Ford went over and sat down on the edge of the sectional opposite end that Stanley had, placing his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Fiddleford? "

"Kid, are you okay?" Stan asked. "What happened? "

The younger man placed his hand on his chest and tried to slow his breathing. "I—I'm all right. It was—just a nightmare. "

Out of the corner of his eye, Ford saw Stan's face lose a bit of color.

"Talking about it can help." Ford said as he focused back on Fiddleford.

"Well, I—"

Fiddleford bit his lower lip, grabbed his own left hand with his right and squeezed it a couple of times. "It's silly."

"We're not gonna think it's silly." Stan insisted.

His small friend blinked, then looked down at his hands. "When—when I was about seven or eight…well, one morning the headmistresses at the orphanage had us boys out shovelin' snow. I could barely lift a shovel, much less with snow in it, but I tried anyway. "

Stan and Ford grinned, as both of them could picture that.

Fiddleford swallowed hard and continued. "S-some of the older boys—I guess that they were trying to be funny or somethin'—I was shovelin' snow near the far side of the buildin', an' somebody grabbed me from behind. I tried yellin', but whoever it was put their hand over my mouth. "

Stan shot a glare at his twin brother, who chewed his lower lip.

"It—it turned out to be one of the older boys." Fiddleford continued. "He—threw me is a hole he an' some of the others had dug in the snow, and shoveled snow in on top of me. "

Ford drew a sharp breath, and Stan's fists clenched.

"I yelled and screamed, but I don't think anyone heard me. I tried to dig myself out, but the snow fell in on top of me. Don't know how long I was under there, but when I woke up I was in the hospital. The headmistress that was there said that I almost suffocated. "

Stan punched the sectional cushion, but Ford was sure that Stan was wishing it was one of those boys' faces.

Ford closed his eyes. "Fiddleford, I'm so sorry. I should have thought before I—before I did that to you this afternoon."

His friend shook his head. "Aw, it's okay, Ford. I was upset when you did it, 'cause it scared me. I guess not bein' able to cry out or move sorta reminded me of what happened when I was a kid, but you didn't know. An' I know you just didn't want that critter to know we were there. "

Ford shook his head. "Regardless, I should have gone about it in a different way. "

Fiddleford grinned. "Ah, it's over now, Stanford, an' we're all safe."

The young man turned to look at Stan. "Stan, I'm glad you're movin' around—"

He saw that Stan had a disturbed look on his face.

"Stanley? What's wrong? "

Stan drew a deep breath and exhaled as the memory of all of the "nightmares" he'd had while under the influence of the "Gremloblin"'s neurotoxin came flooding back.

"Uh—Ford—I think you're goin' t' wanna get that book of yours. I've got a lot to tell you about what that creature we ran into does to a person. "