Tell me, did you see that brief light? It fell fast, but when I looked it was still there, farther away, but in the same place. Did you hear that there are children on Mars? They found them hiding among the rocks, and even though they smiled, they would not speak of their homes. Did you see the cow painted on the face of the moon? It was flat, but its eyes would blink and follow you as you danced. The houses, they were made of blocks, and everything fit together just so. Did you see that? And if you did, where did it go?

Did you ever find a music box behind a crate in the attic that still played the song your mother used to hum? It was sad to be moving away from there, I’ll bet. And did you notice the marks on the back of your hand? Do you remember the book with the pages ripped out? You could still see the stress creases on the ragged flaps that remained, and they brought back…

The refrigerator clicking on, and the crickets outside, and the door that no one else could see that was there, sometimes. The figurines. The lace, the ribbon, and the bell (kept from before). Did you ever wonder why they could only see you when you saw them? The whispering, the magnets in the walls, and the secret passage that you suddenly remembered forgetting? Did you find out who it was who was living in your room when you got back? Did you read about the elephants being born with no tusks? Green lollipops? Did you hear the ticks as the house settled? That’s normal, especially in the summertime.

But if you find out what to do, and about what happens next, let me know.