Upstairs, everyone was having a much better sleep then I was. Sometime around midnight, according to Peter, the roar of the mountain lion awoke them all out of a deep sleep. Peter and Mike heard it and merely rolled over and tried to fall back to sleep. But Micky didn't. He sat up in bed, sweating.

Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead. He was sweating so much that his hair was soaking wet. His heart beat very fast and he was breathing quickly. He looked around the room and thought for a minute. Then, very quietly, he got out of bed and went over to the closet. He disappeared into the closet and emerged a moment later, holding a old, torn and tattered stuffed dog.

Then, holding the puppy tightly in his arms, he went back to his bed and crawled under the covers.

Due to not getting a lot of sleep, the next morning I slept rather late. When I awoke, it was around ten and I only awoke because Peter was shaking me. I opened one eye sleepily and found Peter staring back at me.

"Davy, wake up," he said, shaking me.

"Peter? What is it?" I asked.

"It's Micky. Come and look," he said.

"Micky?" I asked, thinking he'd gotten worse. "What's wrong?" Peter just grabbed my arm and dragged me out of bed. I followed him sleepily up the stairs, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. Peter headed into the bedroom and stopped in front of Micky's bed.

"Look," he said, simply, pointing at Micky's bed. I looked. Micky was sleeping peacefully in the bed. He was sucking his thumb and hugging the ragged stuffed dog with one arm. I looked at him, and then looked back at Peter.

"So?" I asked. "It's just Micky sleeping peacefully and sucking his....sucking his thumb?" I asked, and looked back at Micky. "Why is he doing that?"

Peter shrugged. "I don't know. I just thought it was kind of odd. "

I looked at Micky. "You know it is kind of weird," I said. I kinda had the feeling that there was something wrong with Micky. I mean, there already was, but I had the feeling that there was something else wrong with him. I decided to try to wake him up. I sat down on the edge of the bed and shook him, gently.

"Micky?" I asked. "C'mon, Micky, wake up." Sleepily, he opened both of his eyes and looked at me. "C'mon, Micky, wake up," I said again. He opened his eyes all the way and looked at me solemnly, without removing the thumb from his mouth. Then, he pulled the thumb out of his mouth and spoke:

"H-hi, D-Dave," he said. I looked at him oddly. I turned around and looked at Peter. We exchanged concerned glances. Then, Peter knelt down beside me.

"H-hi, Peet," Micky said, barely pronouncing the 't' at the end of Pete.

Peter looked at Micky, then at me, and then back at Micky.

"Hi, Micky," he said. "Are you feeling okay?"

Micky nodded. "O-tay," he said, grinning.

"You sure?" he asked. "Where'd you get the dog?"

Micky looked at the puppy and cuddled it affectionately to his face, a happy smile on his face. "Mic p-puppy," he said. "F-fum da-da," he added, happily.

I looked at Peter. Just then, there was a noise from downstairs.

"Hey, is anybody eating breakfast?" Mike yelled up the stairs. No one responded. "Peter? Micky? Davy? I know you're up there!" Finally, he gave up and came upstairs. "Hey, you eating or are you just going to wait for lunch?" he asked. Micky looked happily at Mike.

"Hi My," he said. Mike looked at Micky confused. "Mic h-hungwy," he added, grinning.

Mike looked at me and then at Peter. "Guys, what's up with Micky?" he asked. We just shrugged.

Micky looked up at Mike. "M-mic h-hungwy, My. W-want f-food, p-pwease." Mike looked at Micky, unsure of what to do.

"Sure, Micky, you can have some food. C'mon downstairs and have some breakfast," he said.

"O-o-tay," Micky said, grinning. He climbed out of bed and, still holding his puppy, reached out for Mike's hand. Together, they went down stairs.

"Any ideas, guys?" Mike asked. I shrugged and looked at Peter. Peter shrugged and looked at Mike. Mike shrugged, sighed, and looked at Micky, who was sitting at the table, shoving food into his mouth. "Well, there's got to be a reason why he's doing this. Some psychological reason. We just have to find out what it is. Then we'll be able to figure out how to get him back to normal. Or at least back to the way he was."

Micky stopped eating at looked around. A frown appeared on his face, and his upper lip began to quiver. I could tell tears were coming. "What's the matter, Micky?" Peter asked.

"P-puppy. W-want p-puppy. W-where p-puppy?" Micky wailed. Between the tears and the stuttering, it was almost impossible to understand him. But I got the gist of it. I left the room and went into the living room where Micky had left his stuffed dog. I picked it up and brought it back into the kitchen.

"Here ya go, Micky," I said, handing him the dog. Immediately, his face brightened and a grin appeared on his face.

"F-ffank yoo, D-Dayve," he said. I smiled at the odd pronunciation of my name. Micky hugged the dog and went back to eating.

A little after that, he finished eating. He climbed down from the chair and left the room. We watched him leave.

"Someone should watch him, ya know. To make sure he doesn't get hurt or anything," Mike said. He looked at Peter and I. We stared back at him blankly. "I guess I'm elected, huh?" he said. We continued to stare at him blankly. He sighed, and went after Micky.

"Micky," Mike called as he headed into the living room where Micky had gone. "Micky, where are you?" he asked.

Micky poked his head out from behind the couch. "H-here I am, M-my," he said, grinning. "Wanna p-pway h-hide a-an p-peek?" he asked.

"Not right now, Micky," Mike said. To avoid the tears he saw coming, he changed the subject, and said, quickly, "Where's your puppy, Micky?"

"P-puppy?" Micky asked. He sat down and thought about this for awhile. Then he pointed to a spot on the other side of the room. "P-puppy on ch-haiw," he said, pointing to the armchair on the other side of the room.

Mike went over to the chair where the tattered stuffed dog lay, and picked it up. Then he brought it to Micky. "Come out from behind there," he said, and Micky did so. Mike gave him the puppy, and Micky held it up to his cheek, smiling sweetly. "What's your puppy's name, Micky?" he asked.

Micky merely responded with, "M-mic p-puppy," and continued to hug the puppy close to his face, feeling its soft fur happily.

"Where'd did you get it from?" Mike asked, trying another approach.

"Da-da. W-was D-da p-puppy," Micky said, a thoughtful look on his face. "D-da p-puppy, M-my. Was D-da p-puppy," he repeated. His face scrunched up, and tears began to fall from his innocent brown eyes. Within a few moments, the tears were falling fast, and Micky's silent tears had transformed to full blown sobs.

Back home....

Get back ! to part Twenty-two

Go onward! to part twenty-three