Prologue
The town of Yata-Bohe lay at a safe distance from Etton Creek. So whenever something happened over there, beyond the river, hundreds of kilometers away, the residents of Yata-Bohe would sigh with relief: “Not here,” they thought, “Thank the gods, not here!”
For a while, that was exactly how things were. Just another ordinary day, calm weather, and the date on the calendar read September 13. Along the alleys of the town park, where couples strolled lazily hand in hand, the air was filled with the scents of popcorn and cotton candy.
At exactly five o’clock in the evening, when the blindingly bright sun had no intention of dipping below the horizon, a petite, fair-haired girl in a checkered shirt and a peculiar wraparound skirt tumbled down the stone steps at the park’s main entrance. She dashed off, nearly knocking over an elderly man selling heart-shaped and Minnie Mouse balloons. They stuck out from his cart on white plastic sticks, pointing in all directions as if indicating the way.
“Hey!” he shouted, stepping back in surprise. But the fair-haired girl didn’t turn around.
Had the old man known what was about to happen, he might have stopped the poor thing. Instead, he just shook his head, muttering every unkind thought he could muster about “those young devils.”
If only he had held her back, Yata-Bohe might have remained the untouched and unspoiled town it had always been—a place where things always happened there, in Etton Creek.
“Not here.”
