Where They Go,
and Why They Stay Away
Robert A. Fuhr
n the attic of a crumbling mansion, floorboards covered with undisturbed
dust, two spirits wait patiently for the witching hour to begin. For that
is the time, that one brief hour, once a year, that these two have
voices ... and may continue their ancient conversation. They speak
with great, long pauses ... considering each word, each thought, as if
both were precious.
The black and white tabby asks the chocolate sealpoint, "How can they
live with each other?" They would hide from one another, if they knew
the truth," replies the Siamese.
"How do you know?"
"Do you remember Garbo?"
"She wanted to be alone."
"Yes, her. I told her the truth about her kind when she was young."
"We should tell them all."
"Most don't listen. Their kind won't change. We can only keep our
"Yes, as long as we can stand being with them,"
"Yes, as long as we can, and then we die. Their loss."
"They frighten me. Are they evil?"
"Worse. Evil has no choice."
The black and white tabby thought a while, and then asked, "If they
are not evil, why do they do the things they do"? The Siamese pondered
this a great long while, and would have answered. But the hour was done.
They would both wait for the following year to hear his reply.
First published: August 1998