From one perfect star, light filtered down to the earth.  Its silver path reached through layers of space, sky, and clouds until it came to rest on a boy named Henry.  He was connected to this beautiful star by a long, silver strand of light.

The boy didn’t notice, though.  In fact, Henry had no idea such strands existed, and certainly didn’t know that one connected him to a star.  But it did.  

He didn't know that voices inside the strand called to him, either. He couldn’t hear them.   They whispered the same message to him every day, though, calling out from the starlight: 

"Hold on, for you are part of everything."
"Hold on to hope."
"Hold on to light."
“Hold on to peace.”
"Hold on."

Henry didn't understand any of this; he only knew that there was something about the quiet, deserted beach where he now lay that made it his favorite place to think. He loved to stretch out in the late October sun and look up into the sky.   As Henry watched the clouds beyond his outstretched hands, he understood how very small he was--- a mere speck on the surface of a huge, revolving world.  With the far-away clouds laced between his fingertips and a safe, quiet place in the sand to lie in though, he also felt very important, connected to everything and part of something much greater than himself. 

It was a pleasant, peaceful feeling, and took his mind off his troubles.  Henry’s eyelids grew heavy. The afternoon sun soaked into his bare arms, and the water gently lapped up on the shore, lulling him to sleep.

But just as he was drifting off, something soft brushed against his cheek. His eyes opened in time to see a shiny thread fly past his face.  It wasn't a cobweb; it was too thick and strong for that.  Traveling like a rocket, it shot up through the sky.  A few, bright sparks jettisoned along its surface; then they were gone.  Suddenly, everything was quiet and still, even the waves.

Henry sat up.  He wasn't frightened, but did have the feeling something very important had just happened.  He tried to catch another glimpse of what he'd just seen.  Nothing.  Only one, small, white cloud drifted overhead.   

He was very puzzled. He wondered if he could have imagined it all.  There were no such things as flying silver threads, he reasoned.  Perhaps it had just been the sun in his eyes.  Even so, as he lay down again, he found it difficult to forget what he’d just seen. The feeling that something big had happened, something that he really should figure out, stayed with him.  But at last, finding no easy explanations, he managed to push the thoughts far back into his mind and fell asleep.

*     *     *

Not far away from the boy, hidden in an ocean cave, four hairless figures crouched beside a fire. 

"It will be dark soon.  Have you finished cooking the bacon?" said the tallest.

He ladled oatmeal into their bowls impatiently.  Blue-gray skin and white eyes made it obvious he was not human, but from a distance, he could easily be mistaken for a man.  He was proud of that fact.

"Burned it again, Bettelarm," answered a plump, red, pig-shaped creature named Saumagen, "Just the way you like it."

"Raw in the middle, though," observed another. He was a bulky creature, shaped like a huge, hairless cow, “That's not how I like bacon."

Saumagen waved a fork impatiently at him.  "That's the only way to cook it, Rindskopf, you fool."

He mashed each mound of oatmeal in turn, filling the jagged wells with bits of burned and raw bacon.  Rindskopf shrugged.  

The fourth creature, Durst, was the oldest.  He shook an ancient-looking finger at Rindskopf's head, and sneered, “His cooking is better than anything you could do, I'd say." 

"I guess so," answered Rindskopf,   "But I am personally more disgusting.”

Durst's tired eyes rolled back in their sockets.  "How proud you must be." 

"Someone find me some brown sugar!" commanded Bettelarm impatiently.

Durst gestured in Saumagen's direction.   "He had it last." 

"I didn't!" snapped Saumagen, "Rindskopf did. He used it to coax a bee to sting Mrs. Foster's baby."

"Really?" exclaimed Rindskopf stupidly, “Did that work?"

Saumagen laughed.  "Yes.  It was only last Thursday.  You've forgotten already?"

"Of course," answered Rindskopf, "Bettelarm, I believe we may need more sugar."

Durst groaned again and Bettelarm looked grim.

"How can someone with such a huge head be so stupid?" muttered Bettelarm under his breath, "This is intolerable. We can't have breakfast without sugar!"

"Saumagen has an emergency supply under his bed," said Durst.

"Ah, yes," Saumagen grinned, showing tiny rows of pointed teeth.  "The sugar Durst and I stole from the bakery."

"How clever!" exclaimed Rindskopf.

"The truly clever part was when I replaced it with a sack of sand," Durst bragged, "which a baker then mixed into his dough for gingerbread houses. Ginger SNAP houses, they became."  

"I can't stand the suspense!" exclaimed Rindskopf, chewing the end of his tail.

"The children who got them for Christmas . . .," continued Durst, casting a foul look at Rindskopf, for the story had no suspense, "Cried and cried . . ."

"Boo hoo!" interrupted Saumagen. He pushed his soft, gummy face into the shape of a little girl, complete with a red bow on the top of his head.

He made his voice very high.  "When I put the icing on the roof, Mommy.  The whole house crumbles!" continued Saumagen, "Boo hoo!" After stealing a triumphant glance at Durst, he molded his face into its usual pig-shape again.

Rindskopf howled with laughter. Durst scowled.  His story had been ruined. Again.

"Enough memories!" hissed Bettelarm, who seldom found anything amusing, "Find the sugar!"

"All right, all right." said Durst, "Rindskopf, hurry.  It's under Saumagen's bed."

Rindskopf nodded. A trail of candy wrappers and dirty clothes led to Saumagen's corner, where his pile of possessions reached almost to the roof of the cave. The stench was overpowering.

"I can't find the bed today," called Rindskopf, "What color is his bedspread again?"

Saumagen couldn't remember.  "Look for an old tuna fish sandwich." he advised.

"I see two.  One beside a banana peel, and one surrounded by old socks." answered Rindskopf.

"The one by the socks." replied Saumagen, "The bed is under that one."

Rindskopf threw the sandwich to one side and thrust both fists into the garbage.   After some time, he found the edge of a mattress.  Beneath it, crushing a large collection of comic books, was a large bag marked, “Smedley’s Best Brown Sugar.”

He returned to the table, where pools of bacon fat had congealed on the porridge.  As he heaped sugar into each bowl, he sighed in delight.  The sugar was teaming with ants that wriggled and squirmed as they were stirred enthusiastically into the bacon fat and gray oatmeal. 

"Stinky little red ants," he said, "A delicious and unexpected treat!"

All but Bettelarm ate. He leaned against the wall of the cave, listening.

"Hand me the observation shard," he commanded.  While Durst and Saumagen fought over the remains of breakfast, Rindskopf handed Bettelarm a pocket-sized fragment of dark reflective glass. Bettelarm turned his back to the opening of the cave and held the glass over his shoulder watching the boy, spy-style. 

"It's almost dusk," he noted, "And he’s fallen asleep in the field."

Durst's tired mouth curled up on one side.  Saumagen snorted his approval.  Rindskopf patted himself joyously on the back and burped.

"Why are we happy?" he suddenly asked.

Saumagen sighed.  "Because . . . you forgetful slab of lard . . . it will soon be dark.  Our time.”

“Huh?” 

 “No human can see us in the dark.  We can follow him home again without the slightest fear of detection."

"Ah, yes!" said Rindskopf, "Dark is good.  I’ll try to remember that.”

“Fat chance,” remarked Saumagen.

It was hard to imagine how Rindskopf could forget the value of darkness, for all creatures hated light. Even a small glimpse of it made their eyes sting and stomachs churn.  A child’s nightlight riddled their arms or legs with cramps; sunshine ripped through them like a hundred snakebites, opening painful sores on their delicate hairless skin that took weeks to heal.  Fire was the only light they could tolerate, and all but the dimmest rays from the moon.   A dark, starless night was ideal; they could wander anywhere they wanted.  

During the day, their cave kept them relatively safe from light.   Anyone looking in could see only a small space behind the rock, edged with sickening darkness. In fact, the cave went on for miles. 

In all the years they had lived there (which was over one thousand) only two people had ever ventured inside. One visitor was a boy, long ago. First, he had thrown a tiny box into the cave.  Then, even though most children were afraid of the cave's darkness, this boy had gone after it, trembling, but determined. He searched for the box, but never found it.

After he left, Saumagen seized the box, hoping to find something to eat.  He found nothing inside but a dead bird that looked so small and tough, he hadn’t bothered .  Disgusted, Saumagen tossed the box and the bird aside and quickly forgot all about them.

Their other visitor had been a scientist.  He had entered the cave with great confidence, bumping his head immediately on a few stalactites, which he gathered up quickly as samples.  Finding nothing else of interest, he turned to go until a huge burp from Rindskopf, meant to terrify him, completely captured his imagination.   Instead of fleeing in horror, the scientist returned to the cave several times, convinced the foul-smelling gas had great research potential. 

During this time, the creatures were forced to spend most of the summer with him, while he breathed deeply and said, "Aha!' a lot.  Bettelarm kept his hand over Rindskopf's mouth and refused to let him eat garlic sausage for the entire month of July. The scientist never detected the terrible gas again, and eventually left, broken-hearted.

The creatures had often hoped Henry would come explore their cave.  But Henry never had.  He didn’t have much interest in caves and always preferred to sit on the sand or rocks.  As Bettelarm watched, the last rays of autumn sunset shone gold and purple on the boy's face. 

Overhead, something glimmered.

Bettelarm dropped the observation shard in horror.  He rubbed his eyes and stepped away from the opening to the cave.  Low rays of sunset crept past its rock face on to the dirt floor.

"Ah!' shrieked Rindskopf, spying the light.

"Miserable sunsets," muttered Saumagen, protecting his eyes with a dishtowel, "How I hate them."

"Except tonight, when the sunset works to our advantage," reminded Durst, "The boy always stays to see a sky full of such color.  Move over here, Bettelarm, to the darkest corner.  Rest your eyes."

“The sunset is the least of my worries," whispered Bettelarm, "I have just witnessed the beginnings of certain disaster.  I must contact  . . . Manstro."

Bettelarm knelt in the dark. His bloodless lips touched the cave's floor, leaving a precise pattern in the dirt.  After a few minutes, yellow smoke seeped from each impression.

"This scene looks very strange," observed Rindskopf, "Bettelarm?  Bettelarm?  Don't eat that dirt.  Saumagen can make more bacon.  Same taste, higher fat."

"Can't you see this is no time for jokes?" growled Durst, "He cannot hear you!   He contacts Manstro, hears only his voice."

Rindskopf looked on, baffled, while Bettelarm lay on the floor, murmuring.

"What's that smoke coming from the ground?" asked Rindskopf.  "It smells worse than Saumagen's bed!"

"Mmmm,'' answered Durst, breathing deeply, “Once you get used to it, it smells quite lovely."

Rindskopf put two fat fingers up each nostril. Saumagen's flexible face fashioned a huge clothespin for his nose.  They both suspected Durst was so old, he had no sense of smell left.  

Durst frowned.

 "Saumagen, have you ever seen Bettelarm contact Manstro before dark?" he asked.

"Never," snapped Saumagen.

Bettelarm had stopped writhing in the dirt and yellow smoke.  

“Bettelarm,” said Durst, approaching him slowly, “Tell us what has happened.”

"The boy is no longer himself," Bettelarm said feverishly, "A moment ago in his face I saw . . .” His voice trailed off.

"Not . . ." whispered Durst in disbelief, "Silver . . ."

Bettelarm nodded.  "Yes.  And The Violet."

Rindskopf looked around excitedly.  "Silver?  Silver?  What's Silver?  And what’s The Violet?"

"NO!" shouted Saumagen, his body heaving with fury.  All evidence of happy laziness left his face.  He was now large, red and horrible. Red spikes grew out of his rubbery head and lashed out angrily, knocking several saucepans off the wall. 

"Steady, Saumagen," said Bettelarm, "It was only a glint. Manstro will fix this soon enough."

Rindskopf looked earnestly at the other three creatures.  He tried a comical somersault.  No one was in a laughing mood.

"Please, someone!"  he begged, "Tell me about Silver.  Why is everyone so quiet?"

“Oh, dear.  He has forgotten again,” sighed Bettelarm.

"The silver strand keeps us thirsty," said Durst.

"The silver strand wants everything for ITSELF!" shouted Saumagen.

Bettelarm looked into the shard again.  He was silent for a long time.  Finally he spoke.  "The silver strand takes everything."

"The silver can do all that?" said Rindskopf incredulously, "Then we must trap the silver strand and kill it!  What are we waiting for?"

"We have been fighting silver strands since the beginning of time," answered Bettelarm, "But this battle can only be won by breaking the boy.”

"Then let us break him now," growled Durst, “The sun has set."

"And what of The Violet?" asked Rindskopf.

"Do not speak of The Violet," said Durst, his tiny arms pushing Rindskopf up against the walls of the cave with great strength.  He was calm and dreadful. "Ever."

Bettelarm placed his hand firmly on Durst’s shoulder.  "Be still, old one.  Do not hurt our clown.  Manstro needs him for the boy."

Durst's tiny eyes glittered.   "But the Silver . . .  it may be too late."

"Just a glint, I said.  His strand is still weak," answered Bettelarm, "Not much protection.  We can easily prevent it from growing stronger."
 
The sky was dark now, and Bettelarm crept to the entrance of the cave.   He was pleased to see the boy’s face had grown tense and unhappy.  

And as the creatures watched, Henry's sleeping mind took him to a terrible place. 

Henry knew this nightmare well.  He had had it many time since his family had been killed.  It always began with Henry walking with his family, one last time, under a black sky.  The ground beneath them grew wet and fell away in thick, muddy chunks. Henry was swept into a churning brown whirlpool, swirling around its center.   When he tried to escape, the water exploded, sending him first into the air, and then depositing him in a cold, dark sea.  He floated there alone while the waves tossed him toward a single, high rock.  When at last he reached it, the rock cracked into powder that dried up every drop of water around him.  With the ocean gone, Henry was sent hurtling through dark, scorching winds, toward what was once the ocean’s floor.  After falling for what seemed a very long time, he realized that below him was only a sickening emptiness with no end. His family was gone.

Above him, however, he noticed a tiny white speck.  It grew larger, as if it were falling too, but at a much faster speed.  Soon he realized that it was a beautiful white cloud, with the rest of his family on it, traveling very quickly through the air.  It lit up the darkness and from it, a white, billowing arm reached out to help him. Each time Henry was close enough to touch the cloud though, a powerful roaring noise came from the pit below.  It shook the air so severely he lost his grasp. The cloud vanished, sending him once again falling into an empty void.   As Henry called for the cloud to return, reaching for it in the darkness, he was suddenly jolted awake.

"Oh!" he cried, sitting up.  The sky and the rocky coastline around the cove were now completely black. 

"Excellent!" said Bettelarm, "The night thoughts have upset him.  He will head home now.  Get ready. "

Henry rubbed his eyes.  He could never remember a night before that had been so black.  As he tried to find his way up the steep rocks, he knew he'd never walked the path when it had been so dark.    He could scarcely see his own feet.  Henry took each step cautiously, letting the sharp rocks and tall bushes on either side of the path guide him.  The sound of the waves grew dimmer behind him, as he made his way away from the ocean toward the forest that led to his uncle’s home.

The four creatures followed closely. Rindskopf led the way, swaggering with a clumsy, happy gait.

"Why does that fool always get to go first?" complained Saumagen.

"You know, as we all do --- it must be so.  It is the Way of Things," answered Bettelarm, “Rindskopf, it is time.”

For once, Rindskopf didn’t have to be reminded what to do.  He lumbered along, calling into the trees. After a minute or two, a tick fell into his palm. One puff from Rindskopf's nostrils sent the tiny insect flying into Henry's thick, curly brown hair. 

Saumagen looked impatient.  "A tick?" he bellowed, "That's the best this dairy-headed lump can do?  Bettelarm, minor torments are a waste of time.  Let me at him.  I'll give him a horrible infection that will make his gums turn black!"

"As for me, I would like to trap him, “Durst murmured darkly, "And starve him slowly over time.”

Bettelarm motioned for them to be silent.  The tick moved through Henry's hair, looking for a soft, fleshy place to suck.   Rindskopf’s own huge, filthy ears twitched with delight as he skipped alongside.

But Henry quickly felt something on the side of his face and shook his head vigorously.  The tick fell to the ground, waved good-bye pleasantly to Rindskopf and jumped into a nearby tree.

“Ugh!” said Henry, “A tick!  Glad that’s gone!”

The creatures howled in protest.  

"All right, Durst.  Your turn.  Apply the mist," commanded Bettelarm.

Durst pulled out a tube, scraped it along the ground and then spit a long strand of black saliva into it.  He placed a little pump in the top of the tube and pressed down several times.   A light spray of this disgusting mixture drifted through the night air.  It landed on to Henry's neck.  

Henry immediately started to feel tired and edgy.  Troublesome thoughts flew into his head that left a strange, gnawing feeling deep within his heart.  He didn't know why, but suddenly things he'd wanted for a long time, but didn't have, began to bother him. His bike was old.  His room was small.  Since his parents and sister had died, the only family he had in the world was his uncle, who was so wrapped up in his own life he hardly had time for Henry.  In fact, he'd left on a trip just that week, and still hadn't returned.  

Henry thought of people who had things he would never have.  There were a lot of people like that, he decided. Before long, he was angry with almost everyone he knew. In his head, he started to list off the things he didn't like about his life and all the reasons others didn't deserve what he wanted.

Most importantly, he thought of his parents and his sister, and how they had, just the year before, been drowned in a boating accident that only he had survived.  It wasn't fair.

His mood grew more and more foul.  It wasn't right that anyone should have the things he wanted, he thought. 

Saumagen didn't need Bettelarm to tell him it was now his turn to torment Henry.  He licked his fingers and tapped them lightly together. Particles of eerie yellow light flew from their upraised tips and landed on Henry's back.

Henry was now furious, angrier than he'd felt for a long time. He kicked a stone on the path, hard.  Ahead of him, Rindskopf forced up the root of a huge, live oak tree. The second time Henry tried to kick the stone he stubbed his toe on the root and fell against the tree.

"Ow!" he cried. 

The tree shuddered for a moment. Then, it creaked like an enormous, heavy door and slowly began to tip in Henry's direction.

Henry gasped and leapt to his feet.  He started to run as fast as he could, but the tree was falling directly in his path. The thick foliage on either side of him blocked any escape.  The tree was so huge it would surely kill Henry.

Henry froze, too frightened even to close his eyes.  There was nothing he could do.  But, just at that moment, when the sound of the falling tree was coming closer and it looked like there was no possible escape, an astonishing thing happened.   A gust of wind came from directly above him and knocked Henry over. He fell through a hole in the bushes on to a wet, grassy slope just at the end of the path.  The wind guided him down the slippery hill like a huge water slide.  

Glancing behind him, Henry saw lightning strike the tree, splitting it in two and igniting both halves.   They fell on either side of the path, well away from Henry, as Henry came safely to rest.

Henry realized with alarm that the lightning had set several trees on fire; their flames were traveling quickly across the treetops.  Whiskery orange bits of fiery branches fell to the ground, igniting bush after bush.  As Henry watched, one section of the forest after another started to go up in flames.  The fire was spreading very quickly through the dry foliage of early autumn.

Then, creeping up from the ocean came a thick, gray cloud which blanketed the sky above him, and opened up with a loud crack of thunder, sending draughts of rain so immense they completely extinguished the entire fire in a matter of seconds.  A tremendous howling, hissing noise rose up from the charred and smoking remains, followed by a huge cloud of white steam that billowed up into the darkness.

Then, white against the black sky, the cloud’s outer edges stretched out like arms.  They waved.   

Astonished, Henry realized it was the beautiful cloud from his dream.

It had rescued him, and Henry had no idea why.