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Suddenly he felt cold. He shivered and he could feel the hairs stand up on the back of his neck as he shivered again then glanced around, looking behind him, back toward the house. The air was still and hot, the heat waves dancing and wriggling up from the dry field like mad translucent dancing worms. He couldn't hear a sound. The birds were quiet and no cars passed on the road in front of the house. Dead quiet. Peter wondered if he had ever heard such quiet, but whether he had or not, he found that just now it made him uneasy.
And when a crow suddenly called from the far end of the field, he jumped as surely as if it had burst out of the dark closet and flown directly into his face. He whirled in that direction as it called again, and he spotted it sitting at the top of a tall white pine. It looked big, even for a crow, and he wondered if it was a crow. But what else could it be? Ask Brian the brain. The brain would know. If it had anything to do with nature, Brian knew about it.
He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his shorts, wondering what was making him feel so strange, and maybe even a little scared. It was weird. How could you be scared of anything here? And how come he had the feeling that he didn't want to take another step toward the end of the field? What was out there?