Lawrence was in his happy place. It was summer back home. He’d just come in, sore and sweaty from playing ball with the neighbor kids. Mama was in the kitchen making beignes—the smell was intoxicating. Daddy had just got home from work. It was hotter than Hades, but here they were, all together again. Daddy picked him up and hugged him tight.
“How’s my Simon?”
“Great Daddy! We won 14-7!”
“Aww, son. That’s terrific! Pretty soon you’ll be playing center for the Saints!” He set Lawrence down on the ground and they walked together into the kitchen.
“Well, hello boys!” Mom turned her head and gave them one of her heart-warming smiles. “Welcome home. I’ve got a special treat coming up in just a second.”
She busied herself over the stove while he and Daddy took a seat at the kitchen table. There in the warmth of hearth and home, Lawrence felt at peace.
Then Mama turned around, only she wasn’t Mama any more. She was a rotund German with a snow-white beard in a lab coat and half-moon spectacles.
“Lawrence, my dear boy! What’s the matter? Aren’t you hungry?”
He turned to Daddy, who was now much more brazenly angular, winding his antique Mickey Mouse watch and grimacing.
Lawrence screamed.
