EPPINGTON: THE GUARDED SECRET

a chore instead of a privilege. Or is it ever a privilege? I may be confused about that, even as an adult.
“We have to get to our folks, see how they react to us and try to find out from them what’s going on,” I said. “Jase looked at that dog and right away, he became like the others, so I suggest we keep our heads lowered and avoid eye contact with any of the animals, no matter what. After we check out our folks, and hopefully, gather some intel, we’ll meet at the spot around the corner in half an hour.”
“Sounds good,” Sam agreed.
The spot I referred to is an old distillery building on our block, set on a large parcel of land that’s usually overgrown.
“I know you have a pet cat, Sam, but you can’t interact with her until you know if she’s been influenced by the other animals out there.”
“Gotcha,” she said.
Rob and his family didn’t have pets. Never did for as long as I knew them. Rob said his dad wasn’t an animal lover and was also allergic to pet fur. I always thought Mr. Powell was just a sourpuss and needed to lighten up, but I kept my thoughts to myself.
“What...what if they’re able to control us without us having to make eye contact?” Rob proposed, somewhat anxiously. “How can we be sure that’s what really got Jase?”
“Because we all seen it, Rob!” Sam snapped. “Why don’t you stop being an airhead?”
“Look guys, we can’t sit here arguing,” I said. “We have to find out what’s going on as quickly as we can before nightfall.”
“I guess I’m ready. Well, not really, but it is what it is…” Sam announced.
“Ready, Rob?” I asked, seeing the apprehension in his face.
“I don’t like how we have to split up. Can’t we go together to check out our families? I’m scared.”
“I know you are, but you can do this,” I told him. “Just remember to keep your head lowered; don’t make eye contact no matter what and if any of the animals spot you and they say anything, just act like the others.”
He didn’t respond.
“Remember that cool act you did in drama class a couple of years ago?”
Rob nodded.
“Man, you nailed it! You were so darn good. That’s the best acting I’d ever seen, for sure! Ain’t that right, Sam?”
“You know it!” she replied. “Look, Rob, you’re gonna be fine. Just do what Hewey said and put on a good act. You can do this. Trust me, I’m scared as hell, but sometimes you have to do things scared. Okay?”
Rob still looked far from comfortable about the whole thing, but he nodded. “Okay.”
“That’s my man!” Sam patted his back.
I looked them square in the eyes. “Remember...the spot in a half hour.”
They both nodded. We made a three-way bump, then hurried off in different directions each toward our home.

4
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The front door of my house was habitually unlocked; we only bothered to lock it at night before bedtime. It was my job to make sure the house was secured since I was always the last one to go to sleep.
After walking inside, I noticed an unusual quietude that made me uneasy—actually more uneasy than I already was. I’d happened to get there without being noticed, as the streets were completely clear after the odd gathering just a short while earlier. I wondered where Dillinger was—our eight-year-old Doberman Pincher. Usually by now, he would’ve at least smelled me, even if he was out back, and would’ve been jumping all over me, but he was nowhere in sight.
I proceeded to the kitchen where I found Mom at the stove and Dad sitting at the counter, flipping through a magazine. He seemed to be turning the pages, but not really focusing on any particular article.
“Hey, guys,” I said, casually.
No one bothered to respond.
“Is everything all right?” I waited for a few moments, then was starting to wonder if they even noticed me.
I went over to my dad and touched him on the shoulder. “Dad… are you okay?”
He flipped another page and with that blank stare I’d seen on the faces of our neighbors, he looked up at Mom and said, “Remember to make enough for four.”
“Dad? You didn’t answer me,” I said.
“Honey, how would you like your dog food?” Mom asked me.
“What? Mom… what’re you talking about? We don’t eat dog food!” I sat on the stool next to Dad.
She opened an overhead cabinet and took down a couple of cans of Dillinger’s food. He always preferred the soft food instead of the hard bites.
“You have a choice between chicken and beef flavoring,” Mom said, either ignoring or failing to register my remark.
“I said, we don’t eat dog food, Mom!” I repeated.
She politely opened the chicken flavored one. “Chicken, it is!” she said.
“Dad!” I scowled. “What’s wrong with y’all? Are you gonna let Mom feed us dog food for dinner?”
Weirdly, both a happy and confused smile formed on his face. “Chicken it is,” he also announced.
I quickly got up, stormed around the counter and gently gripped my mom by the shoulders. “Mom, wake up! Wake up!” I yelled as quietly as I could. “What’s happened to everybody? This is ludicrous!”
She just stood there looking at me, clearly unmoved by my protest.
“What happened out there?” I insisted. “What did they do to you?”
“I have to put Dillinger’s pork roast in the oven,” she said with that blank stare.
“Dillinger?” I frowned. “He’s eating pork roast while we’re eating dog food? Have you both lost your minds?” I turned away in disbelief. “Where’s Carl?”
“Out back playing with Dillinger,” Mom replied with a slight smile. “I’m sure they’re having lots of fun.”
Seriously concerned for Carl, I left the kitchen and went to find him.
When I opened the back door, the view that greeted me was shocking. Our Dillinger was comfortably seated in Mom’s white patio chair throwing the old tennis ball while Carl ran and fetched it, and brought it back (thankfully with his hand