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ed paperback； thinking that this must surely do it； this would turn the trick； Richard must react to the story of these lost boys and their descent into savagery。 But Richard had plodded through Lord of the Flies as he had plodded through all the other novels before it； and wrote another book report which contained all the zeal and fire of a hungover pathologist's post…mortem on a traffic accident victim。 What is it with you？ Jack had burst out； exasperated。 What in God's name have you got against a good story； Richard？ And Richard had looked at him； flabbergasted； apparently really not understanding Jack's anger。 Well； there's really no such thing as a good made…up story； is there？ Richard had responded。
Jack had gone away that day sorely puzzled by Richard's total rejection of make…believe； but he thought he understood better now…better than he really wanted to； perhaps。 Perhaps to Richard each opening storybook cover had looked a little like an opening closet door； perhaps each bright paperback cover； illustrating people who never were as if they were perfectly real； reminded Richard of the morning when he had Had Enough； Forever。
3
Richard sees his father go into the closet in the big front bedroom； pulling the folding door shut behind him。 He is five； maybe 。 。 。 or six 。 。 。 surely not as old as seven。 He waits five minutes； then ten； and when his father still hasn't e out of the closet he begins to be a little frightened。 He calls。 He calls
（for his pipe he calls for his bowl he calls for his）
father and when his father doesn't answer he calls in a louder and louder voice and he goes closer and closer to the closet as he calls and finally； when fifteen minutes have gone by and his father still hasn't e out； Richard pulls the folding door open and goes in。 He goes into darkness like a cave。
And something happens。
After pushing through the rough tweeds and the smooth cottons and the occasional slick silks of his father's coats and suits and sport jackets； the smell of cloth and mothballs and closed…up dark closet air begins to give way to another smell…a hot； fiery smell。 Richard begins to blunder forward； screaming his father's name； he thinking there must be a fire back here and his father may be burning in it； because it smells like a fire 。 。 。 and suddenly he realizes that the boards are gone under his feet； and he is standing in black dirt。 Weird black insects with clustered eyes on the ends of long stalks are hopping all around his fuzzy slippers。 Daddy！ he screams。 The coats and suits are gone； the floor is gone； but it isn't crisp white snow underfoot； it's stinking black dirt which is apparently the birthing ground for these unpleasant black jumping insects； this place is by no stretch of the imagination Narnia。 Other screams answer Richard's scream…screams and mad； demented laughter。 Smoke drifts around him on a dark idiot wind and Richard turns； stumbling back the way he came； hands outstretched like the hands of a blind man； feeling frantically for the coats； smelling for the faint； acrid reek of mothballs…
And suddenly a hand slithers around his wrist。
Daddy？ he asks； but when he looks down he sees not a human hand but a scaly green thing covered with writhing suckers； a green thing attached to a long； rubbery arm which stretches off into the darkness and toward a pair of yellow； upslanted eyes that stare at him with flat hunger。
Screeching； he tears free and flings himself blindly into the black 。 。 。 and just as his groping fingers find his father's sport coats and suits again； as he hears the blessed； rational sound of jangling coathangers； that green； sucker…lined hand waltzes dryly across the back of his neck again 。 。 。 and is gone。
He waits； trembling； as pallid as day…old ashes in a cold stove； for three hours outside that damned closet； afraid to go back in； afraid of the green hand and the yellow eyes； more and more sure that his father must be dead。 And when his father es back into the room near the end of the fourth hour； not from the closet but from the door which municates between the bedroom and the upstairs hall…the door BEHIND Richard…when that happens； Richard rejects fantasy for good and all； Richard negates fantasy； Richard refuses to deal with fantasy； or treat with it； or promise with it。 He has； quite simply； Had Enough； Forever。 He jumps up； runs to his father； to the beloved Morgan Sloat； and hugs him so tightly that his arms will be sore all that week。 Morgan lifts him up； laughs； and asks him why he looks so pale。 Richard smiles； and tells him that it was probably something he ate for breakfast； but he feels better now； and he kisses his father's cheek； and smells the beloved smell of mingled sweat and Raj cologne。 And later that day； he takes all of his storybooks…the Little Golden Books； the pop…up books； the I…Can…Read books； the Dr。 Seuss books； the Green Fairy Book for Young Folks； and he puts them in a carton； and he puts the carton down in the basement； and he thinks： 'I would not care if an earthquake came now and opened a crack in the floor and swallowed up every one of those books。 In fact； it would be a relief。 In fact； it would be such a relief that I would probably laugh all day and most of the weekend。' This does not happen； but Richard feels a great relief when the books are shut in double darkness…the darkness of the carton and the darkness of the cellar。 He never looks at them again； just as he never goes in his father's closet with the folding door again； and although he sometimes dreams that there is something under his bed or in his closet； something with flat yellow eyes； he never thinks about that green； sucker…covered hand again until the strange time es to Thayer School and he bursts into unaccustomed tears in his friend Jack Sawyer's arms。
He has Had Enough； Forever。
4
Jack had hoped that with the telling of his story and the passing of his tears； Richard would return…more or less…to his normal； sharply rational self。 Jack didn't really care if Richard bought the whole nine yards or not； if Richard could just reconcile himself to accepting the leading edge of this craziness； he could turn his formidable mind to helping Jack find a way out 。 。 。 a way off the Thayer campus； anyway； and out of Richard's life before Richard went totally bananas。
But it didn't work that way。 When Jack tried to talk to him…to tell Richard about the time his own father； Phil； had gone into the garage and hadn't e out…Richard refused to listen。 The old secret of what had happened that day in the closet was out （sort of； Richard still clung stubbornly to the idea that it had been a hallucination）； but Richard had still Had Enough； Forever。
The next morning； Jack went downstairs。 He got all of his own things and those things he thought Richard might want…toothbrush； textbooks； notebooks； a fresh change of clothes。 They would spend that day in Albert the Blob's room； he decided。 They could keep an eye on the quad and the gate from up there。 When night fell again； maybe they could get away。
5
Jack hunted through Albert's desk and found a bottle of baby aspirin。 He looked at this for a moment； thinking that these little orange pills said almost as much about the departed Albert's Loving Mom as the carton of licorice whips on the closet shelf。 Jack shook out half a dozen pills。 He gave them to Richard and Richard took them absently。 'e on over here and lie down；' Jack said。
'No；' Richard answered…his tone was cross and restless and terribly unhappy。 He returned to the window。 'I ought to keep a watch。 So a full report can be made to 。 。 。 to 。 。 。 to the trustees。 Later。'
Jack touched Richard's brow lightly。 And although it was cool…almost chilly…he said： 'Your fever's worse； Richard。 Better lie down until that aspirin goes to work。'
'Worse？' Richard looked at him with pathetic gratitude。 'Is it？'
'It is；' Jack said gravely。 'e on and lie down。'
Richard was asleep five minutes after he lay down。 Jack sat in Albert the Blob's easy chair； its seat nearly as sprung as the middle of Albert's mattress。 Richard's pale face glowed waxily in the growing daylight。
6
Somehow the day passed； and around four o'clock； Jack fell asleep。 He awoke to darkness； not knowing how long he had been out。 He only knew there had been no dreams； and for that he was grateful。 Richard was stirring uneasily and Jack guessed he would be up soon。 He stood and stretched； wincing at the stiffness in his back。 He went to the window； looked out； and stood motionless； eyes wide。 His first thought was I don't want Richard to see this。 Not if I can help it。
O God； we've got to get out of here； and just as soon as we can； Jack thought； frightened。 Even if； for whatever reasons； they're afraid to e straight at us。
But was he really going to take Richard out of here？ They didn't think he would do it； he knew that…they were counting on his refusing to expose his friend to any more of this craziness。
Flip； Jack…O。 You've got to flip over； and you know it。 And you've got to take Richard with you because this place is going to hell。
I can't。 Flipping into the Territories would blow Richard's wheels pletely。
Doesn't matter。 You have to do it。 It's the best thing； anyway…maybe the only thing…because they won't be expecting it。
'Jack？' Richard was sitting up。 His face had a strange； naked look without his glasses。 'Jack； is it over？ Was it a dream？'
Jack sat down on the bed and put an arm around Richard's shoulders。 'No；' he said； his voice low and soothing。 'It's not over yet； Richard。'
'I think my fever's worse；' Richard announced； pulling away from Jack。 He drifted over to the window； one of the bows of his glasses pinched delicately between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand。 He put his spectacles on and looked out。 Shapes with glowing eyes roamed back and forth。 He stood there for a long time； and then he did something so un…Richardlike that Jack could barely credit it。 He took his glasses off again and deliberately dropped them。 There was a frigid little crunch as one lens cracked。 Then he stepped deliberately back on them； shattering both lenses to powder。
He picked them up； looked at them； and then tossed them unconcernedly toward Albert the Blob's wastebasket。 He missed by a wide margin。 There was now something softly stubborn in Richard's face； too…something that said I don't want to see any more； so I won't see any more； and I have taken care of the problem。 I have Had Enough； Forever。
'Look at that；' he said in a flat； unsurprised voice。 'I broke my glasses。 I had another pair； but I broke them in gym two weeks ago。 I'm almost blind without them。'
Jack knew this wasn't true； but he was too flabbergasted to say anything。 He could think of absolutely no appropriate response to the radical action Richard had just taken…it had been too much like a calculated last…ditch stand against madness。
'I think my fever's worse too；' Richard said。 'Have you got any more of those aspirin； Jack？'
Jack opened the desk drawer and wordlessly handed Richard the bottle。 Richard swallowed six or eight of them； then lay down again。
7
As the night deepened； Richard； who repeatedly promised to discuss their situation； repeatedly went back on his word。 He couldn't discuss leaving； he said； couldn't discuss any of this； not now； his fever had e back and it felt much； much worse； he thought it might be as high as a hundred and five； possibly a hundred and six。 He said he needed to go back to sleep。
'Richard； for Christ's sake！' Jack roared。 'You're punking out on me！ Of all the things I never expected from you…'
'Don't be silly；' Richard said； falling back onto Albert's bed。 'I'm just sick； Jack。 You can't expect me to talk about all these crazy things when I'm sick。'
'Richard； do you want me to go away and leave you？'
Richard looked back over his shoulder at Jack for a moment； blinking slowly。 'You won't；' he said； and then went back to sleep。
8
Around nine o'clock； the campus entered another of those mysterious quiet periods； and Richard； perhaps sensing that there would be