold precious. And you can't put a price on that."
Winslow lowered his head, apparently disappointed. "Very well, ma'am. If you should reconsider, you know how to contact me." He shook hands with the woman, who was more than a foot and a half shorter. "Good day, ma'am."
"Will you be staying the night here?" Mrs. Prufrock asked him.
"No, ma'am," he answered. "I'm going to drop in on an old friend, then I'll be on my way back to Salem."
Mrs. Prufrock held the door open for Winslow as he departed. After closing the door, she went to the coffee table and carefully placed the locket in the palm of her hand. The latch had long ago worn off, so she lifted up the top half to reveal a crude, faded drawing of a little rat girl who wore a white bonnet over her long brown hair. The girl was not smiling; her dour expression seemed to convey the message, "Is this all I have to look forward to?"
----
Arthur, seated on the floor, was playing a sonata on a toy piano on which sat a stern-looking bust of Beethoven. As he practiced, Francine walked into the room, smiling vacuously. Lowering herself onto her back, she rested her head on the edge of the piano opposite Arthur, and allowed the music to wash over her.
"Green or yellow, Arthur?" she said wistfully.
"Green or yellow what?" asked Arthur without breaking his pace.
"The drapes in the house we'll build with our own hands after we get married," Francine answered.
Suddenly angry, Arthur grabbed the toy piano and yanked it away, sending the bust of Beethoven flying and Francine's head crashing to the floor with a thud.
Or so he imagined.
In reality, he and Francine were sitting on chairs in front of the desk in Arthur's bedroom, discussing the joint assignment Mr. Wald had given them.
"Buster called me on Sunday," Arthur told Francine. "He and his parents are all set to come out and visit in a month. And he said something about bananas. Like, the whole world will run out of bananas because of some fungus."
"Oh, that would be just terrible," said Francine dreamily. Arthur could just hear her adding, "But I can live without bananas. It's you I can't live without, Arthur. I love you..."
"Think about it," said Arthur, looking away from Francine and toward the blank sheet of paper on his desk. "No more bananas. Hey, I just thought of a joke. A guy walks into the Sugar Bowl and asks for a banana split. The server says there are no bananas left. So he splits."
Francine giggled. "That's funny, Arthur."
Arthur sighed and straightened his glasses. "For someone with two people in your head," he said with an annoyed tone, "you're not acting very intelligent."
Francine shook her head as if trying to dislodge a rock. "I'm sorry, Arthur," she said meekly. "It's just that whenever we're together, I forget myself, and Sue Ellen takes over, and my brain turns to mush."
"Well, try to fight it," Arthur urged her. "Now, I thought it would be a good idea to write a report about bananas, and why they may become extinct, and what's being done scientifically to save them."
"Ecuador is the world's biggest exporter of bananas," Francine informed him. "Costa Rica is second. I went to a banana plantation in Costa Rica once. There were so many bananas that..."
"Can I talk to Francine now?" Arthur snapped at her.
At the same time, D.W. and Nadine were seated on the couch, watching and greatly enjoying New Moo Revue. They were especially intrigued by the new character Mini Moo, a clownish calf who danced gracefully and sang beautifully.
In the current segment, Mini Moo was standing on his tiptoes (the character's gender had never been firmly established, but most assumed he was male, since he had no eyelashes) in the middle of the state of Washington, part of a large diorama of the fifty U.S. states. In his girlish voice he announced, "And now I will dance through all the fifty states. When I dance into a new state, I want you to say the name of the state really loud."
Mini Moo began to pirouette and leap through the states, while D.W. and Nadine followed along, shouting as loudly as they could, "Washington! Oregon! California!"
In the kitchen, Mr. Read sat at one end of the table reading the newspaper, while his wife sat at the other end, feeding baby Kate. Suddenly their idyllic peace and tranquility were interrupted when the doorbell rang. "I'll get it," Mr. Read offered.
As he bent over and looked through the peephole, all he saw was a gray ascot tie. Then he opened the door, and the view didn't change. He was standing in the presence of an unusually tall, finely dressed rabbit man, who sported a grin the size of...
"Texas! Oklahoma! Kansas!"
"Hello, Dave," said the stranger to Mr. Read.
Studying the man's face carefully, Mr. Read struggled to recall where or when they might have met before. Then he remembered, and a delighted smile spread across his face.
"Gus!" he exclaimed. "Gus Winslow!"
TBC
----
Author's Notes:
The witch trials in Davenport, NH are fictional. There is no city named Davenport in New Hampshire. But you knew that, duh.
P.S. Sebastian, I haven't seen any of the Freddy Krueger movies, so I'm not informed enough to add him to my story. There will be magic, evil, and horror in this story, but no Freddy, sorry. Feel free to write an Arthur/Freddy crossover of your own.
"He's experiencing health problems," replied Mr. Ratburn, who then plucked a lollipop from a mug on the desk and began to idly unwrap it. "The school board needed a temporary replacement on short notice, and I was their first choice."
A bit astonished, Alan pulled himself into the seat facing the principal's desk. "I thought the school board asked you to quit," he reflected.
"They apologized for that," Mr. Ratburn told him. "The feds are losing interest in Angela's case anyway, now that the statute of limitations is almost up. It seems unlikely that they'll bring any action against me."
"That's good," said Alan. "I mean, I wouldn't want you to go to jail or anything."
Mr. Ratburn smiled and took a deep relaxing breath. "So, what brings you here, Alan?" he asked in a friendly tone.
Alan looked down at his feet. "It's...it's my teacher. He's got these weird theories about things like unicorns and space aliens, and he's always talking about them in class."
"Mm-hmm," said Ratburn thoughtfully.
"I wish he would stop, but I can't do anything about it. When I complain, he makes me stay after school."
Principal Ratburn's expression grew slightly darker. "I'll have a talk with him," he told Alan.
A few minutes later, as Alan was walking away from the school in the direction of Prunella's, he passed George's house and saw George and Muffy sitting on the mostly-dead grass of the front lawn, their packs sitting open next to them. "Hey, guys," he hailed them.
"Hi, Alan," said Muffy and George in unison. Because of the unusually warm weather, they were dressed in springwear.
"I'm glad you decided to pass by," Muffy told Alan. "We could use a third brain right now."
Alan pushed his way through the gate leading into George's yard. "What's up?" he asked helpfully.
"Mr. Wald made teams and assigned us to write a report about a recent scientific development," George informed him. "Muffy and I are a team, and we're trying to think of something really cool to write about."
Alan scratched his chin. "I don't know...Muffy ought to be really good at science after all the time she spent at Uppity Downs."
"Not...even," Muffy shot back.
After a few seconds of thought, Alan proposed an idea. "I got the latest Popular Science last week, and there was a cover story about the space elevator."
"Space elevator?" Muffy repeated. "You mean, like, an elevator that goes into outer space?"
Alan nodded. "It hasn't been built yet, but scientists are talking about it."
"How would you build something like that?" George inquired wonderingly.
"Carbon nanotubes," Alan answered.
"Carbon what-o-tubes?" asked Muffy, thoroughly confused.
"Nanotubes," said Alan. "As in, very small tubes. They're lighter and stronger than steel."
"If they're so small," Muffy observed, "you'd need billions and billions of them to reach outer space."
"That's a good idea," said George. "Thanks, Alan."
"No problem." Alan turned, exited through the gate, and continued down the sidewalk.
Muffy turned to George. "Imagine what we could do with an elevator that goes into space," she mused.
Lapsing into a fantasy sequence, Muffy imagined a rectangular column that seemed to stretch from one end of the galaxy to the other. A huge glass elevator car was descending through it, and inside of it stood a family of gigantic alien creatures with eyestalks and tentacles. They consisted of a mother with horn-rimmed glasses, a father who wore what looked like a baseball cap, a little boy in a striped shirt, and a little girl with a mop of blond hair on what appeared to be her head.
"Daddy, are we there yet?" asked the little alien girl.
"Just another four light-years," replied the alien father.
"Now, remember, kids," said the alien mother, "the little pink things that wear rags are people, so don't step on them."
"Can we take one home?" asked the alien boy excitedly.
"Maybe, if you promise to clean up after it," replied the mother.
Shortly the elevator car came to a stop, and the doors slid open to reveal a vast hall resembling a convention center. Rows of information booths extended as far as the eyestalk could see in all directions, while creatures of many different cosmic races wandered from booth to booth, listening to the spiels of the human presenters.
"This is so cool!" exclaimed the alien girl. "Is this Earth, Daddy?"
"No, this is just the welcome center," the alien father told her.
As the foursome wriggled out of the elevator car and into the enormous hall, a hologram of Muffy, wearing a red and white dress and stockings, flickered into existence before them. "Welcome to the planet Earth," she said in a somewhat static-filled voice. "I'm Muffy Crosswire, Fashion Consultant to the Stars. You may think it's hard to blend in on Earth when you're an ugly green alien monster, but I'm here to give you a few pointers that will make the job easier. First, clothes. Green is associated with spring, so spring colors are your best bet. As for the tentacles, it's a good idea to leave a little bit of the tip showing, but not too much, especially if there are suckers on the end. Second, hairstyles. Hairstyles, you ask? But I have snakes for hair! Well, believe it or not..."
Meanwhile, on the Earth's surface below, all of the visiting alien females, and even a few of the males, were wearing red and white dresses patterned after Muffy's (with variations for multiple arms and heads where necessary).
While Muffy daydreamed, Alan arrived at Prunella's house and was welcomed in by her mother, Drusilla Prufrock. The woman was clad in a green polka-dot dress, with bead bracelets covering her arms and a red bandanna over her frizzy, mousy-brown hair. "Is Prunella home?" Alan asked her.
"She's upstairs," Mrs. Prufrock replied.
As Alan walked toward the stairway, he noticed that a tall rabbit man with blond hair and a mustache was sitting in an antique chair in front of an old coffee table. The man rose as Alan drew closer, but the boy was attracted by something else--a small, round object lying on the tabletop. It was metallic, gold-colored, and somewhat tarnished, with leaflike engravings on its surface. His first impression was that it might be a case containing a fabulous diamond. Somehow he knew that it was of tremendous value, and he felt compelled to pick it up and handle it...
"Ah..." said the rabbit man, who had placed his large hand over the object to thwart Alan's attempt to touch it.
Alan suddenly felt embarrassed. He had failed to greet, and had hardly acknowledged, the tall stranger to whom the object might possibly belong, but had allowed curiosity to overwhelm him. How could he have been so impolite?
"Uh, I'm Alan Powers, sir," he said anxiously.
"Angus Winslow," the rabbit man replied. Since his right hand was guarding the object, he made no offer to shake hands with the boy. "Sorry to be so protective, but the locket has great historical significance, and I'd rather not allow just anyone to touch it." As Alan stepped back, the jade-colored ring on Winslow's right hand caught his attention. It appeared at first to be a class ring, but there were no markings on it.
At that moment Prunella came down the stairway. "Oh, Alan, you're here," she greeted him. "This is Mr. Winslow from Salem. He wants to buy great-aunt Hannah's locket and put it in a witch museum." Winslow sat down again, but did not remove his hand from the locket.
"A witch museum?" Alan repeated with curiosity.
"Have a seat and I'll tell you the whole story," Winslow offered.
Mrs. Prufrock gestured toward an old cushioned chair, and Alan seated himself in it. "I don't know if Prunella told you this," Winslow began, "but she has ancestors who lived in Davenport, New Hampshire during the time of the Purge."
"What purge?" asked Alan.
"When you think of witch trials, the first place you think of is Salem," said Winslow as Prunella and her mother took seats next to Alan. "And that's how it should be. However, many other places in New England had witch problems at the same time. In Davenport, thirty-two women, all part of the same family, were hanged for witchcraft between 1662 and 1669."
"Interesting," said Alan. "What about the men?"
"The men were left alone," Winslow replied. "Apparently Reverend Matheson thought that only female witches were a threat. By the time he was finished, only one woman survived out of the entire family."
"Charity Proctor," Prunella chimed in. "My great-great-great-great-whatever grandmother on my father's side."
"Charity had a sister named Hannah," Mrs. Prufrock added, "who was hanged. She had a daughter named Dolores, who disappeared and was never heard from again. The locket belonged to Hannah, and has a picture of Dolores in it."
"I thought we could write our history report about the Davenport Purge," Prunella said to Alan.
"That's a good idea," said Alan, smiling. "Let's get started right away."
Prunella led Alan up the stairway leading to her room, while Mr. Winslow stood, lifted his hand, and admired the locket again. Turning to Mrs. Prufrock, who had also risen, he said, "Fifty thousand dollars, ma'am. I may be able to convince my associates to go higher, but I doubt it."
Mrs. Prufrock smiled condescendingly. "That's a generous offer, and I can't say I'm not tempted. However, the locket has great meaning to our family. Every time we open it, we're reminded of everything we stand for and hold precious. And you can't put a price on that."
Winslow lowered his head, apparently disappointed. "Very well, ma'am. If you should reconsider, you know how to contact me." He shook hands with the woman, who was more than a foot and a half shorter. "Good day, ma'am."
"Will you be staying the night here?" Mrs. Prufrock asked him.
"No, ma'am," he answered. "I'm going to drop in on an old friend, then I'll be on my way back to Salem."
Mrs. Prufrock held the door open for Winslow as he departed. After closing the door, she went to the coffee table and carefully placed the locket in the palm of her hand. The latch had long ago worn off, so she lifted up the top half to reveal a crude, faded drawing of a little rat girl who wore a white bonnet over her long brown hair. The girl was not smiling; her dour expression seemed to convey the message, "Is this all I have to look forward to?"
----
Arthur, seated on the floor, was playing a sonata on a toy piano on which sat a stern-looking bust of Beethoven. As he practiced, Francine walked into the room, smiling vacuously. Lowering herself onto her back, she rested her head on the edge of the piano opposite Arthur, and allowed the music to wash over her.
"Green or yellow, Arthur?" she said wistfully.
"Green or yellow what?" asked Arthur without breaking his pace.
"The drapes in the house we'll build with our own hands after we get married," Francine answered.
Suddenly angry, Arthur grabbed the toy piano and yanked it away, sending the bust of Beethoven flying and Francine's head crashing to the floor with a thud.
Or so he imagined.
In reality, he and Francine were sitting on chairs in front of the desk in Arthur's bedroom, discussing the joint assignment Mr. Wald had given them.
"Buster called me on Sunday," Arthur told Francine. "He and his parents are all set to come out and visit in a month. And he said something about bananas. Like, the whole world will run out of bananas because of some fungus."
"Oh, that would be just terrible," said Francine dreamily. Arthur could just hear her adding, "But I can live without bananas. It's you I can't live without, Arthur. I love you..."
"Think about it," said Arthur, looking away from Francine and toward the blank sheet of paper on his desk. "No more bananas. Hey, I just thought of a joke. A guy walks into the Sugar Bowl and asks for a banana split. The server says there are no bananas left. So he splits."
Francine giggled. "That's funny, Arthur."
Arthur sighed and straightened his glasses. "For someone with two people in your head," he said with an annoyed tone, "you're not acting very intelligent."
Francine shook her head as if trying to dislodge a rock. "I'm sorry, Arthur," she said meekly. "It's just that whenever we're together, I forget myself, and Sue Ellen takes over, and my brain turns to mush."
"Well, try to fight it," Arthur urged her. "Now, I thought it would be a good idea to write a report about bananas, and why they may become extinct, and what's being done scientifically to save them."
"Ecuador is the world's biggest exporter of bananas," Francine informed him. "Costa Rica is second. I went to a banana plantation in Costa Rica once. There were so many bananas that..."
"Can I talk to Francine now?" Arthur snapped at her.
At the same time, D.W. and Nadine were seated on the couch, watching and greatly enjoying New Moo Revue. They were especially intrigued by the new character Mini Moo, a clownish calf who danced gracefully and sang beautifully.
In the current segment, Mini Moo was standing on his tiptoes (the character's gender had never been firmly established, but most assumed he was male, since he had no eyelashes) in the middle of the state of Washington, part of a large diorama of the fifty U.S. states. In his girlish voice he announced, "And now I will dance through all the fifty states. When I dance into a new state, I want you to say the name of the state really loud."
Mini Moo began to pirouette and leap through the states, while D.W. and Nadine followed along, shouting as loudly as they could, "Washington! Oregon! California!"
In the kitchen, Mr. Read sat at one end of the table reading the newspaper, while his wife sat at the other end, feeding baby Kate. Suddenly their idyllic peace and tranquility were interrupted when the doorbell rang. "I'll get it," Mr. Read offered.
As he bent over and looked through the peephole, all he saw was a gray ascot tie. Then he opened the door, and the view didn't change. He was standing in the presence of an unusually tall, finely dressed rabbit man, who sported a grin the size of...
"Texas! Oklahoma! Kansas!"
"Hello, Dave," said the stranger to Mr. Read.
Studying the man's face carefully, Mr. Read struggled to recall where or when they might have met before. Then he remembered, and a delighted smile spread across his face.
"Gus!" he exclaimed. "Gus Winslow!"
TBC
----
Author's Notes:
The witch trials in Davenport, NH are fictional. There is no city named Davenport in New Hampshire. But you knew that, duh.
P.S. Sebastian, I haven't seen any of the Freddy Krueger movies, so I'm not informed enough to add him to my story. There will be magic, evil, and horror in this story, but no Freddy, sorry. Feel free to write an Arthur/Freddy crossover of your own.
