"How come I'm a full-grown giant and he's not a tiny fairy, this far into the woods?"

"How do you know you're full-grown?" asked Mack.

He didn't, and he wasn't. In the two strides it took him to reach Mr. Christmas, Ceese grew so tall that his head was in the branches of the trees and he had to kneel back down just to see the path.

He scooped up Mr. Christmas just the way Mack had done and then, a few steps later, he had shrunk enough he had to set him down again and carry him in a fireman's carry. By the time they got to the back door, with Mack holding the screen open so Ceese could get inside, the man was so heavy and huge that Ceese was panting and staggering.

But he remembered how it felt to be so huge, and he kind of liked it.

Now the house was full of furniture again. Ceese took this in stride and laid Mr. Christmas out on the sofa. Now he was able to check his vital signs. "He's got a pulse. I don't suppose there's a phone."

"I wouldn't count on it," said Mack.

"Let's get him outside then, out to the street where somebody can see us, and try to get him to a hospital."

"I was hoping his own magic could heal him."

Mack helped Ceese get him up onto his back again, the old man's arms dangling over Ceese's shoulders. "Get the door open, Mack, and then run out into the street and flag somebody down."

Mack obeyed. First car that came was a nice big one, driven by Professor Williams from up the hill. He pulled right over when Mack flagged him.

"We got a man needs to get to the hospital!"

"I'm not that kind of a doctor," said Professor Williams. "I'm a doctor of literature."

"You the driver of a big car," said Mack, "and you can get this man to the hospital."

By now, Ceese had staggered to the curb, so he was visible.

"That man looks hurt," said Professor Williams.

"That be my guess, too," said Mack.

"He'll bleed all over my upholstery."

"That going to stop you from helping a man in need?" asked Mack.

Professor Williams was embarrassed. "No, of course not." A moment later, he had the back door open and then helped Ceese get the man into the car without dropping him or banging his head against the door or the car roof. It wasn't easy.

And at the end, when Mr. Christmas was laid out on the seat, Professor Williams took a good long look at his face. "Bag Man," he whispered.

"You know this guy?" said Ceese.

Professor Williams handed his keys to Ceese. "You take my car to the hospital. I'll walk back home and get my son Word to drive me to work."

"You sure you trust me with a car this nice?" said Ceese.

Professor Williams looked from Mr. Christmas to Mack and then back to Ceese. "I'm never riding in a car with that man again," he said. "If you're determined to save his life, then go, I won't stop you."

"I just hope I can get to the hospital in time. Unless you got a siren in your car."

Professor Williams gave a bitter little laugh. "I have a feeling you'll have green lights all the way, son."

Mr. Christmas didn't wake up at all, not on the way to the hospital, and not when the orderlies came out and hauled him out of the car and laid him on a gurney and rolled him into the emergency room.

That caused some raised eyebrows, and when they signed Mr. Christmas in as a John Doe, Ceese turned to Mack and said, "You watch, they'll have a cop coming by here to ask us if we the ones who beat this man up."

"Why would they do that?"

"Take a look at the color of your skin."

Mack grinned. "This just a suntan, Ceese. You know I spend all day outdoors in the summer."

"What I'm saying, Mack, is, let's go home. Let's not be here when the cop shows up."

"I can't do that," said Mack.

Ceese shook his head. "What is this man to you?"

"He's the man in Skinny House," said Mack. "He's the man who led me into—"

"Don't say it."

"Don't say what?"

Ceese lowered his voice. "Fairyland. Makes you sound two years old."

"He's more than two years old, that's what he called it."

"So don't you wonder how he got so beat up?"

"It could have been anything, he was so small."

"How small was he?" asked Ceese.

"You know how small he was in your hands when you picked him up?"

"Yeah, but that's because I was..." Ceese looked around at the other people in the emergency waiting area. "Well, I was what I was right then."

"That's how big he was to me, and I was normal size."

Ceese turned himself on the couch and leaned close to Mack's ear. "That's something I want to know. I got big, and that old bum got small, but nothing happened to you at all."

"So, why?"

"I didn't read the instruction manual, I guess."

"I'm just trying to think it out and make some sense out of it."

"It don't make sense, Ceese."

"I mean, if humans turn into giants, and... whatever he is... gets small, what are you?"

"I wish I knew," said Mack. "I never met my mother. Maybe she was regular size, too."

Ceese looked away, then turned to face front. "I wasn't saying about your parentage. Don't get sensitive on me all of a sudden."

"I'm not," said Mack. "I just don't know. I could be anything. I mean, if a regular-looking homeless person with a rasta do can be a fairy."

A new voice came out of nowhere. "Is that why you boys beat him up? Cause you thought he was gay?"

It was a cop standing ten feet away, so his voice carried through the whole room. Mack had never been rousted by a cop, though he'd heard plenty of tales and he knew the rules—always say sir and answer polite and don't ever, ever get mad, no matter what stupid thing they say. Did it make a difference that this cop was black?

"We didn't beat him up, sir," said Ceese. "And we were honestly not referring to anyone's sexual orientation, sir."

"Oh, so you were telling fairy stories to your little friend here?"

Mack didn't think he was so little anymore. Then he realized the cop was being sarcastic.

"As it happens, sir, I used to tend this boy when he was little. I was his daycare while his mother, who is a nurse in this very hospital, worked the evening shift. So I've read him a lot of fairy tales in my time."

The cop squinted, not sure if he was being had. "I've heard a lot of fairy tales, too."

"Not from me, sir."

"So you really did just find that unconscious man by the side of the road," said the cop, "and you happened to flag down the only man in the universe who would hand you his car keys and let you drive his fancy car to the hospital with a dirty bleeding old bum with a broken leg and five broken ribs and all kinds of contusions and abrasions bleeding all over the nice leather interior."

"Except," said Mack.

Ceese turned to him, looking as casual and politely interested as could be, but Mack knew his look really meant, Don't touch my story, boy, it's the best one we got.

"He wasn't unconscious when we found him," said Mack. "When I found him, I guess I mean. I heard him. Calling out for help. That's why we found him in the bushes and we dragged him to the street and that's how we knew we couldn't carry him, and maybe we caused him more pain because he was unconscious after that. But we didn't know what else to do."

"Could have called 911," said the cop, "and not moved him."

"We didn't know how bad hurt he was at first," said Ceese. "We thought maybe he was just drunk on the lawn."

"Where was this?" asked the cop, and from then on he was all business, taking notes, and then taking their names and addresses. When it was all done, and he was about to leave, he said, "You know why I believe your story?"

"Why?" asked Mack sincerely, since he didn't think he'd believe it himself.

"Because you'd have to be six kinds of stupid to make that shit up. Cause it's going to be so easy to check. First call is to this Professor Williams."