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while I thrash around until I’m swinging at nothing but air. Still reeling from the adrenaline, I reach for the light’s pull-string. I find it and yank so hard that it rips out of the socket and the illuminated bulb dances, throwing shadows that mock my fright.
    Shadows. Nothing more. The broken pull-string hangs out of my hand. I unscrew the bulb before closing the door, shutting in the darkness.
    I sleep with the light on and a pillow wrapped around my head to block out the overpowering volume from my parents shouting upstairs. It’s also easier to ignore the monstrous posters this way; their terrible laughter lasts long into the night.

The First Lost Boy
     
     
    My brother jostled me awake. He told me to come with him. I climbed out of my bed and followed him out of my room, up the stairs, and out the front door, always a corner behind him. The house was still. Everything sounded simultaneously muted and loud, like being under water.
    My brother stood outside the front door with his back to me, the porch light overexposing him and blurring his edges. The effect was blinding. I squinted and put my hand up to shield me from the brightness as I approached him. He didn’t turn to face me. His attention was too far away.
    “What do you think that is?” he asked, pointing at the single speck of light in the black sky. “You think that’s Venus? Mars?”
    Still groggy, I followed his finger. “I think maybe Polaris, or something.” I wasn’t a very good astronomer.
    “Yeah, must be the North Star,” he murmured, and then, more to himself, “second star to the right.”
    I didn’t ask what we were doing on the front porch in the middle of the night. I was only upset at my own poor astronomy skills. I also didn’t ask him why he was dressed and wearing his backpack.
    “Why didn’t you help me when Colt had the knife to me?” he asked.
    “I guess I was scared.” I sat down on the steps of the porch. “I’m sorry,” I added.
    My brother jumped down all the steps and turned to face me. “We could’ve taken him. Probably.”
    “I said I was sorry.” I yawned.
    He turned to look down the street and then back at me. “I’m leaving tonight. I just wanted to say goodbye. Sorry for waking you up.”
    “Wait.” I grabbed for him, but only held air. “How come?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “This isn’t about the Colt thing, is it?” I asked.
    “Maybe. People do this kind of stuff all the time. I’ve seen it in the movies.”
    “What about our movie?”
    “You can play both parts,” he said.
    Too tired to even ask where he was going, I tried to reach for him again. “Wait”—I paused—”can I come?”
    “No. You would be too scared.” He turned and walked down the street into the darkness. “I’ll keep in touch!” he called back from infinity.
    I kept sitting on the porch for a long time, waiting to wake up. I half-expected to see my brother levitate into the night sky, an up-up-and-away. A silly way to end the sad scene.
    I lay down on the hard cement and looked up at all the stars, which I could see clearly now since my eyes had adjusted. There you go, I thought There’s the Big Dipper, and that’s Polaris, Venus is to my right … see, you’re better at astronomy than you thought.
    I’ve had this dream every night since my brother disappeared.

Brock II
     
     
    The wounds from Brock’s battle aren’t healing, and his limp worries me. Usually, when I pull his leash out, he bounds to my side. Today, he whimpers with droopy ears and hangs his head while I connect the leash to his collar. I have to drag him to the vet.
    A brightly-colored poster of some lost kid hangs on the door to the animal hospital. I throw my shoulder hard against the door and enter the sterile, fluorescent waiting room.
    The receptionist is an attractive girl who wears a V-neck shirt, and I get a good eyeful of cleavage when she bends over the counter to look at Brock.
    “Is poochie not feeling well?” she asks