Free Nighty-Nightmare by James Howe Page B

isn’t it?”
    I looked up at the sound of Chester’s voice as he emerged from the kitchen, licking milk from his lips. Now I understood how he’d remained so calm all this time. His brain had turned into a two-week-old banana days ago.
    *   *   *
    THE rain stopped at exactly three o’clock in the morning. I remember the time because I was awakened just before the clock in the hall chimed the hour. It was not the rain that woke me, however, nor the ticking of the clock. It was a voice.
    â€œHarold,” it whispered in my ear, “something terrible is going to happen.”
    Go away, I thought. But the voice persisted.
    â€œHarold,” it intoned. “Wake up.”
    I knew that voice. Who else would wake me in the middle of the night just to tell me something terrible was going to happen?
    â€œWhat do you want, Chester?” I mumbled without opening my eyes.
    â€œI’ve seen an omen.” He was louder now that he knew he’d succeeded in awakening me. “Don’t you want to see it?”
    â€œThat’s okay,” I said, yawning. “I’ll wait for it to come out on video.”
    â€œVery funny. Come on, Harold, it’s not every day you get to see an omen.”
    I was going to point out that it was night, not day, but I knew that the difference would be irrelevant to Chester.
    Howie was awake now too. He raced over to join us. “I want to see an omen, Pop,” he said to Chester. Howie, for unknown reasons, calls Chester “Pop”. “What’s an omen?”
    â€œA sign that something terrible is going to happen,” Chester replied.
    Howie shook his head. “I’ve seen signs like that,” he muttered, “ NO DOGS ALLOWED . Don’t you hate that one? And, oh, here’s one that really means something terrible is going to happen: DON’T WALK , when the hydrant is on the other side of the street.”
    Chester pretended to ignore Howie. “Come on, you two,” he said. Apparently, he was unimpressed by the fact that I had both my front paws over my face and was loudly snoring.
    â€œStop faking, Harold,” he said, tapping my eyelids. “Open up. Let’s go.”
    Much against my will, I followed Chesterand the relentlessly energetic Howie into the front hall. It was then that the clock struck three and the rain suddenly stopped.



“Look!” Chester commanded. “There, by the front door.”
    I looked, but I didn’t see anything I’d call an omen. I told Chester so.
    â€œLook again,” was his response.
    And then I saw it.
    There, next to the umbrella stand, was Chester’s cat carrier. It was open.
    â€œWhat’s that doing there?” I asked.
    â€œAnd what does it mean?” said Howie.
    I felt myself begin to quiver. “It resembles an open mouth,” I sniveled. “It means . . . it means . . . we’re all going to have oral surgery! Well, I’m not going! I don’t care how cute the dentist is.”
    â€œHarold!” Chester snapped. “Nobody’s having oral surgery.”
    â€œOh. Well, that’s a relief.”
    â€œBut it does mean we’re going somewhere and I don’t think we’re going to like it.”
    â€œWhy do you say that?” I asked.
    â€œ ‘We would have heard about it if it was anything good. You know what the Monroes are like. They tell us everything. But no one has said a word, so it must be a place too . . .
horrible
. . . to talk about.”
    There was a scuffling sound in the living room. We turned. Bunnicula was hopping about nervously in his cage. His eyes glistened in the dark.
    I ran to him. “Don’t worry, little furry friend,” I said. “Nothing terrible is going to happen.”
    â€œMark my words,” Chester said, “we are doomed.”

MARK DAVIS
    James Howe says:
    â€œBack in the Olden Days, before there were such things as