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He
hadn
’
t
wanted
to
come
here
,
not
after
the
fire
hose
.
He
was
scared
to
come
here
.
He
was
scared
that
he
had
taken
the
passkey
again
,
disobeying
his
father
.
He
had
wanted
to
come
here
.
Curiosity
(
killed
the
cat
;
satisfaction
brought
him
back
)
was
like
a
constant
fishhook
in
his
brain
,
a
kind
of
nagging
siren
song
that
would
not
be
appeased
.
And
hadn
’
t
Mr
.
Hallorann
said
,
"
I
don
’
t
think
there
’
s
anything
here
that
can
hurt
you
"
?
(
You
promised
.
)
(
Promises
were
made
to
be
broken
.
)
He
jumped
at
that
.
It
was
as
if
that
thought
had
come
from
outside
,
insectile
,
buzzing
,
softly
cajoling
.
(
Promises
were
made
to
be
broken
my
dear
redrum
,
to
be
broken
.
splintered
.
shattered
.
hammered
apart
.
FORE
!
)
His
nervous
humming
broke
into
low
,
atonal
song
:
"
Lou
,
Lou
,
skip
to
m
’
Lou
,
skip
to
m
’
Lou
my
daaarlin
…
"
Hadn
’
t
Mr
.
Hallorann
been
right
?
Hadn
’
t
that
been
,
in
the
end
,
the
reason
why
he
had
kept
silent
and
allowed
the
snow
to
close
them
in
?
