Free Travels with my Family by Marie-Louise Gay, David Homel

percent pitch dark.
    With our flashlights showing the way, we started climbing down a long passage. A few other people were with us, the ones who owned the pick-up trucks back in the parking lot, I guess. The park ranger told us that we weren’t allowed to eat or drink in the cave. That was okay — we were out of water anyway. We weren’t allowed to touch the walls of the cave, either. One smudge of oil from a human hand could stop the stalagmites and stalactites from growing.
    Down and down we went. One day, the ranger told us, a man named Mr. Slaughter was taking care of his sheep, and one of them disappeared right into the mountain. He went looking for it, and discovered the entrance to the cave. The mountain we had just climbed was hollow, and we were climbing back down to where we had started.
    Along the way, there were all kinds of rock formations. Some of them looked like kings on their thrones. Others looked like Christmas trees. There were rainbow-colored bridges of rock that crossed underground rivers and lakes.
    It was so fabulous that even my mother forgot to say how beautiful it was.
    â€œDo you know the difference between stalactites and stalagmites?” the ranger asked me.
    â€œSure,” I told her. “Stalagmites grow from the floor to the ceiling. Stalactites grow the other way around.”
    â€œVery good!”
    â€œEverybody knows that!” my brother hissed. He was still mad because I got to hold the flashlight.
    Finally, we reached the bottom of the cave. The ranger told us to sit down, shut off our lights and not say a word. We all sat in complete darkness, in total silence, for a minute or two.
    I wondered if being blind was like this. I could hear my blood running through my veins, and my heart beating. I thought about the tons of rock hanging over our heads.
    Then, from somewhere deep in the cave, a drop of water fell into a pool.
    â€œThe sound of eternity,” the park ranger said. Then she switched on her light.
    We admired the rock formations a little more, making sure not to touch them. Before we began our climb back through the hollow mountain, the ranger counted us. Once, then twice.
    Someone was missing. Guess who? It was my little brother.
    My mother panicked right away. “Oh, my God, he’s lost!”
    â€œStay calm, honey,” my father said. “He can’t be far.”
    The park ranger swept the walls of the cave with her high-powered light. We saw kings on thrones and stone Christmas trees flash by, but not my little brother.
    A few seconds later, we heard a voice.
    â€œI am the spirit of Slaughter Canyon. I got slaughtered.
Wooo…
!”
    Everybody started laughing, even the park ranger. My brother showed up, smiling a big smile. My mother grabbed his hand. And then we climbed back up toward the little pinhole of light, opening out onto the sky.
    By the time we left Slaughter Canyon, it was late in the afternoon. The car was waiting for us, as hot as an oven inside.

    â€œWe have a surprise for you,” my mother said as we bounced back down the road.
    â€œWhat is it?” my brother and I asked.
    â€œIf I tell you, it won’t be a surprise.”
    I couldn’t believe it when we pulled into the parking lot of the Carlsbad Caverns.
    We reached the mouth of the main cave just as the sun was going down. A few minutes later, I heard a whispering noise. The whispers were growing louder.
    Then, suddenly, millions and millions of bats were pouring out of the cave, flying into the dark sky, on their way to their night’s work of eating insects. It was fabulous!
    And we’d gotten there just in time.

THE END — For now

    It’s February. Outside, the snow is halfway up to the roof. It’s even too cold to go skating. Exactly the kind of weather that makes my parents want to plan our next vacation.
    And sure enough, what should come in the mail but a postcard. A postcard of red-roofed