"Where are you going?" asked Mrs. Read when she saw D.W. sticking her arm into her coat sleeve.
"I'm going with Arthur and Francine to Fern's house to see Greta," the little girl replied.
"I don't think so," said her mother firmly. "Not after what you did to Molly."
D.W. let out an indignant gasp. "Mom, you can't do that to me! I haven't seen Greta for a whole year! Besides, I was already punished at school."
"Not enough, if you ask me," said Mrs. Read as she snatched up D.W.'s coat and placed it in the closet. "You don't look sorry at all for your mustard stunt."
"I told you I was sorry," said D.W. in a pleading tone.
"She looks sorry to me," said Arthur to his mother.
"Me too," Francine chimed in.
"If you're genuinely sorry," said Mrs. Read to D.W., "you'll go sit on the couch and watch TV until Arthur and Francine come back."
D.W.'s heart sank, only to rise again when she noticed that Arthur was winking slyly at her.
"Okay," she said emotionlessly.
Mrs. Read pushed gently on the girl's back as she trudged into the living room. "Be grateful Dr. Fugue doesn't get to punish you as well," she joked.
Shortly Arthur and Francine were en route to Fern's residence. "What was the winking about?" Francine asked her friend.
"Mom said D.W. can't go to Fern's," Arthur replied. "But she didn't say Greta can't come to our house."
Fern, meanwhile, was so eager for Greta's arrival that she hadn't swallowed for several minutes. The TV was on, but she only stared at the door. Then the phone rang.
"Fern, will you get that?" called her father from the garage.
The poodle girl reluctantly picked up the receiver. "Hello?"
"Hi, Fern, it's Jean."
"This isn't a good time," said Fern impatiently. "I'm expecting company."
"I'll be quick then," said Mrs. Stiles. "Wyatt just quit. I have no one to voice Mini Moo."
The news left Fern speechless.
"I could really use you right now," Mrs. Stiles told her.
The doorbell rang. "I'll ask Mickie if she wants the job," Fern spoke rapidly into the phone. "Goodbye, Mrs. Stiles."
She hung up the phone and opened the door in one fluid movement.
"Hi, Fern," said the pale-haired horse girl on the doorstep. "Long time no see."
Fern was about to throw her arms around Greta—when she observed something strange.
"You…haven't grown," she remarked.
She was a year older than me when I saw her last, Fern thought. Now we're the same size. How…?
"I'm a late bloomer," Greta explained. "My parents are worried too, but the doctor says it's nothing serious."
"Well, come in, anyway," said Fern with a joyful smile.
Unlike her body, Greta's white hair had grown; it was now past her shoulders. She glanced around curiously as she strolled through the living room. "Still as I remember it," she remarked.
"There's one good thing about not growing," said Fern facetiously. "You don't have to buy new clothes."
"That's right," said Greta. "I've been wearing this same dress for what seems like twenty years."
While Fern was showing her a scrapbook of items she had made at school, Greta remarked on her long absence. "I'm sorry about all the secrecy. You have a friend whose parents are alien spies, so you understand."
"How'd you know about that?" Fern asked her.
"If I tell you," Greta replied, "I'll have to kill you."
"If you don't tell me, I'll kill you," said Fern with a chuckle. "How do you like that?"
"A fight to the death would be so much fun," said Greta wistfully.
The doorbell rang, and Fern permitted Arthur and Francine to enter.
"Well, well," said Greta, standing to welcome them. "I haven't seen you two forever."
"You just saw us…" Francine started to say.
"Forever," said Greta, staring into her eyes.
"Right," said Francine, smiling sheepishly.
"My sister really wants to see you," Arthur told Greta, "but she's grounded, so could you stop by my house when you're finished here?"
"Certainly," said the horse girl. "I've missed D.W. terribly."
The flush of a toilet was heard, and Buster emerged from the washroom in the act of zipping his pants. "Uh-oh," he muttered upon seeing the visitors.
"You must be Buster," said Greta pleasantly.
The rabbit boy turned and hurried into the bathroom. The next sound Arthur, Francine, and Greta heard was water flowing from a faucet.
"Okay, I'm ready," said Buster, shaking droplets of water from his hands as he stepped out.
"He has a nice smile," Greta commented.
"He has nice lips, too," said Fern, giving Buster a smack.
"Let's all go to Arthur's house," said Francine, quoting the first stanza of a proposed theme song that was rejected in favor of What a Wonderful Kind of Day.
Fern and Buster led the way, hand in hand, as the cloudless sky began to darken above them. Greta carefully watched the houses on each side of the street, as if expecting Mr. Baker to jump out from behind a hedge.
D.W. was thrilled beyond expression to see her old friend standing in the kitchen. Forgetting her punishment, she bounded off the couch and ran with all her might, shouting, "Greta! Greta, it's you!"
"Well, hello, D.W.," gushed Greta, receiving the little girl in a warm embrace.
"Where's your horn?" asked D.W., looking up at the horse girl's gray-patched forehead.
"I, uh, forgot it," Greta answered. "I'm sorry, I know how much you wanted to hear me play it."
"I'm glad you came," said D.W. "Grandpa Dave was driving me crazy with his stories."
Greta followed her into the living room, where the old man had planted himself in the easy chair, walker standing ready in front. "Hello, little girl," he called to her. "What's your name?"
"I'm Greta von Horstein," she replied.
"Have I told you about my old horse?" said Grandpa Dave. "I can't remember her name, but she broke her leg once, and I fixed it up. My wife told me I should just shoot her and buy a new one, but…"
After spending half an hour listening to the old man's tales, Greta remembered that her younger friends were also present. "This has been fascinating," she told Grandpa Dave, "but I should get back to the others. They haven't seen me for so long."
"Have I told you about my old horse?" was the oldster's response.
D.W., noticing that Greta was taking leave from Grandpa Dave, rushed toward her with a stuffed bear in her hands. "I made this myself in first grade," she told her friend.
"Hello, little girl," said Grandpa Dave to D.W. "What's your name?"
The kids went through a game of Confuse the Goose, a pitcher of pink lemonade, and a tub of ice cream. Mrs. Read, seeing that night had come, asked Greta, "How are you getting home?"
"I was hoping to spend the night at Fern's," replied Greta, "or possibly at your house."
"Can she? Can she?" D.W. pleaded with her mother.
"That's a wonderful idea," said Fern, surreptitiously patting the stone in her pocket. That means I can learn the truth about her in the morning.
"We don't have any spare rooms," said Mrs. Read.
"She can sleep in my bed," said D.W. "There's room for two."
"I'd be happy to," said Greta.
"You're welcome to if you want," Mrs. Read told her, "but I'm curious to know where your parents are."
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Greta assured her.
She feared that D.W. would keep her awake with questions, but the aardvark girl fell asleep instantly. Greta shortly followed.
At 742 Evergreen Terrace in Springfield, the Simpsons were sleeping peacefully as well. Their house guest, however, was not.
Here by the grace of God go I, he thought while slipping silently out of Bart's bed. He had been granted free use of it, as Bart was in the habit of dozing on the couch while the TV played.
The street was lighted, but the starry sky seemed to shake a menacing fist at him. He paused to look back at the house he had left. I wish I could stay with you, Lisa, but I don't dare. Too many people know about my powers, and I don't know if I can trust Bart to keep his mouth shut.
Tears filled his eyes as he walked in the direction of the Kwik-E-Mart, hoping to purchase a snack before leaving on the train. He didn't know where he would go, or who would take him in. He had relatives nearby, but they would almost certainly send him back to his parents.
For all intents and purposes, it was the last day of the world for him.
A voice called to him from the surrounding gloom. "Hey, kid."
He could make out only a pair of tall figures through his tear-soaked eyes. They came closer.
"It's dangerous to walk alone at night," one of the men told him. "Didn't your mama teach you that?"
Muggers, thought Alan. He wiped his eyes with his fingers. No, worse. Policemen.
"I recognize him, Eddie," said one cop to the other. "He's one of the missing kids."
"Yeah, you're right, Lou," responded the second cop. "You can't mistake an Elwood City face."
"How'd you like to take a ride in a police car?" Officer Lou asked Alan.
"I'd rather not," the boy replied.
I'd better try to talk my way out of this, he thought. I don't want to get addicted to using my powers.
"We've got donuts at the station," said Officer Eddie.
"I'm not hungry," Alan lied. "I've got to go."
So much for talking my way out of this, he thought as the squad car drove away with him in the back seat.
to be continued