He lay down dutifully in bed, and was tucked in, wished “pleasant dreams,” and left with the door closed, in the darkness of the most terrifying space his young mind had ever known: his own bedroom. A quick scan of the room confirmed his fears. Here were all of the familiar inanimate horrors, each masquerading with a face and eyes as a living, malevolent creature.

The life-sized punch-nose clown balloon with its insipid smile and its relentless readiness to be beaten down and then pop back up immediately to mock the boy’s puny fists. The saucer-eyed Japanese fish kite, easily a foot longer than the boy was tall, hanging from the ceiling by its huge, gaping mouth. And any number of dressers, toys, and other objects on which the boy’s eyes (in a bizarre twist on the whimsical illustrations of H. A. Rey) could identify still more insidious faces, each one observing his every move.

What could be the point of this surveillance, he wondered silently to himself. What could they want? And who had put them up to it?