Note from Author:
I sincerely apologize for how long it took for this chapter to be finished. Due to a combination of technical difficulties, school and health related issues, and numerous writing and editing roadblocks, this chapter was an absolute nightmare to write, and I can't express with words how relieved I feel to finally give it to you. Since school is nearly out for me, the rest of the story should hopefully come at a more steady pace, though I obviously can't give any guarantees. I have not, and do not plan to ever lose interest in writing these stories until they are completed.

I also wish to thank you for all the support you have given me; it may not have been pages and pages of reviews, but the few comments you have given me have really helped me the last couple of months. Seriously, I'm not sure how much of this I could reasonably expect to get done if it weren't for you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you all.

Because putting how I felt into words isn't going to do it justice, I want you to imagine something for me: imagine how it would feel if something very basic about your understanding of reality, something that experience has taught you to accept as second nature, was suddenly revealed to be a lie. Imagine walking into school one day to find out that two plus two actually equals six, and every calculator that ever told you it equaled four had been programed that way in order to fool you. Imagine if you found out the word for describing the color of grass was actually called purple, and every single person in the world was working in a grand conspiracy to make sure you thought it was called green. Or, on a more relatable level, imagine how it felt when you first found out Santa Claus wasn't real. That was basically how I felt when my parents told me I was psychic.

In a weird way, the fact that I had psychic powers wasn't the hardest thing for me to process; the hardest part was just accepting the fact that psychic powers actually existed in the first place. I mean, when I thought about it, it actually did explain a lot of things; why I could break things from a distance when I threw tantrums as a toddler, why I could hear my dog talking to me if I was angry or scared, and why I could protect myself from speeding trucks using some sort of instinctive force field, but it had not been the explanation I was expecting. At the very least, they could have given something I'd already come to accept as part of the real world; they could have told me I was a paranoid schizophrenic and that would have been an equally valid explanation as telling me I was psychic would have been. At least finding out I was hallucinating half my childhood wouldn't have forced me to drastically alter my understanding of how the world worked.

A million questions were chasing each other around my head as I sat there. Neither of my parents said or did anything; they just seemed to be waiting for my reaction.

"Why didn't you tell me...?" I said finally.

"Because you'd need to know about your powers in order to control them," Mom replied, "and we didn't think you were old enough for that."

At those words, a tiny spark of anger that had been sizzling in me the entire conversation finally erupted.

"And why does that matter!?", I demanded, my voice suddenly much louder than before. Minnie was suddenly jolted awake. "Who cares how old I am, I have a right to know if I'm not normal!"

"Honey..."

Mom sounded like she was trying to calm me down, but that only made me feel worse. I had heard that excuse time and time again - that I just 'wasn't old enough' - and I had grown sick of it.

"Mom, this isn't just some embarrassing personality trait or something like that; I can do unearthly stuff just by thinking really hard!" I shouted, "Something that could completely change all of our lives! you can't hide that from me just because I'm a kid!"

"Honey, stop-"

"Did it ever occur to you that it was by a complete accident I stopped that truck earlier, and if it wasn't for that stroke of luck, I'd be dead right now-?!"

"Just listen..."

"- something that would not have been a problem if you had just told me sooner?!"

I was on my feet now, facing the two of them. My headache had gotten worse than ever, but I ignored it.

"Just - just tell me..."

"Ninten," Dad's eyes were flashing, "Stop it."

"Give me one good reason why I was 'not old enough' for you to tell me!"

Dad opened his mouth to say something, but he never got the chance to. At that moment, Mom unexpectedly stood up.

"There are several good reasons why we didn't tell you, young man."

"Like what?", I spat.

She didn't exactly look angry, but she had a deadly stern look that made her seem even taller than she usually did. Had it been any other day, I probably wouldn't have retorted so bravely.

"Ninten, do you think it's any coincidence you've never met anybody else that could do what you can?"

The question confused me at first, then…

I remembered what I'd been worrying on and off about since I had woken up yesterday; it may have only been indirectly mentioned by a disembodied voice in my dream, but had still hung around in the corner of my mind, waiting for a moment like this to leap out and seize me. All of my anger was almost immediately drained out, replaced by a feverish, icy feeling of fear. And with it gone, I was finally able to take in the effects of my outburst.

While I had been shouting, something had been happening to my surroundings, something I wasn't even aware of until it had stopped. It was as if I had been building up some sort of charge that was humming violently in the air around the room, threatening to go off at any second. But the instant I stopped shouting, that charge had immediately vanished, replaced instead by an air that felt tense and numb.

Four pairs of eyes were looking at me now. Mom was still towering over me, her stern expression still intact, but I could see tears in her eyes again. Dad looked like he was torn somewhere between anger and fear, the same sort of expression he had worn the time he caught me eating rat poison when I was four. It was the girls' faces that made me feel the worst though; Minnie, still curled up in Dad's lap, and Mimmie, looking up from the pages of a children's book she had found, were both looking at me as if worried I was about to hit them.

"I... I don't...", I stammered, unsure of what I was saying.

I had no idea what I had looked like or what I'd been doing, but it had to have been something bad. I'd gotten angry at my family before; a bit more often than I'm proud of, actually, but I'd never seen them look at me like that before.

Taking all these things in at once was impossible, and my headache had gotten so bad that I honestly felt like throwing up. I just wanted to go curl up somewhere and forget about everything; forget that my parents had lied to me and that I had done something to scare them; forget that I was psychic and had been given the task of saving the world; forget the weird history lesson about my great grandparents, and forget about the ambiguous messages I'd been given about the end of the world and my apparent imminent death. Without thinking about it, I pressed both hands against the sides of my head. It was stupid and childish, but I couldn't help myself.

"Honey?"

I almost didn't hear her.

"Honey, look at me," my mother said softly. I looked up at her again. She had settled back down on the bed, her stony expression softened into one of care and understanding. Beside her, Dad had stopped trying to look angry; he just looked scared.

"Ninten," he said, "Please sit down. Sit down and listen to us."

I didn't have to be told twice; if I stayed standing for another second, I just knew I'd be sick. Slumping down between them again, I felt my head come to rest on Mom's shoulder.

"We didn't tell you before now because we didn't want anything to happen to you," she said, running a hand through my tangled hair. "I know it's hard for you to understand, but please try."

"So I'm just gonna die now?" I croaked.

"No, sweetie, of course you're not! It's just…"

She seemed unable to find the right words, so she turned back to Dad again.
"It's not that you're going to just drop dead, son," he said. "But having powers like the ones you have is incredibly dangerous. They might protect you from bullets and giant speeding trucks, sure, but they also give you a much bigger and more persistent danger: your own head."

"What do you mean?"

"Let me… give you an example."

He cast a nervous glance at the girls, who had lost interest in the conversation and were now both engrossed in their picture book. Bringing his voice down an octave, he continue.

"Do you remember those friends of your grandma's I told you about? The other kids who ended up picking up her talents?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, one of those friends, a little boy named Timothy, was a pyrokineticist; he had the ability to set things on fire."

"Cool," I said automatically.

"You'd think so wouldn't you?" Dad said with an ironic sort of chuckle. "Little Timmy thought the same thing, and he ended up committing arson seven times by the time he started high school."

My jaw dropped.

"On purpose?"

"No, are you kidding? He was hardly a year older than the girls. He never wanted to hurt anybody, he just couldn't control all the power he'd been given."

"So what happened to him?"

"He died. After lighting his seventh fire, his luck finally ran out and he wound up getting trapped."

There was a rather uncomfortable pause.

"But… I'm not a pyro-whozits or whatever," I said awkwardly. "It's not like I'm gonna do stuff like that too…"

"Ninten, it doesn't matter what you're controlling," Dad said. "Fire, ice, force fields, bolts of lightning, brainwaves, body parts - all of those have popped up, and all of them have resulted in at least a few kids getting into some horrible accident. No matter how your powers would have… popped up... there would have been terrible consequences if we had told you before now."

"But… but…"

I didn't want to believe or admit I was wrong, but I was too exhausted by all this new information and too sore from my headache to think of a counter-argument.

"Okay, Dad."

It was quiet for a while. Mimmie and Minnie were both whispering into each other's ears on the other side of the room, but I couldn't make out any words. Mom gave me a pat now and then but seemed hesitant to say anything.

"So…", Dad said finally, "How's baseball been going?"

And from that point on, nobody made any attempt to reroute the conversation back to the topic my accident. The last half hour of talking might as well have never happened.

I wasn't allowed out of the hospital for the rest of the day. Despite everything I did to try and prevent this; after all, I'd already wasted enough of my weekend sleeping, neither the doctor nor my parents could be persuaded. This annoyed me, since I was sure I'd feel perfectly fine once my headache cleared up, but I didn't complain for too long. At least being cooped up in the hospital gave me some time to think.

My family spent most of the day in the room with me, which gave us time to catch up on things, but obviously made it difficult for me to find time alone. I felt kinda selfish for wanting that, especially since Dad would have to leave again in a few hours, but as you can imagine I had a lot of things on my mind. Some time around noon, though, I was able to find some time for myself after my parents went downstairs at my request to chase away the small crowd that had come to see me.

Those small moments of solitude were hardly what I wanted them to be, though. I tried for a while to try and sit still, introspecting on the events of the day, but I soon became too antsy. A combination of agitation and curiosity had gotten a hold of me, both of them over the revelation I had been given. I felt annoyed that I had been lied to for so long, but at the same time, I really wanted to know what I was capable of. I'd seen a lot of cool stuff about psionic powers on TV and in comics, and if what Dad had said was true, they shouldn't be too different, right?

Deciding to try for myself, I stood next to my bed and began concentrating hard on my pillow. I tried all the things that the superheroes did; putting one hand to my temple, extending the other one to my target, and concentrating with all my might. I squinted open one eye, hoping to see the pillow move, or levitate, or at least catch fire or something.

But it didn't. The pillow just sat there, refusing to do anything interesting, and after a while I ended up chucking the thing across the room in frustration.

"You really ought to get a grip on that temper of yours, friend," said a voice.

The first time I heard it, I jumped. For a split second, I thought somebody had somehow entered the room without me knowing about it. My heart suddenly pounding in my ears, I stared around for the source of the voice, but there was nobody.

Oh, great, I thought. Is this another voice I'll have to deal with now?

"Who's there?" I asked the room wildly.

"Up here," it said. I looked bewilderedly upward, but there was nothing there to look at but a crumbly dropped ceiling.

"To your left," said the voice. "Next to the lamp."

For a second, I didn't understand. I thought all the weirdness must have gotten to me and I was actually hearing things...

Then I saw it; unless I was very mistaken, the fat, gray spider I had watched spin its web last night was looking at me with rapt attention.

"Well, don't just gape there like a snapping turtle," the voice said casually. "Haven't you ever spoken to a spider before?"

Describing the way his voice sounded is difficult, but imagine what it would sound like to have a voice speaking from a inside a little cave in your head. That's sort of what telepathy sounds like; it's not like a string of words being formed inside your thoughts, but it's not exactly out loud either.

"I haven't actually..." I said weakly. "I've never met a spider who could talk..."

"Oh, I'm sure you have," the spider replied. "Most of us are able to talk, there's just a rather severe language barrier between us. That, and most of your kind are rather repulsed by our appearance, and you can take it from me, the feeling is mutual."

I might have been offended by that, were it not for the fact that I was still trying to get over the fact that I was talking to a spider. Some part of me knew that this must have had something to do with my powers or something, but it was still extremely surreal to be thrust into this conversation without anything to prepare me for it.

"So, why are you talking to me then, if you think we're so repulsive?" I asked.

"Because you've earned yourself quite a reputation amongst our kind," it replied. "I know that you're more or less safe to be around."

That sort of made sense. If I could help it, I tended to avoid stepping on bugs.

There was a brief pause where the spider let itself down on a dragline, dangling itself from its web until we were practically face to face. Normally this would have too close for comfort, even for me, but it was easier now that it'd been given a voice.

"What's your name?" I asked after a bit of silence.

The spider seemed confused by the question, as if he had never heard the word "name" used in that context before.

"Spiders don't give each other names."

"They don't? Then how do your friends and family tell you apart from everybody else?"

"I don't really have any friends," the spider replied. "It sort of comes with the territory when you're one of the smaller animals. And my family... well, I'm the oldest of eight hundred and twelve children, so having a name would hardly be practical."

"I guess it wouldn't," I said. "I haven't got a lot of friends either, actually. But at least I've only got two sisters instead of eight hundred and twelve"

I'm not entirely sure why I was so comfortable talking to the spider so suddenly. Maybe it was because we seemed to have more in common than I thought we would, or maybe it was because I'd always liked the idea of being able to talk to animals. A spider may not have been my first choice in that regard, but hey, it was better than nothing.

"So, Mr. Spider, can I ask you a question?"

"If I can answer it, be my guest."

"Do you know why all the animals are acting all crazy?"

The spider had to think for a moment.

"Oh, you mean the ones that were running around like inbred weasels?"

"Yeah?"

"They stopped a few hours ago, while you were sleeping. Word on the wind is they were all hearing something"

"Hearing something? But I couldn't… Wait, was it like a dog whistle thing, something too high for people to hear?"

"I suppose we can assume that. Since I don't have any ears, I wouldn't know. From what I heard, it was a noise that nothing on Earth could possibly have made. It did more than just drive the inhibition from their heads, it seemed to be controlling every move and thought they made. When it finally stopped, many of them said they had very few memories of the time that had passed, and a lot of them had done things they weren't very proud of."

I wanted to ask him what those things were, but it was right then that footsteps sounded just outside my door. Probably sensing the approach of people who weren't safe to be around, the spider scrambled back up to his web, and we never found the opportunity to speak again before I was admitted out of the hospital.

By the time I got home, I was so worn out that I didn't bother to set my alarm clock. After a night of thankfully dreamless sleep, I was unexpectedly woken by somebody gently shaking my shoulder.

"Wake up, honey," murmured a voice.

"Hrrrmf..." I mumbled.

Blinking away sleep, I squinted up to see the lightly freckled face of my mother. She looked healthier than she did yesterday, which hopefully meant she had gotten more sleep.

"It's time for you to get up now," she said quietly.

"Hrmff..." I replied, turning away into the pillow.

"C'mon now," Mom said, shaking me a little harder. "You don't want to be late, do you?"

I opened my eyes again.

"Late?"

"Late for school, silly."

I froze for a moment to take in what I'd been told, then sat up, horrified.

I couldn't believe it - school?! If there was one reward I had been hoping to reap from all this, it was some short period of freedom from that place. I mean, considering everything that had happened over the weekend, you'd think I'd have been given a few days off.

My outrage must have shown on my face, because mom picked up on it almost immediately. At first it looked like she was going to say something stern, but then reconsidered it and continued speaking softly.

"I know you had a hard day yesterday, sweetie, but you still need to go. You have a lot of work to do before break starts."

"But mom.."

"It's only one more week, Nin," she said, smoothing down my bedhead a little. "Get your clothes on and come downstairs. If it makes you feel any better, I made you waffles."

Now, it was not unusual for Mom to make waffles on weekends or on days when I needed cheering up, but that Monday, she went above and beyond. I'm not sure how she managed it, but she made so much food for us that I probably would have exploded if I hadn't stopped eating in order to leave. And instead of silently reading the paper like she usually did, Mom sat beside me at the table and continued to make especially friendly conversation all the way up to when it was time for me to leave. As I was headed for the door she stopped me, looked me over at arm's length, straightened up my neckerchief, licked her thumb to clean off a bit of jam from my cheek, then planted a big kiss on my forehead. She even reminded me to put on my helmet, something I can't remember her doing in years, until I reminded her that my bike had been destroyed yesterday. After promising to get me a new one, she finally sent me on my way to school.

At the time, I didn't think too much of it. She was probably just overreacting to the accident I had yesterday.

I would go into detail on what Podunk's middle school was like, but just like most of the places in town, there honestly isn't much to say. The classrooms were well maintained, but not especially interesting, the teachers were competent, but not exactly engaging, and the students consisted mainly of regular kids just trying to get by in life, and really, really stupid people. The sizes of these two groups seemed to fluctuate depending on what mood I was in, and it had never felt more disproportionate than during that last week before spring break.

During the classes, the teachers had to give us constant reminders to pay attention, on account of everybody looking at me and whispering to each other. It made me pretty uncomfortable, but I could have handled it if that was the extent my unwanted attention reached. But outside of the classes, in the halls, at lunch, and at recess, it was hardly short of a nightmare.

I guess good news really does travel fast, because everybody and their dog already knew about my accident, and absolutely nobody would leave me alone about it. Everybody who didn't like me made a mockery of me for it, giving me sneering comments about how stupid I looked being pulled out of the wreckage or telling me off for "trying to get attention". Because yeah, how dare I get hit by a truck and survive.

But the people who did like me (And I use that term pretty loosely, a better one would be "people who didn't take every opportunity to annoy or make fun of me"), were, if anything, worse. Suddenly everybody who wouldn't so much as give me a passing glance in the hall wanted to know every detail about my life story. I was constantly being bombarded with questions about why I hadn't died, whether my life had flashed before my eyes, and a lot of other things that weren't really any of their business. It's not that I hated attention or anything like that, but there was only so many different ways I could word the phrase "I got hit by a truck and didn't die" before it got really tiresome. By the time I was hiking my way back home, I was almost looking forward to Mom's smothering; it was at least preferable to what I'd just been through at school.

Here's the thing about living in a town where absolutely nothing happens: when something of interest finally does happen, the excitement surrounding it lasts for an annoyingly long time. I mean, sure, I wasn't expecting my miracle boy status to be completely forgotten anytime soon, but I at least hoped it would simmer down enough for school to be tolerable again. But unfortunately for me, nothing else especially interesting ever came up, so I my unwanted popularity went unrivaled for quite some time.

And no, I hadn't forgotten about the dream, or the zombies, or the evil lamp, even though there was a small part of me that wanted to forget about it (and a bigger part of me that didn't). Mostly, though, I just figured it was pointless to try, especially since I had started keeping an eye on the news. Under normal circumstances, I don't pay a grain of attention to the news. The fact that I lived in the most ho-hum town in the universe probably had something to do with it, but even then, most news from outside of Podunk couldn't keep my attention for long either.

Ever since I had my accident, however, I started keeping an eye on the corners of newspapers and flipped over to a news channel once or twice during commercials. I did this in the hopes that something would pop up about this threat that I was supposed to prevent, and while there were a few unusual things here and there, none of them really screamed "the world's coming to an end." I began to wonder if whatever had been causing all the weirdness a week ago had changed its mind and instead left to destroy Jupiter or something. As you may have guessed, that mindset did not last very long.

By Friday, the situation at school had gotten so bad that I wasn't even able to enjoy PE, which was normally my favorite class. The combination of incessant annoyance from my schoolmates and the growing uncertainty on what I was going to when the week was up was honestly making me feel sort of sick. By the time I was on my way home, I was actually looking forward to doing my homework for once in my life, as long as it meant I would get some peace. Mom would probably have cinnamon rolls or something in the oven by now; she'd made a batch of my favorite sweets every day since the accident happened. The thought of this calmed me down a little; as stifling as her behavior had been, it was one of the few things getting me through this last week of hell.

As a little time went by, most of my anger from the school day started to fade, as it tended to do whenever I did something active. In its place came a steady stream of thoughts.

That was your last day of school, Ninten, I thought to myself. You have no obligations holding you back now.

But what exactly was I supposed to do? Aside from these powers I still couldn't figure out how to use, I couldn't really do anything special. I mean, I could win an arm wrestle if I needed to and could hit home runs better than anyone I knew, but I didn't see how that would help me that much. Until I got a new bicycle, I had no way of getting myself around, and I don't think the bribe I'd been given would cover more than a few train tickets. It wouldn't even matter if they did, though - a landslide had blocked off part of the railroad tracks about a month ago, and since nobody ever came in or out of this part of the country, nobody had bothered to take care of it.

If I had been honest with myself, though, I would have realized that none of those things were actually what was holding me back. I mean, going blindly out to save the world might be completely crazy, but I'd still jump at the chance to do it if it wasn't for Mom.

How was I supposed to tell her? The fate of all mankind might be at stake, probably, but would that really make a difference? It's not that I thought Mom was stupid, but I had no hard evidence outside of a weird voice talking inside my head. Would she even let me leave in the first place? And if she wouldn't, would I have the nerve to leave anyway…?

A low noise brought me out of my ponderings. I started, afraid that it might have been another truck, but thankfully it wasn't. Lost in thought, I had reached my front lawn without realizing it, and the noise and had heard was from Mick, running up to greet me as usual.

Except that he wasn't. Instead of bounding cheerfully through the grass like he always did, ready to leap up and get scratched behind the ears, Mick was standing perfectly still by his doghouse. His whole body seemed rigid, and his eyes were fixed unblinkingly in my direction.

"Hey, Mick", I called. "What's up?"

Ever since I'd had that conversation with that spider, I had been trying to get Mick to talk to me. But, either because dogs were harder to telepathically connect with, or because Mick just wasn't a very conversational dog, those attempts had not been successful. As I got closer, I realized the sound I had heard was Mick growling. And it wasn't a friendly kind of growl either; it was low and threatening, a sound that I couldn't remember ever hearing come from him. His short white hackles were standing on end and his eyes were glaring intently at my face.

"Mick…?"

Mick suddenly let out a snarl, baring his teeth and tensing himself for an attack. I froze on the spot, my hand halfway outstretched, debating whether or not I should approach him. As stupid as it may have been to stay there, I refused to believe that my oldest and closest friend would actually hurt me.

"What's gotten into you, boy?" I asked, reaching out to touch his head.

I hadn't noticed it , but there was an old, thick rope trying Mick to the doghouse by his collar. Had it not been for that, the decision to touch would have cost me my fingers. The rope straightened with a jolt as Mick lunged at me, missing me by an inch as I fell backwards in shock.

My heart and head both raced as I scrambled backwards, confused and appalled by what I was seeing. MIck was standing up on his hind legs as he strained hard against the rope, his paws clawing through the air as he viciously tried to reach me. His eyes were bulging with hate and anger and his snarls had turned into loud, horrible barking.

I should have gotten out of there immediately - an angry dog meant bad news - but I was too stunned to do anything other than scramble backwards in a panic. I don't think Mick had ever tried to hurt anybody, but I know the last person he would try to hurt was me.

"Nin - Ninten get away from there!"

A pair of hands pulled me roughly from the ground and dragged me into the house, finally tearing my eyes away from the dog. A second later, I was being hugged very tight by my mother.

"Sweetie, are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

I wanted to tell her that I was, but my voice seemed to have been lost on me. I was half expecting Mom to start crying again, but thankfully she didn't. After looking me over a little, she calmed down some and let me slump down on the couch. She sat down next to me and, eventually, my voice came back.

"Mom, what happened to him?" I asked. "Why's he acting like that?"

"I don't know, honey. He started acting like that after you left for school, so I tied him up and called somebody about it."

"What'd they say?" I asked, dreading what the answer would be.

"They have no idea, but they've already got their hands full taking care of the zoo."

"The zoo?"

Mom explained: The Cream Puff Zoo, that same old place where my penguin buddies lived, had fallen into a state of total anarchy. Whatever it was that had driven all the animals out of the pet store last week was apparently back, and was now affecting practically every animal within a hundred miles of the mountain. The zoo's staff, either too incompetent or too scared to take care of everything, had put the place in lockdown and then rallied up everyone who could possibly help Mick.

So, after taking in yet another piece of bizarre and alarming information, I was momentarily stuck in a state of confliction: I could fully accept the message in my dream and try to stop this mysterious presence that's sending everything around me into chaos, finally injecting some life into my meaningless existence in Podunk, and possibly save the world in the process, or I could act like any rational human being and wait for the grown ups to figure it out. If every animal in the surrounding area apparently wanted me dead, it would obviously be wisest to just wait it out and take my chances. Then again, my dog was going crazy in the backyard, and there didn't seem to be any other way to help him…

"Ninten," said a voice from behind me, "Can you help me with my homework?"

Mimmie had walked in during the silence, holding her small packet of math problems against her front.

"Sure, Mim" I said out of habit, "Are you having trouble with subtraction again? Remember, you're supposed to… Mimmie, what happened to your hand?"

"Oh, this?" she replied, holding up a hand that was wrapped tightly in some sort of gauze. "The dog did it."

"...Mick?"

"Uh huh. I'm okay, though, Mommy said it'd get better."

She pulled her sheets of paper out and put them on the table. I just stared at her. After getting everything she needed, she looked up at me expectantly.

"You gonna sit down?" she asked.

I couldn't answer her. My stomach suddenly felt as if I had been drinking acid on the way home instead of cool aid.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

I still didn't answer. The idea that my sisters, or anyone else in my family for that manner, would be in some sort of danger had barely crossed my mind when I was working out my decision.

"What's the matter, honey?" asked Mom.

But before either of them could inquire me further, I had turned to march up to my room.

In my carelessness over the last week, the contents of my backpack had been strewn all over my room again. Grumbling, but no less determined, I began scouring the floor for them. I had just started gathering up flashlight batteries when my door opened.

"Ninten?" Mom said softly.

I paused for a moment, but then continued my work. She would start asking me questions and I wouldn't know how to answer them; it was all I could do to avoid her gaze as much as possible.

"Honey, tell me what's wrong."

I dropped my empty thermos against the batteries with a small thunk.

"Nothing, Mom."

It was the most blatant fib I'd told in a while, but if Mom picked up on it, didn't say anything. She just stood there and watched for a while as I crammed mismatched socks into my bag.

"You're going somewhere, aren't you?"

It wasn't a question. My hand froze halfway as it reached out for my sweater. I felt my stomach squirm uncomfortably as I realized there was no way out of this; either break her heart by telling her, or break her heart by sneaking out in the middle of the night.

I lowered my hand and finally turned to look at her. She didn't look angry or disappointed or even that upset. She just looked like she was waiting for me to give her an answer.

"Where exactly do you plan on going?" she asked patiently.

That was a question I had no easy answer to, so I gave her the best one I could think of.

"The mountain."

It wasn't exactly lying; I was positive I would get there eventually.

"And why do you want to go there?" Mom asked.

When I had told her and Dad about the things that had happened last week, the only parts I had left out were the two weird dreams I'd had. Now, since there wasn't any point in hiding it anymore, I told her as much as I could recall. As I spoke, I dropped my gaze again and continued stuffing my pack, feeling ashamed of myself for what I was doing. By the time I was sputtering out the last of my story, I was out of breath from hauling around the increasingly heavy bag.

"So… that's why I gotta leave, Mom. I don't know how long I'll be gone, or… where I'll end up or how I'll get there, but I think I'll be…"

I wanted to say "safe" or "okay, but the words couldn't get out of my throat. Swallowing hard, I began to gather up anything that would be even remotely helpful - bug spray, comic books, old bags of crackers - hoping I would be able to channel out my mother's objections. She hadn't said word the entire time I was speaking, and even after I was done she was silent for a while.

"Did you pack your asthma medicine?" she finally said.

"Yes," I said impatiently, my mind still on my packing.

"Did you remember warm clothes?"

"Yeah, I got my sweater."

"How much spending money are you taking?"

"Mom, I don't think I… I… wait..."

I paused, dumbstruck by a realization. Lowering my bag, I turned and finally looked Mom in the face. Her expression was neutral, but I could tell that was not how she was feeling.

"You're… not gonna try and stop me?" I asked, completely in disbelief. "You're just gonna let me go?"

"I'm don't think I have much of a choice," she replied. "I trust that you're not lying to me, and if the entire world really is in danger, then not letting you do this won't make you any safer."

I should have felt touched or relieved by this, but I was really just baffled. It's not that I didn't think Mom trusted me, but throwing myself out into the world with who-knows-what trying to kill me at every turn did not seem like something she would let me to do in the name of trust.

"You're… you're serious...?" I said skeptically.

"Yes, I am."

Every word she spoke seemed to be causing her pain, but she really meant it. I had no idea why; it couldn't have just been for the reasons she gave me, it just couldn't...

The short silence in which I tried to think of something to say was broken by Minnie sticking her head in.

"Mimmie's asking for you, Ninten. She's still too lazy to do her own homework."

Still unsure what to say to Mom, I saw an opportunity to leave the room.

"Tell her I'm on my way; I actually wanted to talk to you two."

"So, you're gonna go on an adventure?" Mimmie asked, her eyes very wide.

"Uh huh," I said, grinning at her as I scrawled out numbers on her paper.

"To save the world?" Minnie said excitedly. "Are you really gonna save the world, Ninten?"

"I sure hope so, kiddo."

"But won't it be dangerous?" said Mimmie, both her hands covering her mouth. "What if there's other mean dollies trying to get you?"

"Oh, don't be stupid, Mimmie," said her twin. "He's gonna bring his baseball bat. Nothing can hurt him as long as he has his baseball bat; he just needs to stay away from the cars."

It was true; the old hickory bat I had gotten for my fifth birthday had been one of the first things I had decided to pack. After fending off several inanimate objects and a hoard of the undead with the thing, I didn't feel like going anywhere without it.

"Alright, Mim, you think you know what to do now?" I asked, handing her the paper I'd been writing on.

"Yeah, I think so," she said. "Thank you, big brother."

"Well, good, cause you'll have to do the rest yourself. I need to get going."
"Going?" asked Minnie. "Going where?"

"You're leaving already?" Mimmie whined. "But you just got home! We haven't had dinner yet!"

I patted her head.

"Sorry, squirt, but the planet isn't gonna save itself."

She put on one of her pouty faces, and I couldn't help but smile at her. After giving both of them a hug, I turned to find myself facing Mom again. She was handing me a small duffle bag and had an expression that was still difficult to interpret.

"What's in here?" I asked.

"They belonged to your great grandparents; your father told me you'd probably have a need for them."

I opened the bag and felt a small stab of guilt when I recognized most of its contents: All the stuff that had been in the trunk in the basement - the diary, the newspapers, that red card thing - all of it was tucked neatly inside.

"Cool, Mom, thanks."

It took me several more minutes to actually leave, since Mom kept reminding me of things I needed to bring, and then double checking my bag to make sure I listened to her. Eventually, though, I was able to convince her I was as ready as I possibly could be. As I made to step over the doorway, however, something held me back.

Maybe it was the uncertainty of what I was about to do, or perhaps the guilt over how mom must be feeling, or just the confusion as to why she was letting me leave so easily, but I didn't want to leave the house all of the sudden. I stood there for several long moments, staring into my sunlit lawn, when I felt somebody tall walk up behind me.

"You'll be home soon, won't you?"

I took a big breath and turned around. Mom had her hands clasped together and a tight expression on her face, as if breaking her constitution for even a moment would leave her in tears. I had a feeling she'd been preparing herself for this; how long, I couldn't say, but it wasn't a surprise for her to see me standing in that doorway.

"I think so," I said. "I mean, it can't really be that big of a problem if a stupid kid like me can take care of it, right?"

A tiny smile crossed her lips, then she pulled me into a hug. This time, I didn't hesitate to hug her back.

"Just be safe," she whispered. "You're much braver than I never imagined, but please be safe."

"I will, Mom."

She didn't let go for a long time, and when she did, I could see her wiping at the corners of her eyes. She was smiling, though, and when she spoke her voice sounded positive.

"Alright," she said. "Go out there and be a hero!"

Feeling encouraged, I shouldered my bat and turned back to the door. Before taking my first step I paused, considered for a moment, and then turned back to give her a kiss on the cheek.