Mr. Hoffman, in an overly dramatic fashion, said, “We’re going to leave you here to finish your soup on your own, Conrad. Don’t play with those matches, don’t lean back on your chair, and don’t you dare suck your thumb when our backs are turned!”

They sighed, walked out of the kitchen and closed the door behind them. Conrad was now alone in the kitchen, with only Mary watching through a crack in the closet door. He stared at his thumb for a moment, having never even contemplated sucking it—not since he was first warned about the Scissor-man. His father had a missing thumb to prove it, and Conrad was always careful to avoid getting his thumb anywhere near his mouth, just in case the Scissor-man should make a mistake.

He paused for a moment, thumb outstretched, and looked at Mary again. She nodded to him and smiled. If they were to catch the Scissor-man, this was the only way. After wavering for a few more seconds, Conrad opened his mouth, and in went the thumb. He paused for a few moments then obediently carried out the plan they had rehearsed. He leaned back on his chair, idly struck a match and said petulantly, “I don’t want my soup!”

Jack and Ashley had climbed out of the car and were looking about attentively at the time the thumb went in. There was a distant rumble of thunder, and somewhere a dog barked. Other than that, nothing seemed unusual.

“What does the Great Long Red-Legg’d Scissor-man look like?” asked Ashley.

“Tall, red-legged—carries a huge pair of scissors. Believe me, you’ll know him when you see him.”

Ashley looked down at his own hands. He had three fingers and two opposable thumbs on each hand, and any of them would grow back if lost. The idea of a thumb’s not growing back hadn’t occurred to him until that morning.