All the same, he crouched among the bushes several moments longer. He groped for the sack where he had dropped it when he'd slipped down from the rail. Then he had it, paper crackling beneath his fingers, and he froze. He glanced around to see if any lights came on inside the house, but nothing changed in there, and he was certain he was being foolish. If they hadn't heard him climbing off the rail and landing in the bushes, then they surely wouldn't have heard the noise when he touched his sack of crackers. What had really bothered him, he knew now, were the crickets. They had stopped their squeaking. That was how his mother had explained their noises to him.
Crickets made that sound by squeaking one leg across the other, and they'd stopped as soon as he had landed. In the darkness, every noise seemed extra loud, and now the silence frightened him. Well, if that was how this expedition would turn out, then maybe he should go back in the house. He'd been brave enough when he was planning this. Now that he was outside in the dark, he started getting scared. Maybe he should go back. No, he told himself. He mustered his resolve and straightened, the sack bunched in his hand as he stepped from the bushes.
Where he lived was in the older section of the town- between the business district and the new homes along the outskirts. There were trees and shrubs for cover and a shaded lane that stretched behind the houses. Wary of the streetlights in the front, he crept toward the murky lane, his sneakers soaked with dew from the grass as he reached the lane's rough, dusty gravel. Back in here, away from all the streetlights, it was blacker than he had expected. He moved slowly, working up his nerve. Over to his left, he saw an object huddled by a shed. He froze again and almost turned to run before he realized that it was a garbage can. His eyes adjusted, and he recognized what in the daylight would have been familiar sights, the swing set in the backyard of the house next door, the old well that was filled in and that he sometimes hid behind, the wooden wheelbarrow from the old days that the man in back put flowers in. He took a breath. The moon emerged from clouds, and he started walking again.
The moon made quite a difference, almost full but not exactly, lighting the darkness around him with a pale, silver glow. There were stars out, too, he saw, and he felt better with each step, passing trees and bushes, cars and gardens, sheds, garages, and more garbage cans, all lit dimly by the silver of the moon. He heard an owl; instead of being frightened, he pretended that the owl was cheering him on. The lane came to a side street, where he waited in the bushes until the headlights of a car went past, and when it was safely up the street, he ran across to where the lane continued. He knew this section of the lane about as well as that part down behind his house, looking at the flower garden up ahead, the tree house, and the old-time water trough and hitching post, watching for the dog the people down here kept out on a chain.
The dog was not around, it seemed, although he could see the chain quite clearly, stretched out from the dog house, lying in the grass, reflecting moonlight. No dog barking, nothing coming after him. He held his breath and hurried past it. Then he felt relieved. Maybe they had let the dog in. Maybe they had taken it away. He didn't know, but he was feeling even better as he passed the last few houses on the lane. He had never been out on his own this late before, and with his fear now gone, he felt exactly as he'd thought he would, happy and excited, thrilled to be out doing this. He came to where the lane stopped and the park loomed up before him. There were trees that shut away the moon, a few thin silver streaks that filtered down upon the grass. He didn't mind the darkness, though. This was one place where he always felt at home. He played here often, coming here with his mother nearly every day. Over to his left would be the swing sets, although he couldn't see them. Down there straight ahead would be the swimming pool and tennis courts. And over to his right would be the stream that wound its way through town and then through here to meet up with the lake. There were ducks and fish and turtles in the lake, and sometimes he would walk there with his mother, eating lunch beside it.
That was where he went, not directly toward the lake, but toward the stream that met up with it, toward a bend that they had walked along. They had gone there Wednesday and then yesterday, and each time they had seen it, the little animal that lived down in the reeds beside the stream. He had been the one who'd noticed it first. "Look, there, Mother, at the cat down by the water." She'd gazed where he had pointed, and she'd said that it wasn't a cat. 'The bushy tail and pointed face and mask around the eyes. That's a raccoon." It stood there in the water, staring at them, and then slowly walked up on the bank and disappeared within the reeds. They waited, but it didn't show itself again. It looked so soft he wished that he could touch it. "Better stay away from it," his mother had said. "It might be wild. It likely is." That night they had told his father what they'd seen, and he had nodded. "Sure, there might be coons still living in the city. Look at all the rabbits, moles, and possums. There's no reason why it couldn't. But they hardly come out in the daylight. Chances are nobody else has even seen it." That had been exciting, the only ones who'd ever seen it. Warren had thought about it all night, and the next day he had made his mother take him there again.
And he had seen it again. It was standing high up on the bank this time and staring at them like before, its head cocked, sitting on one hip. It had stayed there quite a while. Then it had crawled back into the reeds. His mother said there was a hole in there. That was why they always found it in this place. And Warren was even more excited, thinking he had come upon a secret. But today when he had walked there with his mother, it was gone. It hadn't shown itself at least, and he'd been disappointed. He remembered what his father had said, that raccoons didn't like the daylight, and he guessed that, if he'd ever have a chance to touch it, he would have to go at night. Even if he saw it in the day again, he knew that his mother would never let him touch it. So he'd have to wait until dark and go there on his own.
At first, the thought was scary. After all, he'd never gone out by himself like that, and what was more, he knew his parents would be angry. But the thought kept working on him. He remembered what the raccoon looked like, how he'd wanted to reach down and touch it. He remembered how he'd often been tempted to sneak out when things were dark and learn what happened in the night.
Soon the thought quit being scary. He would go on his adventure and one day announce, "Mother, by the way, do you remember that raccoon we saw? Well, one night I went down and touched it." She would look at him, and he would smile, and then she'd know that he was bigger than she thought.
Maybe he would even catch it. That was what really made him go ahead with this. To catch it, bring it home, and train it as a pet. Then his Mom and Dad would surely know how big he was. But even as he thought of that, he knew that he was wrong. His parents wouldn't let him keep it. They would just be mad at him. The thing to do was catch it and then let it go. Later when he'd grown a bit, he'd tell them what he did, and they'd be proud. For now, though, he would only hold it and then let it go. That would be almost the same as having it for a pet. Plus, he'd be out on his own at night, and thinking of that prospect, he was so excited that he started making preparations. All through supper, he'd been half-scared, half-eager, his heartbeat so loud he couldn't believe that his parents didn't hear it. After eating, he had tried to play a game of catch with his father, but he kept dropping almost every pitch his father threw him, fearful that his father would ask him why he was so nervous. He had fidgeted through several shows on television. Then at last the sun had gone down. His mother took him in to bed.