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“WELL, I’VE BEEN THINKING THAT INDOORS WOULD BE BEST, TOO,” Owen said. “AND UNFORTUNATELY I REALLY CAN’T INVITE YOU TO MY HOUSE, BECAUSE THERE’S REALLY NOTHING TO DO IN THE HOUSE, AND BECAUSE MY FATHER RUNS A GRANITE QUARRY, HE’S RATHER STRICT ABOUT THE EQUIPMENT AND THE QUARRIES THEMSELVES, WHICH ARE OUTDOORS, ANYWAY. INDOORS, AT MY HOUSE, WOULD NOT BE A LOT OF FUN BECAUSE MY PARENTS ARE RATHER STRANGE ABOUT CHILDREN.”

“That’s no problem!” Noah blurted.

“Don’t worry!” Simon said. “There’s lots to do here, in this house.”

“Everyone’s parents are strange!” Hester told Owen reassuringly, but I couldn’t think of anything to say. In the years I’d known Owen, the issue of how strange his parents were—not only “about children”—had never been discussed between us. It seemed, rather, the accepted knowledge of the town, not to be mentioned—except in passing, or in parentheses, or as an aside among intimates.

“WELL, I’VE BEEN THINKING THAT WE COULD PUT ON YOUR GRANDFATHER’S CLOTHES—YOU’VE TOLD YOUR COUSINS ABOUT THE CLOTHES?” Owen asked me; but I hadn’t. I thought they would think that dressing up in Grandfather’s clothes was either baby play, or morbid, or both; or that they would surely destroy the clothes, discovering that merely dressing up in them was insufficiently violent—therefore leading them to a game, the object of which was to rip the clothes off each other; whoever was naked last won.

“Grandfather’s clothes?” Noah said with unaccustomed reverence.

Simon shivered; Hester nervously plucked purple thread from here and there.

And Owen Meany—at the moment, our leader—said, “WELL, THERE’S ALSO THE CLOSET WHERE THE CLOTHES ARE KEPT. IT CAN BE SCARY IN THERE, IN THE DARK, AND WE COULD PLAY SOME KIND OF GAME WHERE ONE OF US HIDES AND ONE OF US HAS TO FIND WHOEVER IT IS—IN THE DARK. WELL,” Owen said, “THAT COULD BE INTERESTING.”

“Yes! Hiding in the dark!” Simon said.

“I didn’t know those were Grandfather’s clothes in there,” Hester said.

“Do you think the clothes are haunted, Hester?” Noah asked.

“Shut up,” Hester said.

“Let Hester hide in there, in the dark,” Simon said, “and we’ll take turns trying to find her.”

“I don’t want you pawing around in the dark for me,” Hester said.

“Hester, we just have to find you before you find us,” Noah said.

“No, it’s who touches who first!” Simon said.

“You touch me, I’ll pull your doink, Simon,” Hester said.

“Whoa!” Noah said. “That’s it! That’s the game! We got to find Hester before she pulls our doinks.”

“Hester the Molester!” Simon said predictably.

“Only if I’m allowed to get used to the dark!” Hester said. “I get to have an advantage! I’m allowed to get used to the dark—and whoever’s looking for me comes into the closet with no chance to get used to how dark it is.”

“THERE’S A FLASHLIGHT,” Owen Meany said nervously. “MAYBE WE COULD USE A FLASHLIGHT, BECAUSE IT WOULD STILL BE PRETTY DARK.”

“No flashlight!” Hester said.

“No!” Simon said. “Whoever goes into the closet after Hester gets the flashlight shined in his face before he goes in—so he’s blind, so he’s the opposite of being used to the dark!”

“Good idea!” Noah said.

“I get as long as I need to get myself hidden,” Hester said. “And to get used to the dark.”

“No!” Simon said. “We’ll count to twenty.”

“A hundred!” Hester said.

“Fifty,” Noah said; so it was fifty. Simon started counting, but Hester hit him.

“You’ve got to wait till I’m completely inside the closet,” she said.

As she moved toward the closet, she had to brush past Owen Meany, and a curious thing happened to her when she was next to him. Hester stood still and put her hand out to Owen—her big paw, uncharacteristically tentative and gentle, reached out and touched his face, as if there were a force in Owen’s immediate vicinity that compelled the passerby to touch him. Hester touched him, and she smiled—Owen’s little face was level with those nubbins of Hester’s early bosom, which appeared to be implanted under her T-shirt. Owen was quite accustomed to people feeling compelled to touch him, but in Hester’s case he retreated a trifle anxiously from her touch—though not so much that she was offended.