Joe Larson

"Sarah!" Wendy had looked up her book when she heard the change in tone of the children’s playtime. She was just in time to see a much older girl push Sarah to the ground. Wendy dropped her book and dashed across the playground.

Arriving, she expected to see her daughter crying. Instead, Sarah was glaring at the older girl. "Go AWAY!" she screamed.

Wendy looked her daughter over – no apparent damage. Sarah’s eyes appeared to be glowing for a moment, but Wendy blinked and her daughter’s eyes appeared normal. Wendy stood and turned around, intending to chastise the older girl. No one was there; the girl had fled.

That evening, Sarah complained about a headache. Wendy gave her a Children’s

Bayer.

The morning newspaper carried the headline, "9-Year-Old Girl Missing". According to the police, the girl was last seen playing with other children in the very park where Wendy took Sarah three times a week. Wendy read the article twice, tsk-tsking. She vowed to avoid the park until the pervert was caught.

Sarah was 4.

* * *

When Sarah was seven, her mother took her to the doctor’s. Sarah had a fever, and her throat looked red and splotchy.

A nurse led them to an examining room, took Sarah’s temperature, and asked Wendy and Sarah a few questions. A few minutes later, the doctor arrived, shined his flashlight into Sarah’s mouth, hmmed once or twice, then took a throat culture.

"I’m pretty sure this is strep throat," he diagnosed. "The culture is just to be sure. But why don’t we just give her a little shot of penicillin?"

"I don’t want a shot, Mommy!" Sarah declared, her lip starting to quiver. The doctor closed the door on his way out. Sarah began to cry, and Wendy scooped the girl up in her arms.

Wendy stood at the window, rocking her daughter, urging her to calm down, when the examining room opened. Sarah stiffened, then wailed. "Get OUT!"

Wendy turned around, expecting to see the nurse, but she and Sarah were alone. She carried the crying girl to the door and looked out.

The doctor was in the hall. "Doctor? Do you think maybe we could do pills instead?"

The doctor looked puzzled for a minute, then nodded and wrote out a prescription. Wendy carried Sarah down the hall. The doctor went looking for his missing nurse.

No one noticed if Sarah’s eyes looked odd.

* * *

That spring, two of Sarah’s classmates disappeared from the school playground during recess. The police rounded up a few vagrants and talked to some of the lower elements present in the city, but generated no solid leads in spite of mounting public pressure.

* * *

By the time Sarah was 9, Wendy started to suspect something was very wrong with her daughter. She had taken Sarah out of school, and was home-schooling her. She had long since stopped taking Sarah to the park – or anywhere else there were likely to be children who might upset her child.

Wendy loved her daughter, and Sarah was a delight to have around. She had managed to avoid the angst many children go through growing up, and Wendy was usually able to cajole her into a good mood whenever the girl grew upset.

But Wendy worried. Sarah’s only playmates were her dolls, which seemed to disappear with frightening regularity.

* * *

Wendy took Sarah to the county fair. While wandering the fair, a mime startled them, scaring Sarah. The mime disappeared. Sarah’s eyes glowed for several minutes afterwards. Wendy tried not to look at them.

* * *

"Mom, I want a puppy."

"Puppies turn into dogs, pumpkin."

"A dog could guard the house and keep burglars from getting in." Sarah paused thoughtfully. "Especially a big dog like Sandy." Sandy was the golden retriever belonging to Mr. Harrison down the street.

Wendy wasn’t sure what to say. She wasn’t sure if a dog was a good idea – especially a big dog.

Sarah filled the silence with more information. "Mr. Harrison says Sandy is going to have puppies."

So that’s where this all started, Wendy thought.

"Please…" No one can drag out that word like a 10-year-old.

"I’m not sure we want a big dog-"

"Yes we do," Sarah inserted quickly.

"-But let me think about it and talk to a few people. We can decide tomorrow."

Sarah looked at her mother suspiciously. "You’re not just stalling before you say ‘No’?"

Wendy smiled. "No, I’m not saying ‘no’. Yet. A dog might be a good thing, but I want to think about it."

"Okay!" Sarah said. She bounced off to her room and began telling her dolls about the new puppy she was getting.

Wendy spent the afternoon making a few phone calls, then talked to Mr. Harrison that evening.

"Kids should have dogs," he declared over the phone. "Especially your little girl. She’s so lonely, and goldens are great with kids."

"I can’t afford a golden. Do you think I could find a good dog at the Humane Society?"

"Maybe," he said hesitantly, pausing to collect his thoughts. "Look, Sandy isn’t papered. Neither is Rex, the father. He’s my sister’s dog. I wouldn’t normally think about breeding an unpapered dog, but both Sandy and Rex are the most beautiful, sweetest dogs on the planet. Rex is getting old, and-" his voice cracked. "Well, my sister asked. How could I say ‘no’?"

"I understand," said Wendy, "But-"

"Furthermore, the vet tells me there’s a lot of puppies in there."

"But-"

"No ‘but’. I told Sarah she could have one of Sandy’s puppies, if it was okay with you. Have, as in a gift."

"But-"

"You won’t find a better dog for a little girl. You’ve seen Sandy, and Rex is just like her."

"But-"

"So it’s settled."

Wendy recognized defeat after it had clubbed her over the head a few times. "Thank you."

When the little girl puppy arrived, Sarah watched her antics chasing a leaf. "She’s silly!"

"A real Silly Sue."

The name stuck.

* * *

One evening when Sarah was eleven, Wendy and Sarah drove home from the grocery store. As they were pulling bags of groceries out of the car, a young, tough-looking man slipped into the garage and accosted the two, brandishing a knife. "Give me your purse, lady!"

Wendy was shocked. This was a nice neighborhood. They could hear Sil making a fuss from inside the house. "Please…"

"Your purse. Now!"

"Leave my mom ALONE!"

Wendy rushed to her daughter as the knife clattered to the floor of the garage. Wendy trembled, but Sarah told her, "He’s gone, Mom. I sent him away."

"I know, honey," she said. "I’m so scared."

"But he’s gone!"

"I know." I’m still scared.

* * *

Sil slipped her collar and dashed across the street to greet Mr. Harrison and Sandy.

"Sil! No!"

Screeching tires and a quick yelp told the rest of the tale.

"Sil!" Sarah dashed to the street as Wendy dashed out of the house. Wendy arrived to see tears streaming down Mr. Harrison’s cheeks as he tried to calm the injured dog.

Sil tried to rise, but couldn’t. "It’s okay, girl," Mr. Harrison said quietly. He looked at Wendy and Sarah silently, then slipped his arms under the dog. "Sandy, heal."

He carried the dog into the house, setting her down in her bed. Sandy was pressed to his side, while Sarah and Wendy followed along mutely. He tapped the floor next to Sil. "Sandy, down."

Sandy laid down next to her daughter and snuzzled her gentle.

Mr. Harrison continued to kneel next to the dog, his hands calming her. He turned to Sarah. "I’m so sorry, Honey. Sil is hurt."

"She’ll be better? We can fix her?"

"No, Honey. Her back is broken. And she hurts."

Wendy was crying, but Sarah looked determined. She knelt down to Sil, kissed her, and called her a good dog. "Go Home," she told the dog quietly.

Sil disappeared.

Wendy started wailing, but Sarah straightened up and went to her. "Don’t cry, Mom. I sent her home, where she won’t hurt. She’s okay now, she’ll always be with us."

That night, Sarah didn’t have a headache.

* * *

Sarah grew up, and Wendy discovered Sarah had inherited her mother’s monthly moodiness. Sarah had long stopped playing with her dolls – which had also stopped disappearing. But the entire collection disappeared one day.

The headache that nice was the worst Sarah had ever had. Ibuprofen didn’t drive it away.

Neither did a failed night of sleep.

More ibuprofen, another night of failed sleep.

Sarah got up, wandered to the kitchen where her mother was already up, reading the paper. Sarah started to get a bowl of breakfast, her mother watching. Suddenly, Sarah stood straight up, gave out a gentle cry, then crumpled to the floor, hitting her head with a sickening sound.

The nearest hospital was 35 minutes away through the morning rush hour traffic, but the local clinic had an urgent care center populated by doctors with practices in the building. Sarah managed to get her daughter into the car and rushed to the clinic, running two stop lights and completing a 5 minute drive at speeds rarely seen on the quiet residential streets. Sarah woke up halfway there, moaning incoherently.

Wendy refused to leave her daughter’s side and watched while two nurses and a doctor checked Sarah’s head.

"We need to get some pictures," the doctor declared. "But we need her quiet enough to sit still. I’m giving her some morphine."

An hour passed. The doctor looked in Sarah’s ears and teased her about potatoes. He looked at the X-rays and told Sarah she must have a very hard head. He looked in her eyes and said nothing. Finally, he leaned back.

"There’s nothing wrong with your daughter’s head," he declared. "But we have a problem. Why didn’t you bring her here years ago?"

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," Wendy said, looking away.

"Yes you do! Those poor people. There’s even a dog in there."

"Sil," said Sarah quietly.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about!" Wendy said again.

"You can see them, if you look in her eyes and know what to look for. A dog, several children. Children! Toys, other people."

"She’s my daughter," Wendy said quietly.

The doctor’s gaze softened. "I know," he said. "But do you think this… ability of hers is unique?"

Wendy looked at him in surprise.

"Ah, I see." He paused again. "Well, no matter. We’ll just have to get them out, and Sarah will need to take a pill, once a week, to prevent this happening again."

"Get them out?" Wendy asked, dumbfounded.

"Of course. But first, I think you should tell me about the guy in the face paint. He looks like a mime. He keeps throwing an imaginary stick, and darned if the dog doesn’t go fetch it anyway. That’s probably what’s causing the headaches, those two characters running around and around in Sarah’s head. But other than that, she’s fine."