I had been watching the Parker house all day. Whenever I happened to walk near a window with a view to the house, I would glance to see if Peter Blank had returned. But by the early evening, the house had still remained modern. This was very frustrating for me, as I had several burning questions for Peter Blank.

As the sun began the dip down, I suddenly felt an urge similar to the one I had felt yesterday when I had awoken from my nap. This urge controlled me in a way that I did not want, but something kept me from resisting. I knew where the urge came from, and that didn’t help matters. However there was nothing to be done. I was powerless to resist.

“I’m going to go out for a quick trot around the block,” I told my father on the way out the door. “I’ll make it back before dinner, I promise.”

And with that I swung the repaired door open and hopped down the steps, quickly crossing through the garden. I reached the sidewalk in just a couple of seconds and began to dash down the street as if some unseen force had taken over my legs. Vaguely my mind told me that I wanted to avoid Angela. And when I passed her house, I did not see her. At least, I didn’t think I did.

As I passed her house I tried to not look into the front yard, but a flash of red caught my eye, and my best efforts to tear my face away were in vain. I saw a little girl, probably four or five years old, running through their garden. She was shrieking with joy. I stood, transfixed. Was this one of Angela’s relatives? A man’s voice broke through the joyful shouts.

“Angela, not so fast; I can’t keep up,” called an old man from the other side of the yard. His voice was filled with laughter. This was a good time. Then it immediately hit me that this little girl was Angela, the next-door neighbor with the mega crush on me. And she was only a fourth of her real age. If that was Angela, then who was the old man?

“Daddy! Try to catch me!” shrieked Angela as she ran between two bushes. She looked back at the old man. That was her father. In what kind of world would a four-year-old girl have a seventy-year-old father? In the Grim Guider’s world, of course. This was undoubtedly his work. But there was something different about this. Something that separated it from yesterday’s happenings.

These time twists were affecting somebody I knew. I had no idea what the effect on Angela was because of this. It could be harmless, or it could be something more. I didn’t know exactly why, but something in this scene cut into me like a knife. I suddenly realized how twisted and serious this game was that the Grim Guider was leading me playfully through. A thought floated to the surface of my mind: I needed this.