The house that belonged to the family of four at the end of the cul-de-sac was oddly normal. Their shrubs were always cut to perfection and windows clean both inside and out. Housewives of the neighborhood envied Estelle Ridge's tall sunflowers, which stood like guards flanking her driveway, never wilting, even though the late spring frost killed any plant that dared to come out early. Their lawn was always short and green and clear of the tricycles and Fisher Price plastic cars that usually accompanied their small children outside.

The thing that puzzled neighbors the most was that Estelle and her husband Christopher were both very busy with their careers and seemed like the kind of lively people who wouldn't have time for meticulously trimming their shrubs or spreading fertilizer for their sunflowers. They were active members of the community; Estelle was head of the PTA of her eldest son's elementary school and Christopher initiated a community watch program within months of moving into their house.

Their neighbor, Pamela Washington, was most suspicious of their lawn that almost seemed to take care of itself. Pretending like she needed advice on her own lawn, Pamela cornered Christopher one morning, asking for the brand of weed-killer he used. When he didn't supply an answer, she asked how often he mowed. He cleared his throat and said once a week. When she innocently asked why she had never heard his mower, he suddenly pulled his hand from his pocket.

"Oh!" Christopher commented at the sight of his palm, which had begun bleeding. "It's my pocket knife," he explained to Pamela, who had leaned closer, momentarily forgetting about lawns and weed killers and mowers. "Must've left it open in there on accident."

When he retreated into his house, Pamela turned her lip into a half-smile and stepped from the short green grass of the Ridge's yard into her own crabgrass and dandelion strewn lawn, a little more bounce in her step than before. That very night, Mr. Ridge could be seen maneuvering a lawn mower across his yard, his two boys pressing their faces against the front window as if intrigued by their father's actions.

Pamela, who lived right next door, was highly distrustful of everyone in the neighborhood, so nobody was inclined to listen to her rave about the Ridge family and the unnatural perfection that seemed to follow them everywhere. When she pointed this out to the widow across the street, the widow just smiled and commented that the Ridge's did have the most beautiful sunflowers in the neighborhood. Dejected, but no less motivated, Pamela returned to her empty home to cook dinner.

While the Ridge family's home was inexplicably perfect, they themselves had some questionable habits that simply couldn't be overlooked. While everyone knew that short, dark-haired Estelle owned a private candy shop in the city, nobody knew where it was that Christopher disappeared to every day. He dressed like a businessman when he and his wife left at eight o'clock, carpooling together downtown, but when asked what it was he did, he flushed and stammered that it was just office work, never providing a company name or actual job title.

Their children were also slightly strange. The older, Alex, was rambunctious and rude, slightly more so than an average nine year-old. Tyler, seven, had wide black eyes that everyone knew well because the boy's favorite pastime seemed to be to stare at passers-by relentlessly as they rounded the end of the cul-de-sac.

One balmy evening in September, Tyler and Alex were alone in their playroom, playing Giants and Townsfolk, which mainly consisted of Alex destroying the Lego houses Tyler had spent hours building earlier in the day. Tyler tightly wrapped his seven year-old fingers around a blue Lego until six small circles imprinted themselves onto his palm.

"Rwar! Look at that house!" Alex said while kicking over the mansion Tyler had spent an hour and a half creating. Tyler thought about Alex annihilating his town for the third time that week, and pressed on the Lego that much harder. He felt his anger ebbing away as his hand hurt more. While Alex was known to run to their mother at the slightest pain or inconvenience, Tyler preferred to keep her out of it, knowing a sound beating from his brother would follow any kind of tattling.

When every Lego had detached from all others, Alex turned to Tyler maliciously to survey the emotional damage he might have caused his little brother. But Tyler just stared back calmly, his large black eyes hiding his frustration.

"You're such a freak," Alex said, assuming all his work was in vain if it didn't hurt Tyler's feelings. "Aren't you going to tell mom?" he challenged.

"No," Tyler said softly, releasing the Lego from his pained hand.

Alex scoffed, and kicked at the ground dejectedly.

Much to Tyler's relief, Alex's attention began to wander away from tormenting his little brother. While Tyler picked up the Legos, Alex halfheartedly played with a paper airplane on a string that their father had made for him earlier that day. While the blue paper soared around their heads, Alex was looking not at the plane, but at the hall closet located just outside the room.

"You wanna see something?" Alex said, turning to Tyler. Tyler placed the last handful of blocks into their bin and shut the lid tightly. He was very interested in what Alex might have found, but didn't want to treat him to any enthusiasm.

"I guess so," Tyler answered halfheartedly, following his brother to the closet.

"I saw Dad in here yesterday," Alex whispered mysteriously, opening the door to reveal a painfully normal handful of winter coats, raincoats and boots. Tyler watched Alex move the boots littering the bottom of the closet over to one side, and he began feeling around for something near the back. Tyler was instantly nervous; he knew Mom and Dad kept a lot of secrets from the neighbors and felt like he was sure to be in trouble if caught doing something to expose such secrets.

"Are you scared or something?" Alex sneered. He had been holding a pair of rain boots out for Tyler to take.

"No," Tyler lied, taking the boots and setting them aside, leaning into the dark closet.

"Like I was saying," Alex continued, "Dad was here yesterday and I saw him take out the shoes at the bottom and then—"

I heard a car door shut outside.

"Was that Dad?" I asked suddenly.

"Stop interrupting!" Alex snapped. "Anyway, Dad put this brown box down in the closet, but when he left, I looked in there and there was no box..."

This certainly is interesting, Tyler thought to himself. Anything that his parents did that concerned magic was very important and very secret. If there was a vanishing box, it had to contain some clue as to how their parents were able to perform magic at all.

"Boys!" The sharp voice of their mother made both boys jump guiltily. "Get out of there, put that mess away! We have company."

A round face appeared behind Tyler's mom's shoulder and smiled down at them. Tyler just stared and tried to hide his disgust. Mr. Chas, the man who belonged to the round face and the equally round stomach, raised his eyebrows and made a face that he obviously thought was comical. Of all the company Tyler hoped it could have been, Mr. Chas would have been his last pick. His real name was Chas Johnson, but Tyler's parents encouraged their kids to call him Mr. Chas as if he was a preschool teacher; he certainly treated Tyler like he was still in preschool.

Tyler didn't even like people treating him his own age, but Mr. Chas enjoyed ruffling Tyler's dark blond hair and also lying to Tyler about obvious things.

"So, what's for dinner, Estelle?" Mr. Chas said, finished making his "funny" faces at Tyler and Alex.

"What would you like?" Tyler's mother asked kindly. "I've got pasta, or we can make homemade pizza; I could call Christopher and ask him to pick up a few steaks—"

"Spaghetti sounds like it would hit the spot!" Mr. Chas answered boisterously. He turned to Tyler. "You like spaghetti?"

Tyler nodded politely.

"Even though it's made of worms?" Mr. Chas gasped. He laughed as if he had played a wondrous prank on the boy. Alex laughed with him, as if Tyler had actually believed this.

"Go ahead into the kitchen, Chas." Tyler's mother said with a small smile. "Alex, could you set the table?"

Alex loved Mr. Chas and grabbed the man's hairy, round arm while they both headed for the kitchen; Mr. Chas lifted Alex up into the air. Tyler watched them unenviously.

"Ty," his mother said, placing a hand on his shoulder, "I have a job for you."

"Okay," he answered.

"How about you pick up these boots? And then," he was sure she winked at him, "make sure Alex doesn't get into any more trouble for the rest of the night?"

Tyler let himself smile at his mother. It made him feel important when he was in charge of his older brother, and she seemed to know it. He was good at judging what was a bad idea and what wasn't; well, he was at least better at it than Alex was.

Their father came home thirty minutes later and the spaghetti was just about finished. When Mr. Chas wasn't acting like some kind of remedial clown, he was a bearable person. Chas and Tyler's father shook hands vigorously and each took a seat, immediately conversing about government and other things Tyler was disinterested in. The spaghetti was served; the family and Mr. Chas began passing around the bread and sauce.

Halfway through the meal, Chas asked their father about how Werdwall was, and Tyler and Alex both immediately looked up from their plates. They knew their parents were able to do magic and Werdwall had something to do with it.

"Christopher!" their mother scolded, as if he was a bad child.

"My fault, my fault," Chas said hurriedly. "I forgot about your rules."

"What about Werdwall?" Alex asked through a mouth full of garlic bread. "Who is he?"

His father just laughed nervously. "Don't talk with your mouth full, son."

And the subject was dropped.

But Werdwall was coursing through Tyler's head long after it had popped up in conversation. It wasn't exactly treated like a cuss word in the household, but unlike most curiosities of the children, it was a query that was not encouraged. They had first heard of it two years before, when Alex had gotten in trouble at school for breaking a classroom fish tank. To this day, Alex denied having done it, but Tyler never doubted his brother's guilt. The strange thing was that while Alex and Tyler eavesdropped on their parents to determine Alex's punishment, the couple was talking about Werdwall behind their closed bedroom door, and how Alex might be headed there.

Alex cried for an entire day, thinking that he was going to be sent away to someone named Werdwall's house because of his misbehavior. Their father said to forget about Werdwall, and to never talk about it again, but sometimes he himself would slip up and that's when the boys would ask about it. It had to have something to do with magic, or else it wouldn't be so secret.

With no regard about what the family was then discussing around the dinner table, Tyler threw caution into the wind and asked, "Why don't we talk about Werdwall?"

The table became silent. Even Alex gawked at Tyler for his courage to ask about Werdwall. The boys never asked about it unless an adult brought it up first. Mr. Chas swallowed loudly, and looked over to Estelle.

"I mean," Tyler continued softly, "we know he, or it, exists, so why not just tell us?"

"I think you should go get ready for bed," Tyler's mother said delicately.

"I think you should tell us about Werdwall," Tyler said, more confidently.

"Don't back talk your mother," his father warned, his bushy eyebrows furrowing slightly. "Get upstairs, now."

"Why don't you guys just tell us?" Tyler asked. "What are the rules? We know you can do magic."

That seemed to be the last straw, and Tyler knew it instantly. His mother stood up and headed straight for Tyler's chair. He got up, and offered her his arm, knowing she would grab it and pull him upstairs. She did, and Tyler wished he could have just kept his stupid mouth shut.

He clamored up the stairs after her, hating the feeling of foreboding that sank to the pit of his stomach. Was she going to yell at him? She hardly ever yelled, but it was still a possibility.

She pulled him into his room and over to the bottom bunk, which was his bed, and sat him down on it.

"Tyler, you're being very rude tonight, that's why you're going to bed early." She was talking slowly, as if he could hardly understand her. His face became flushed.

"Do you understand?" she asked, pulling his shirt over his head.

"Yes," he mumbled angrily. Why did she have to treat him like he couldn't speak English?

When his mother began to pull his pajamas over his head, he twisted around so she let go.

"I can do this myself," he said stubbornly.

"Are you sure? Because you weren't acting like a big boy downstairs so I'll treat you like you're still little." She continued to dress him for bed.

Tyler's blood was starting to boil. He wasn't acting like a child, he was just asking questions. Was that against the law? It was just a little while ago that she told him to make sure Alex didn't get in trouble, and now he was being treated like he was three.

When he was dressed for bed, he climbed into the bottom bunk.

"I'm not a bat," Tyler mumbled. "I can't sleep when it's light outside."

"Good night," his mother said, ignoring him, turning off the lights. Not like that made much difference. The sun had barely set and the sky was still light blue through the blinds on the window. It would be another hour until it was entirely dark outside, which meant it would be another hour until Tyler would be able to get to sleep.

She knew I'd have to sit here for an hour, he thought bitterly. Why won't she just tell us? It's not like it'd kill her.

The more he brooded on the subject, the more he wanted to know. It wouldn't be this secret if it wasn't important, and if he had to name something he hated more than anything, it was being kept in the dark about important things. He hated being told he was too young or too small, because he felt older than most of his brother's friends.

Even after the sky darkened, Tyler lay awake in his bed, feeling misunderstood. He felt like an older person trapped in a younger person's body, and unable to convince anyone otherwise.

He suddenly thought of the hall closet and the magic concealed within it. There was obviously something to be found if his mother wanted to keep Alex and him away from investigating it.

Tonight, Tyler thought, I'll find out what's in that closet.