"Hello, Mr. Murchison!" Eloise burbled, stopping in front of her short, bearded neighbor. "How are you today?"

As usual, he just stared at her, too stoic to reply.

Across the street, a little boy peeked over his front fence and said to his mother, "Momma, the crazy old lady's talking to garden gnomes again."

"Hush," said his mother, sharply, and hurried him back towards their house.

Eloise hadn't heard. She bent lovingly over her flowerbed, stroking a petal here and there. "Hello, pretty flowers! How are you today!"

They swayed gently on their long stems, as if dancing playfully away from her. One of the bushes actually began to shake vigorously, almost painfully.

Puzzled, the elderly woman stood up and leaned towards it. "What—"

There was a goat in her flowerbed, chewing on her flowers! She scowled.

"Now, that's not nice!"

She picked up a long-handled broom and began to shoo the goat away. "I hate to be rude, but you simply must leave my pretty flowers alone!"

It looked up at her balefully.

Feeling inexplicably afraid, she began to back away. "Now—nice goat—you get out of my garden!"

It drew itself up, swelling, and roared. The force of the noise knocked her over backward onto the grass.

She gazed up, wide-eyed, at the huge . . . thing . . . rearing up above her. It now looked like a lion . . . or a snake . . . or was it a lion and a snake?

Across the street, the neighbors' little boy peeked over the fence again.

"Momma, the crazy old lady's getting attacked by a giant hamster!"

"You get inside and stop peeking in people's yards, Bobby!"

Eloise was practically sure that this was the end. No more flowers, no more quiet little Mr. Murchison.

She heard quick footsteps. Black sneakers darted past her. Out of nowhere, a little boy, all in black, was standing before her like a shield. He was holding a shining, black . . . spade? He pointed the spade at the Monster Goat.

He shouted something in a strange language, stabbing at the ground with the spade. The earth swelled and cracked open into a ravine.

"Oh, my," said Eloise.

The boy turned around quickly. "Stay down!"

"Oh, dear. That's—that's a very good idea, dear . . ."

The Monster Goat backed away from the growing ravine. A potted plant tipped over and spilled as the ground fell away beneath it. The neighbors' white picket fence snapped with the shifting earth and their pretty oak tree went over on one side, roots stabbing at the air.

What was left of the fence splintered under the Monster Goat's weight as it backed up. The creature let out a final, enraged roar—or hiss—and turned and rushed down the street.

The edges of the ravine came back together with a rumble. Eloise's garden and yard were a mess.

The little boy in black helped Eloise up off the ground, gasping a little at her weight.

She immediately wandered over to where Mr. Murchison lay on his side, watching the sky with painted ceramic eyes. Clicking her tongue, she dusted him off and stood him upright.

"Poor Mr. Murchison! That wasn't much fun, was it!"

Eloise turned around to face the little boy. "That was very nice of you, dear. Would you like some cookies? I can make some, right now, in fact!"

He was already gone.

Surprised, she peered around, as if he would once again pop up out of nowhere.

Then she shrugged, and bent over the flowers. Broken-stemmed or crushed or partially eaten, they beamed up at her as brightly as they could.

On the road, a police car shrieked by.

Eloise didn't notice. "Pretty flowers . . . I'll get you some water! Yes, that will be nice! You'll like that!"

Across the road, the neighbors' little boy peeked over his fence at her yard. He was shaking.

"Momma, the killer hamster's gone."

"Didn't I just tell you to get inside!"

Ignoring their distant voices, Eloise went to fetch the watering can.

Thank you. This has been Nico di Angelo versus the Chimera, as seen through the eyes of Eloise Weinberger, 53, and Bobby deMarco, "the neighbors' little boy," 6.