Standing there was a boy, maybe seven or eight years old... "You said a bad word. I'm telling," he said.
She squinted at him. It couldn't be. It wasn't possible. But as she looked at her husband, his face was growing more and more childlike. She tried to play along. "Who are you telling exactly?"
"She won't let you babysit anymore..." He said. "And maybe she'll ground you..."
A few minutes earlier, on the other side of town, Sherry's daughter, Megan, stepped off the soccer field and headed with her friend, Eleanor, toward their mother's car, giggling and talking about the latest boy band when suddenly, Megan heard what sounded like static. She froze.
"Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"It sounded like hissing..." Megan said. She frowned. "What happened to your uniform?" They'd both been wearing soccer uniforms.