So Samuel went to the telephone and began making some calls.

It would not be true to say that Samuel was unpopular at school. There were some boys and girls in his class who looked at him a little oddly, especially when he began talking about angels and pins, but for the most part he got on pretty well with nearly everyone. He was also very happy to spend time by himself, though, and after sharing the same small schoolroom with a bunch of kids his own age for two months, he had been rather enjoying being alone during midterm. His closest friends were Tom Hobbes and Maria Mayer. Tom’s father delivered milk for the local dairy, where his mum also worked, and Maria’s dad worked for the telephone company. Samuel, Tom, and Maria had planned to go trick or treating that evening, and Tom and Maria had been a little surprised to hear from Samuel so early in the day.

When Samuel said he had something important to tell them, they were both intrigued. They agreed to meet outside the pie shop in the town center, and Samuel, with Boswell in tow, was already waiting for Tom and Maria when they arrived together shortly after one P.M. The pie shop was called Pete’s Pies, even though Pete had died many years before and his son Nigel now made all of the pies, but Nigel’s Pies didn’t sound right and, anyway, everyone would have just kept calling it Pete’s Pies even if Nigel had changed the name. People in small towns are funny that way.

There were always tables and chairs outside Pete’s Pies, even in winter, which made it a popular place for people to meet. Pete, and then Nigel, never objected to people taking a seat there. Even if they didn’t come along with the intention of buying a pie, the smell from the pie shop would cause their mouths to water and, usually in less than a minute, they would be inside buying a pie “for later.” About one minute after that they would be eating the pie and considering having another, maybe the apple-and-raspberry, for dessert.

It was one of these same apple-and-raspberry pies that Samuel was eating when Tom and Maria strolled up to his table. Tom was taller than Samuel by a couple of inches, and never really seemed to have bad days. He was always in good spirits, except when the school cricket team, of which he was one of the star batsmen, lost. Tom didn’t mind losing at most things, but he drew the line at cricket. Tom and Samuel only ever argued on the cricket pitch. Samuel was a good bowler, with a strong right arm, but his eyesight was poor, and he had trouble catching balls when fielding. This meant that he was both an asset and a liability on the cricket pitch, and more than one match had ended with him and Tom shouting at each other at the tops of their voices. Still, they remained friends, and Tom was secretly a little in awe of Samuel, whose mind worked in ways that Tom admired, even if he did not understand.

Maria, meanwhile, was smaller than both of them, and had very long hair that she tied in a ponytail each day with one of a selection of bows. She sometimes seemed shy and quiet to those who didn’t know her well, but Samuel knew she was very clever and very funny. She just didn’t like showing off. Maria wanted to be a scientist when she grew up, and was the only person Samuel and Tom knew who did homework for pleasure.

Boswell wagged his tail in greeting at the two new arrivals, then returned his attention to the pie on the table. He knew that Samuel would share some with him eventually. Samuel shared nearly all of his food with Boswell, except chocolate, because that wasn’t good for Boswell and gave him wind, and Boswell could be a smelly dog if he was fed the wrong things.

“All right, then,” said Tom, once he and Maria had bought pies of their own and settled down on their seats. “What’s the big mystery?”

Boswell finished the piece of pie that Samuel had fed to him, licked up the last of the crumbs, and began drooling over Tom’s shoe instead. Tom decided to give him some pie to distract him before Boswell’s spit started to soak through to his socks.

“Well, it’s like this,” said Samuel. “You’re probably going to have trouble believing me, and I’m not sure how I’m going to prove that what I have to say is true. All I’m asking is that you listen to me, because I really need your help.”

He was so serious that Tom stopped eating for a moment and Tom, like Boswell, didn’t like to stop eating without a good reason.

“Wow, that sounds serious,” he said. “Off you go, then. I’m listening.”

He looked at Maria, who nodded. “We both are.”

So Samuel told them everything, right up to the point at which he’d sent off his message to CERN. When he was finished, nobody spoke for a time, then Tom said:

“You’re barmy.”

“Tom!” Maria scolded him.

“No, really. You’re trying to tell us that this Mrs. Abernathy isn’t really Mrs. Abernathy but a thing with tentacles, and that in her basement is a blue hole that somehow is a tunnel to Hell, and tomorrow some gates are going to open in that tunnel and-what? Demons are going to come out?”

“Something like that,” said Samuel calmly.

“You are barmy,” repeated Tom.

Samuel turned to Maria. “And you?” he asked her. “What do you think?”

“It is a little hard to believe,” said Maria gently.

“I’m not lying,” said Samuel. He looked at them both, his face serious. “On my life, I promise you I’m not lying. And-”

He paused.

“What?” said Maria.

“I’m scared,” said Samuel. “I’m really scared.”

And they both believed him when he said it.

“Well,” said Tom. “There’s only one thing for it.”

“What’s that?” asked Maria, but she already knew the answer.

Tom grinned.

“We’ll just have to take a look at the Abernathys’ house.”

Meanwhile, at CERN, the technician who had been monitoring the “Ask an Expert” section of the website approached Professor Hilbert holding a printed message at the bottom of which was a drawing of a blue spiral.

“Professor,” he said, nervously, “this may be nothing, but…”

IT WAS DETERMINED THAT they should leave the visit to the Abernathys’ house until the light had begun to fade, so Samuel and Maria spent the early part of the afternoon helping Tom to practice his batting. When it began to grow dark, they paid a brief visit to Samuel’s house to check his e-mail, but there was no reply to his message from CERN.

“Maybe they’re very busy,” said Tom, “what with their big collider thing being broken.”

“It’s not broken,” said Samuel. “Well, not exactly. They’ve shut it down while they investigate the energy leak.”

“The one that you say has turned up in the Abernathys’ basement,” said Tom. “That’s a long way from Switzerland. They’re not Swiss, are they?”

“No, I don’t think so. Mr. Abernathy didn’t sound Swiss when I spoke to him. Mrs. Abernathy just smells funny.” Then again, Samuel had never, to his knowledge, spoken to a Swiss person. He just suspected that Swiss people didn’t sound like Mr. Abernathy, who spoke with a gruff northern accent, or Mrs. Abernathy, who seemed quite posh.

Maria looked out of Samuel’s bedroom window. “It’s getting dark now,” she said. “Are you sure we should be doing this? It doesn’t seem right, creeping around somebody’s garden in the dark. I mean, what is it that you hope we’ll see?”

Samuel shrugged. “Just… something. Something that will make you believe me.”

“And if we do believe you?” asked Maria. “What then?”

“Well, you’ll know I’m not mad,” said Samuel. “Or a liar.”

Maria smiled fondly. “I know you’d never lie to us, Samuel,” she said.

“Although you might still be mad,” added Tom, but he too was smiling. “Well, come on, then. I have to get home for tea or I’ll catch hell from my mum.” He realized what he had just said. “Catch hell? Get it? See, I’m funny even when I’m not trying to be.”