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20 windows, something to stare through to see inside, something for the people inside to look out of. But I couldn’t see any visible openings. “How ... how do they see out?” I turned and gazed into the deepening blues of space. “They can’t see anything.” I felt my companion’s answered agreement. “Nothing to look at anyway, little Barbara.” Again I felt drawn. Drawn, without sensation of movement. I felt as if I were still held in my bubble « as I ee SD eS I looked down at my doll which I still hugged firmly to my chest. I’d thought that my friends looked a little like my dolly. That’s why I liked to take her along when they came. A warm breeze caressed me and at that moment I felt the rough wood of the attic floor beneath my knees. They’d gone again. I looked upward and peered through the shafts of sunlight spearing the attic vents. “Bye,” I felt a tear trickle down my cheek as I tried to smile at the space above me. “I’ll miss you.” I whispered the words and hugged my dolly even closer to my heart. “Hope you come back.” It was several days before I finally let the visitors slip from my mind. I wondered and half hoped the strangers would return, but it seemed as if they wouldn’t. Too busy with that old war, I thought, like everyone else. They’ve forgotten me. So I tried to forget them and let the weeks grow to months and the months to a year. It was in May, 1945 that I heard my mother and father talk about the end of the war in Europe. And it was in May, 1945 that the intruders returned. That was the year I found myself again transported to a strange place in the bubble of light. When we went up that time I watched my mother come out into the yard to shake out a rug. Soon we were so far away I could no longer even see our house. During this visit they took me to the big Barbara Bartholic as told to Peggy Fielding watched the dull sheen of the globes move away from me. I know I didn’t feel afraid.