Father was most upset, though, by
two things we’d told him—that there had been a giant version of Blue Boyle on
the island and, even worse, that we’d glimpsed Aunt Claire there, too. He just couldn’t accept these things, though
I know he wanted very much to believe me.
I’d never lied to him, not really.
The mood in the car drew
darker—more silent—as we drew closer to home, to Franconia. And—appropriately—the sky was darkening,
too. Just to the west of us, black
clouds were gathering, darkening the sun.
The headlights of our car popped on automatically.
I’d never seen Father drive so
fast.
As soon as we’d heard the radio news
about a tornado warning for our area, Father had accelerated to ten mph above
the speed limit (he never drove over
the limit). He gripped the steering
wheel hard, glanced anxiously at the sky.
As we neared our house, the rain
began. It was not a gentle shower. Huge drops pounded the car, sounding as if
someone were throwing handfuls of gravel at us.
Leaves and branches darted wildly across the lawns, across the
streets. Trash cans and rider-less bicycles
tumbled after them, cartwheeling over and over in frantic pursuit. The giant hand of the wind grabbed the
branches of the tallest trees and violently bent them back and forth. I’d never before seen the tops of trees touch
the earth.
We barely stopped at one
intersection where the traffic light overhead swung back and forth—like a
berserk pendulum on a crazy clock. The
sky was now an ugly combination of colors—black, green, gold, purple. I felt my ears popping and the air pressure
was changing—lowering—dramatically.
“Run for the basement as soon as
the car stops,” my father said quietly.
We did. The wind was howling so loudly that I barely
heard the crack of the old oak in our
front yard, but I saw it topple right onto our car, crushing it, barely missing
Father, who was right behind us. The air
smelled like sulfur, and the wind was like a huge hand, shoving us toward the
house.
As we reached the front porch, I
stopped and looked back to the west. And
I saw it. A funnel cloud, like a dark
twisted finger, was reaching down to touch the earth.[i]
“Look!” I screamed, and Harriet and
Father turned to see it, too.
It was hard to tell how far away it
was—a mile? a half-mile? But it was not hard to tell that it was moving
toward town, toward us.
I could hardly pull the screen door
back the wind was so powerful, but I managed.
It took just the gentlest shove on the main door, and the wind blasted
it backwards into the room where it smashed into the wall. Somewhere in the house I heard things fall
from the walls, crash to the floor.
Inside the house, Father leaned
against the door and with all his effort and pushed it shut once again.
“Stay away from the windows!” he
said grimly. “Get to the basement! Fast!”
We didn’t wait to be reminded.
Just as we closed the door behind
us I heard windows crashing. Something
hit the door behind me with enormous velocity.
As Father and Harriet moved by me on the stairs, I looked just above my
head and saw that some glass had punctured the door; a shard the size of an
axe-blade was inches from my face.
The lights went out.
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