Novels

From Sea of Glass

. . . In the time called winter the world smells like burning wood.  The world is both dark and light, full of love and fear.

The fear.

The windows are dark.  Painted black and nailed shut.  If they weren't, things from Outside might see us and get in.  We must never let the Thing from Outside see in.

The light is the fireplace.  It is red.  And the light is the electric lamp beside my bed, my mother's face, my father's arms.  There, too, is the warmth and the love.

The world is the house.

Daddy says that the house is in a city called Peterborough, which is in a province called Ontario.  Ontario belongs to a national district Called Canada, which belongs to the Compact of Nations.  They are curious words, but they are like Earth and Sun: only words.

I only see the house, so the house is the world.

Daddy says that Peterborough is also called Petertown, but not to call it Petertown because
Mommy doesn't like the name.



The world is fear.

The fear comes from the men in black.  Daddy says it again and again: "Tommy,

"Never open a window.

"Never move the downstairs shades.

"Never talk, laugh, or cry loudly.

"Never answer the door.

"Never answer the telephone.

"Never never go Outside.

"If anyone comes to the house, hide in your attic room and be very, very still.  And you must obey this.  If you disobey about this like you do sometimes when you should clean up your room, and give me that little smile and that twinkle in your eye, it won't be like when you should clean up your room.

"I won't get cross for a moment and then laugh.  I will die.

"Your mommy will die.

"And the men in black will come and take you away forever."

I ask my daddy "Why?"

"Because.  Just because."

Because must be a terrible monster.  I imagine Because as it hovers over the world flapping its leathery wings, waiting with its great hooked beak and sharp talons to fall in swift horror upon those foolish children who venture Outside. . . .

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