Suspenseful SciFi Thriller: The Man Who Ended The World
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EnglishVoice Age
Child (5-12)Accents
North American (General) North American (US General American - GenAM)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Henry is walking home from school when he first sees the man who will end the world. There isn't anything special about the man. He is of average height. His hair is brown, his eyes are brown, his posture is stooped, although so slightly one might not notice. Right away, he wears ordinary blue jeans, an ordinary blue T shirt, an ordinary blue windbreaker. His dried is perfectly normal without any hiccups or interruptions. He walks with his hands swinging gently at asides. There is absolutely nothing noteworthy about the man, but Henry shrugs, backpack a little higher on his shoulder and stands with one hand in his pocket. He choose a little on his lip and watches the man for a time. The stranger looks through the window of Miss Peels. Bookshop lingers a moment, then pushes through the creaky old door and goes inside. Henry finds an out of the way spot behind a recycling bin and waits between the slats of the blinds that hang over the shop windows. He can see the man nosing around inside. The man walked slowly up one aisle and down another. He stops and picks up a paper bag, turns it over puts it back. Henry thinks he should know the man whose face is familiar in an unexceptional sort of way. The friends Dad, a substitute teacher. Maybe he's one of the school district's bus drivers. Abruptly, the man heads for the door. Henry can hear Miss Piel call Thank you, but the man doesn't here or doesn't care. Henry squishes himself against the metal. Been as the man passes by. Making himself a small is possible. His inability to place the stranger's face was a minor annoyance at first. But after watching the man for a few minutes, the annoyance has grown into a full fledged got to scratch it itch. So when the man comes to the end of the block and re Hefetz, his backpack slides both arms into its straps and follows. In a town like Bonds Harbor. With fewer than 20,000 residents, Henry thinks it is strange that he cannot figure out what the stranger is. He doesn't know that many people to begin with. The man walks 15 or 20 yards ahead of Henry, who suddenly worries about being detected. He ducks into every doorway on the block and peers around corners and windows at the stranger. Sorry, he whispers when his behavior nearly topples a young woman's baby stroller. Please be careful, she replies, and Henry says the woman to frowns at him. He darts around her, spies a parked Chevy pickup and runs in a conspicuous crouch to hide behind its bumper. He exhales, counts to three, then leans over until he can see past the truck's tailgate. The woman with the stroller has ventured into an intersection. A bonds harbor lightened power truck has stopped to allow it across. People bustle in and out of shops and across the street, the sound of small town life is so most pleasant, the dog barks, then barks again. The stranger, however, has vanished. Henry jumps up, giving away his location, But the man is nowhere in sight. And then, just like that, the stranger reappears, straightening up and smoothing his ordinary blue jeans the way man does. When he's just finished tying issue, Henry drops to his knees and presses himself to the side of the pickup, breathing heavily. He makes a crackling sound with his mouth, he says into his hand, agent almost detected, But subject seems unaware. The stranger resumes his course through town, weaving left to examine store windows bearing right to avoid other pedestrians. He doesn't seem to acknowledge them. Otherwise, there are no nods, and Henry can sort of tell from the man's posture that he's not smiling. Some people you can just tell they're not smiling. He has his subject in motion when the man has walked a reasonable distance ahead, Henry slides to his left, still flattening himself against the truck and, like water, folds over the curves and corners of the truck until he's hunched over beside the passenger fender. This makes him visible to the entire street, and a couple of people watch him amused. But Henry pays no mind, at least until a yellow vulva lumbers by the tires, crackle and seemed to cough gravel. The driver notices Henry and leans on the horn. You shouldn't play in the street, the stern Volvo Grill seems to say. Henry flaps his hands wildly at the driver to shoot him the horn again at danger Danger, Henry snaps up and risks a peek over the roof of the Volvo to see if the stranger is looking his way. The stranger is not. He's just walking farther ahead now, still slightly stooped, still drawing nobody's attention. He hasn't noticed Henry's antics or Henry at all. Some people you can just tell they don't notice things.