by Dave Barry
But the adjustment did not go well. It started with the airplane flight to Pittsburgh. Despite having spent much of his life in the air, Peter was not at all comfortable with being trapped inside a machine that was flying (in his opinion—and, of course, Tink’s) much too high, and much too fast.
Peter also did not adapt well to the lifestyle of the modern suburban child. He was accustomed to making his own decisions about what to eat, when to sleep, where to go, and what to do. He preferred to be outdoors most of the time, and when he was outdoors, he generally preferred to be airborne. This soon became a problem. The first time he was spotted flying over the Coopers’ neighborhood, the police were called, and the story wound up on the local TV news, with video taken on a cell phone. The TV station brought in an expert, who analyzed the video and declared that the “flying boy” was, in fact, nothing but a flock of birds. So the secret was still safe; but Peter was forced to accept that everyone would be better off if he flew only at night.
This meant that he spent most of his daylight hours feeling cooped up and adventure-deprived. He did enjoy being told stories, especially by Sarah, but he didn’t care for television, which never looked real to him. He was utterly baffled by the Internet, and could not—despite Aidan’s best efforts—see the point of video games. His feeling was, if you’ve battled real villains, it’s hard to get worked up about fighting pretend ones.
And then there was the issue of school. Natalie and Tom felt strongly that Peter should attend; he felt, just as strongly, that he should not. The Coopers pointed out that he could neither read nor write, and that these were necessary skills. He pointed out that he had been without them for more than a century and had done just fine. They had not come up with a good counterargument for that.
It goes without saying that Tink detested almost everything about Pittsburgh. She had made only one new friend, a swallow. She considered the rest of the local birds to be idiots.
As days passed, then weeks, then months, Peter found himself more often feeling homesick for the island, the Lost Boys, the Mollusks, the mermaids—even, in some strange way, Hook. In fact, it was Hook he was thinking of—specifically, the time he had managed to swoop down and steal Hook’s pants as he was taking his monthly bath—when J.D. called the Cooper house with the news. Sarah, who’d answered the phone, handed it to Peter. Peter held it gingerly; he did not care for telephones.
“Yes?” he said.
“Peter?” said J.D.
“J.D.?”
“Yes. Peter, do you want to go home?”
“To Never Land?”
“To the island. Yes.”
“Of course! But…how?”
“It’s a bit complicated to explain, but Mac and I have come up with something that we’re pretty sure will work, if you’re willing to try it.”
Peter looked at Sarah, who was watching him intently.
“Yes,” he said to J.D. “I do want to try it.”
Tink, hovering by Peter’s ear, listening, emitted a joyous burst of bells.
“We’ll have to get you down to Florida,” said J.D. “Put Tom or Natalie on the phone, and we’ll figure out the logistics.”
While the grown-ups made arrangements, Peter told Sarah what J.D. had said.
“So you’re going back,” she said.
“Yes,” he agreed.
“That’s…wonderful,” she said. Then she started to cry.
Peter thought about hugging her, but settled for patting her shoulder. After all these years, he still didn’t understand exactly what made girls cry.
CHAPTER 46
SOON
THEY STOOD IN A LITTLE GROUP by the entrance to Peter Pan’s Flight—Peter, J.D., and the Coopers. Peter wore a backpack, which contained the device that J.D. and Mac had made—a sleek black metal football, devoid of buttons or lights, which they called “the pod.” The backpack also contained Tink, who was not thrilled to be in there with the pod.
J.D. looked at his watch, then the line for the ride.
“If you get in line in ten minutes, you should be just about perfect,” he said. “You’ll be at Skull Rock at 9:07. The pod will activate itself, so you don’t have to do anything except hold on.”
Peter nodded.
J.D. removed his watch and handed it to Peter. “Take this, so you can time it exactly right,” he said. “When you get to the island, keep the watch safe. It’s got a new battery, so it will last for years.”
“Thank you,” said Peter, “but we don’t pay attention to time on the island.”
“You will if you want to know when it’s 9:07 p.m. here,” said J.D.
Peter frowned. “Why would I want to know that?”
“So you can come back,” said J.D.
“What?” said Peter.
“Really?” said Sarah.
“We think so,” said J.D. “The pod should work at both ends.”
“Wow,” said Aidan. “So you can come back.”
“And forth,” said J.D.
“Will you come back, Peter?” said Sarah.
From the backpack came the sound of bells; it went on for some time, longer than Tink’s usual terse pronouncements. Peter listened intently, his face solemn.
“What did she say?” asked Aidan.
“She says…she will miss you all,” said Peter.
That was not, in fact, what Tink had said. What she’d said was that there was something bad nearby. She had felt it as they’d walked through the Magic Kingdom; at one point felt it quite strongly. What Tink was telling Peter—what she was warning Peter—was that if he returned to this place, he would be in danger.
“So,” said Sarah. “You’ll come back?”
From Tink, an ominous warning chime.
“Yes,” said Peter. “I’ll come back.”
Sarah hugged him; he reddened.
“When?” Sarah said. “Soon?”
“Yes,” he said, ignoring the now-noisy backpack. “Quite soon.”
Sarah hugged him still tighter; his face grew still redder.
“I hate to break this up,” said J.D. “But you need to get in line.”
He stuck out his hand; Peter shook it, then Aidan’s, then Tom’s. Natalie gave him a hug that left tears on his shoulder. Sarah paused, looking at him. She seemed about to say something, then she stepped forward and gave him one last hug, even wetter than her mom’s.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Then it was time. Peter got into the line. He attracted no notice from the other riders—just another child among the millions who’d shuffled through this fanciful arcade on their way to enjoy a magical make-believe flight. J.D. and the Coopers watched him as he moved slowly forward, glancing back at them often, each glance drawing a sob from Sarah.
They watched as he reached the boarding area. Just ahead of him, a dad with two young daughters boarded a little ship. Peter got on the next ship alone. As it carried him forward his eyes searched the crowd until he found his friends. He gave them a little smile, and a little wave. Then the ship was gone.
They all stared at the tunnel where the ships exited from the ride. Nobody said a word. A minute went by, then two…
They held their breath as the dad and his two daughters came into view. Then they saw Peter’s ship.
Empty.
“It worked,” J.D. said softly.
Sarah buried her face in her hands, her body racked by sobs. Natalie put her arm around her daughter, squeezed her tight.
“He’s home, honey,” she said. “It’s where he belongs.”
Sarah nodded, still sobbing.
“He said he’ll come back,” said Tom.
“Soon,” said Aidan.
Sarah raised her head, and, through her tears, managed a weak smile.
“Soon,” she said.
EPILOGUE
ONE YEAR LATER
THE NIGHT WATCHMAN believed it was nonsense, a case of overactive imaginations. For months now, visitors to the Haunted Mansion had re
ported feeling a strange chill as their ride vehicles—known as “doom buggies”—exited from the graveyard at the end. Even some Cast Members claimed to have felt it.
The night watchman didn’t believe any of it. It was a big building; it got drafty. That was all there was to it.
Fed up with the rumors, the night watchman had finally decided to see for himself. Tonight he had switched rotations with the man who usually checked on the Haunted Mansion. (The man had seemed oddly happy about the switch.)
The night watchman made his way through the building, following the track of the now-still doom buggies. In the glare of the utility lighting he’d seen all manner of supposedly terrifying creatures—ghouls, ghosts, demons, monsters, a murderous bloodstained bride. But the watchman’s coldly analytical eyes saw these things for what they were—clever stagecraft, nothing more.
He was in the graveyard, now, walking past a forest of tombstones, populated by a bizarre menagerie of animatronic spooks. The night watchman felt nothing, other than a sense of smug superiority. He could not for the life of him imagine how any rational person could be so weak-minded and easily influenced as to…
Then he felt it.
He was cold. Not the air around him; he was cold.
And there was something else—a feeling of dread, seeping into him…
Heart pounding, he walked quickly forward though the archway leading out of the graveyard. The building exit was just ahead. The watchman quickened his pace. He was afraid to look back, but he forced himself to. Behind him stood the empty archway. Above it, looking down, wings spread, was an animatronic raven. It did not move; the ride was not operating.
But the raven’s eyes were glowing red.
It’s a reflection, the watchman told himself, as he turned and hurried forward. A trick of the light.
He was almost running as he exited the building into the cool central Florida night. He stood still for a minute, sweating, catching his breath.
Perched on a tree limb high overhead, Peter watched the hurrying watchman.
“He looks scared,” he whispered.
Tink chimed softly. He should be scared.
“You can feel it?”
Yes. It’s stronger.
Peter stared at the Haunted Mansion. Tink nestled into his hair.
We have to go, she chimed. They were flying to Pittsburgh that night, not in a plane. They’d made the trip several times, and found that if they kept moving, they could just beat the sunrise.
“I know,” said Peter. He stood up on the branch. “But we’re going to have to keep an eye on this.”
It’s dangerous.
“Which is why we have to keep an eye on it.”
We could stay on the island and be safe.
“We could,” said Peter, stepping casually off the branch. “But where’s the fun in that?”
