The rocket glided silently down toward the surface of the Moon, the gray, cratered landscape growing larger and more detailed with every passing second. Tommy and Sarah pressed their faces against the windows, their hearts pounding in their chests. Neither had imagined that the Moon would look quite like this—so close, so real. The familiar black-and-white images from schoolbooks and TV were nothing compared to the vast, otherworldly view unfolding before them.
Then, with a gentle shudder, the rocket touched down. The ground was smooth and silvery, as though the craters had been polished to a gleaming finish. A moment of eerie quiet passed before the hatch slid open with a soft hiss, revealing the strange new world they were about to enter.
They stepped out onto a narrow ramp that led down to the surface of the Moon. But what lay before them wasn’t the cold, barren wasteland they expected. Instead, a large, sprawling city stood illuminated beneath a canopy of stars. The structure was like nothing they’d ever seen—more like a wonderland than a metropolis, a series of colorful, bubble-like domes connected by winding, translucent tubes that seemed to float above the lunar soil. Some domes glowed with soft pastel lights—pinks, purples, and blues—while others had giant windows that looked out onto the stars, offering breathtaking views of distant galaxies.
The entrance to the city was shaped like a giant, stylized "M," its arches resembling two arching rocket fins. Beneath it, ribbons and streamers floated in the low gravity, swaying gently as if every day were a cosmic celebration. The air buzzed with excitement, as though the very essence of the Moon was alive with joy.
But the most amazing thing was the docking station itself. Instead of the sterile metal platforms they’d seen in science fiction, this docking station was more like a carnival ride. There were balloon-like structures tied to the ground, their surfaces reflecting the moon’s light like mirror balls. Bright, colorful steps led from the rocket to the station, and strange plants—tall, spiraled stems with glowing orbs on top—lined the path, gently pulsing with light.
As they stepped off the ramp, they were greeted by something even more fantastical. Emerging from one of the translucent tubes was a creature unlike any they had ever imagined. The alien was small and round, covered in thick, bright green fur that shimmered as it moved. It walked on two stubby legs, but its most striking feature was its three eyes, which blinked at them in unison from above a wide, friendly grin. The eyes—one on top of its head and two where they should have been—twinkled like stars, and its round body bobbed up and down as it shuffled toward them.
"Greetings, Earthlings! Welcome to the Moon!" it spoke. Its voice was high-pitched and friendly, like the soft jingling of bells carried on a gentle breeze. "I’m Snizzy, your guide, here to lead you through this lunar wonderland!"
Tommy and Sarah stared at Snizzy, speechless for a moment, their minds trying to process what they were seeing. Sarah tugged at Tommy’s sleeve, a nervous smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"It's....it's real," Sarah whispered.
- Snizzy wobbled excitedly, clapping its tiny hands together. “Oh yes! It’s all very real! And my boss is expecting you both. Come, come!” It gestured toward a glowing tube that spiraled up into one of the larger domes. “We’ve got cake waiting!”
They followed Snizzy into the translucent tube, and as they stepped inside, the walls around them shimmered with bursts of color. They felt weightless for a moment, almost floating as the tube carried them up and into the heart of the lunar city. The inside was just as whimsical as the outside. Rooms were filled with bright, swirling colors and confetti that seemed to hang in the air like suspended joy. Laughter echoed from distant halls, and every so often, they passed by a window that showed views of the stars, brighter and closer than they’d ever seen.
At last, the tube deposited them in a grand hall—a wide, open space filled with large, oversized chairs that looked like they were made of marshmallows. In the center of the room sat a long, low table, piled high with plates of cake, bowls of ice cream, and bottles of soda pop, all bubbling and fizzing in the low gravity.
And there, lounging happily at the head of this magnificent spread, lounging with all the comfort of a king at his feast, was an extraordinary character.
To call him merely an alien would have been to undersell him. His round, green face beamed with joy, and from beneath his shining purple and pink space helmet, shocks of bright red hair sprang out in all directions, like tufts of fire against the soft glow of the room. The helmet was adorned with two antennae, which bobbed and wobbled with every movement he made, as if they had a life of their own. His purple and pink spacesuit glittered under the city’s ambient light, and he sat there, spoon in hand, digging into a bowl of ice cream with the unrestrained glee of someone who had never heard the word "enough." Beside him, a plate of half-eaten chocolate cake and an effervescent bottle of soda suggested that every meal was a celebration.
"His eyes—large, bright, and full of mischief—sparkled as he turned his attention to the children who had just entered his domain. 'Well, well!' he said jovially. 'If it isn't my guests of honor! Tommy! Sarah! I've been expecting you both. Welcome to the best place in the whole galaxy—the one and only Cosmic Carnival!'"
He waved his spoon with a flourish, sending tiny specks of ice cream flying through the air in the Moon’s low gravity. His laughter echoed warmly through the room, bouncing off the walls and floating toward them like an invitation to join in the fun.
"The children stood frozen for a moment, taking in the sight of him. Sarah glanced at the table—at the cake, the soda, the endless bounty of treats that seemed too good to be true. Tommy’s eyes were locked on the figure himself, a character unlike any they had ever seen, yet somehow... welcoming.
Tommy and Sarah stood there, wide-eyed and curious. 'Who are you?' Tommy stammered.
The jolly figure let out a deep, rolling laugh, his whole body shaking with the force of it. "I'm Mr. McLune, your host and guide to this fantastic adventure! And you—” he pointed his spoon at them, “—are exactly who I was hoping to see! Come, come, sit, sit! Have some cake! Ice cream! Soda! Whatever you like!”
Snizzy bounced over to a large, marshmallow-like chair and patted it, motioning for them to sit. Hesitantly, the children sat down, the soft chair sinking beneath them as though they were sitting on clouds.
Sarah was still wide-eyed. This seemed too perfect, too...magical. "Why us?"
Mr. McLune’s grin softened slightly, though his eyes still twinkled. He set down his spoon and leaned forward, resting his chin in his hands. “Ah, you see, I have a way of knowing when certain children—special children—are in need of a little... celebration.” He winked, and the helmet on his head tilted playfully, antennas jiggling. “And you two? Well, you’ve had it rough, haven’t you? A little too much rain and not enough sun, I’d say. But here?” He spread his arms wide, his grin returning to full strength. “Here, it’s always sunny. Always a party. No yelling, no arguments, no worries at all.”
Tommy shifted uncomfortably in his chair, still trying to wrap his mind around what was happening. “But... the Moon... How is all of this here?” he asked, looking around the room, his voice small but filled with awe.
Mr. McLune waved his hand dismissively, as though the laws of physics were a minor inconvenience. “Oh, pish-posh! We don’t worry about the how here, Tommy. Only the 'what.' And the 'what' is... fun. Ice cream, cake, and more adventure than you could ever imagine.”
Sarah looked down at the cake on the table, then up at Mr. McLune. “Are we... are we staying here?”
Mr. McLune chuckled again, a deep, rolling sound that filled the room. “Well, that’s up to you, of course. No pressure, no rush. But once you’ve had a taste of this moonbase—well, let's just say some choices have a way of making themselves."
He winked again and took another bite of ice cream, watching with delight as the children stared around the room in awe.
Mr. McLune paused mid-bite, the spoon of ice cream hovering just inches from his mouth, his eyes suddenly lighting up with a burst of inspiration. A grin, wide and playful, stretched across his green face, as if he'd just stumbled upon the most delightful idea in the cosmos.
"You know what we need?" he said, eyes twinkling with excitement. "A birthday party!"
Sarah and Tommy exchanged puzzled looks. "But... it's not our birthday," Sarah said, her voice cautious but curious.
Mr. McLune waved a hand, as if dismissing such trivialities with a flick of his wrist. "Oh, of course not!" he chuckled. "Not on Earth, anyway. But here? On the Moon, well... it's always your birthday when you want it to be!" His voice sparkled with enthusiasm as if he'd revealed a secret too good to be kept. "That’s one of the perks of being in my little corner of the universe! You say the word, and—poof!—it’s your special day. Balloons, cake, presents—the works! And guess what? Your friends are already waiting!"
Tommy's eyes widened. "But how could they be waiting if they didn’t even know we were coming?"
Mr. McLune winked mischievously, taking another spoonful of his ice cream. "Let’s just say," he began, his voice dropping to a playful whisper, "on the Moon, things tend to happen a bit... ahead of schedule. No need to worry about the how. I’ve got friends in very fun places, and let's face it, time’s a little more bendable up here. Besides—" his voice brightened as he gestured grandly to the vast lunar expanse outside the window, “there’s always a reason to celebrate when you're with me!”
The children were uncertain, caught between awe and confusion. A birthday that wasn’t theirs, yet somehow it was? Only Mr. McLune could make something so fantastical seem like the most natural thing in the world.
"Just imagine!" Mr. McLune exclaimed, sliding his plate of cake to the side as he stood, his vibrant space helmet with its tiny antennae bouncing slightly. "Every single day, bursting with fun, laughter, and surprises! No gray skies, no dreary rain... just endless blue and the warm glow of birthday candles!" Mr. McLune’s grin widened as he gestured grandly, the true promise of his lunar home masked beneath the excitement in his voice.
He extended his hand toward the children, his smile as wide as the crescent moon. “So, what do you say? Shall we go to the party?”
Tommy and Sarah looked at one another, their skepticism fading under the sheer force of Mr. McLune’s enthusiasm. After all, who wouldn’t want an endless birthday party?
But just as Tommy reached for Mr. McLune’s hand, a thought nagged at the back of Sarah’s mind. “But... what if we want to go home afterward? Will we be able to leave?”
Mr. McLune paused for a moment, his whimsical grin softening just slightly. He crouched down to their level, his voice still warm but with a new layer of sincerity. “For now, let’s not worry about that,” he said gently. “Let’s just enjoy the fun while it lasts.”
With that, he stood again, his jovial nature returning in full. “Now, come along! I do believe there’s a mountain of cake waiting for you two!” He spun on his heels and marched toward the door with a spring in his step, the children cautiously following behind.
The Randall children stepped cautiously through the door Mr. McLune had cheerfully held open, and what awaited them on the other side was nothing short of a birthday dream brought to life. Balloons of every size and color floated lazily in the low gravity, as if the Moon itself had conspired to make everything more buoyant and carefree. Children darted around, blowing noisemakers and tossing confetti into the air, their laughter filling the strange, silvery atmosphere. And true to Mr. McLune's promise, there it stood: an impossibly huge birthday cake, towering in the center of it all, candles flickering despite the absence of any wind to blow them out.
But it wasn’t the cake, nor the decorations, that held Tommy and Sarah’s attention. It was the other children. Some were like them, Earth-bound kids with wide eyes and toothy smiles. But others—others were different. Very different.
A girl with skin the color of deep violet, her large almond-shaped eyes glowing faintly as she tossed a ball to a nearby boy, whose legs seemed to bend in entirely the wrong direction. Another child—was it a child?—floated gently off the ground, arms outstretched like a balloon caught in an unseen breeze. His body was translucent, and within him, tiny pinpricks of light moved like stars trapped in a jar. There was a boy with silvery scales instead of skin, the surface of his body reflecting the light in shifting, shimmering patterns, and next to him, a young girl with wings—actual wings—tucked neatly behind her, as delicate as the petals of a flower.
Near the edge of the group stood children who seemed plucked from the pages of history. A boy with wild, tangled hair wore a fur cloak fastened with a sharpened bone, his bare feet tapping nervously on the smooth lunar floor. Beside him, a girl clad in a toga of white linen braided her long, dark hair, the faint scent of olive oil clinging to her. Not far away, a young knight in gleaming chainmail leaned awkwardly against a table, his gauntleted hands clutching a wooden goblet. And there, perched cross-legged on the floor, was a child in a faded newsboy cap, his suspenders askew, absently flipping a coin as though the Moon were just another dusty street corner.
These weren’t just children from different towns, different countries, or even different planets. These were children from worlds and times that Tommy and Sarah had never even imagined. And all of them, every last one, wore brightly colored party hats, some perched on heads not quite the right shape for them. They grinned and waved at the Randall kids, as if welcoming them into this strange new party, as if the boundaries of species, of worlds, of anything, had melted away here on Mr. McLune’s Moon.
As they walked further into the surreal scene, their eyes were drawn upward to the trees—though “trees” might not have been the right word. These trees, twisted and gnarled, had glowing bark and leaves that shimmered like diamonds. From the branches, Earth animals—chipmunks, squirrels, and birds—chattered and fluttered about, wearing miniature party hats of their own. They seemed just as caught up in the celebration as the children below.
But it wasn’t just Earthly creatures populating the branches. Strange animals Tommy and Sarah couldn’t name but could only describe lingered in the trees. A creature with fur that rippled like water and three enormous, blinking eyes watched them curiously. Something that resembled a giant caterpillar—but with wings—buzzed past, its wings humming like tiny engines. From a nearby tree, what looked like a bird of paradise swooped down, only to reveal that it had four legs and a snake’s tail. It chirped in rhythm with the noisemakers, as if it too had a reason to celebrate.
Sarah blinked. “Are... are they all celebrating our birthday?”
Mr. McLune appeared at their side, arms wide as if he had orchestrated the whole affair himself. “Why of course they are!” he exclaimed, his smile as bright as the party itself. “It’s your special day, after all. Didn’t I tell you? Here on the Moon, every day can be your birthday! And not just yours—everyone’s! It’s a never-ending party up here.” He winked, those little shocks of red hair sticking out from beneath his space helmet, antennae bouncing with every gesture. “And trust me, the fun never runs out. Cake, balloons, adventure—it’s all here, and it’s all yours.”
Tommy took a hesitant step forward. “But... we haven’t even decided if we’re staying yet.”
Mr. McLune gave an exaggerated sigh, a playful expression crossing his green face. “Ah, the burden of choices!” he said with a twirl of his hand. “Such a heavy thing for young minds. But don’t you worry—here, you don’t have to choose right away. Take your time, enjoy yourselves. The Moon’s not going anywhere, and neither am I. Not as long as there’s cake to eat!” He punctuated his statement by plopping a large spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.
The Randall children looked around. Everything seemed so perfect, so joyous, so completely detached from the troubles waiting for them back home. But there was something in Mr. McLune’s words, a softness behind the whimsy, that hinted at the gravity of their situation. They were at a crossroads, and even in the midst of this cosmic celebration, some part of them knew that this place—this Moon of endless birthdays—was not without its price.
Mr. McLune tilted his head, noticing their hesitation. He smiled, kinder this time, and placed a hand on each of their shoulders. “I’ll let you in on a little secret,” he said, lowering his voice just slightly, enough to make it feel like a private moment between the three of them. “Sometimes, the hardest part of life isn’t knowing what’s right or wrong—it’s knowing when to let go. You’re safe here, with me. No more tears, no more fears. Just endless days of fun.”
He winked again, turning his attention back to the cake. “And remember,” he said with a playful twinkle in his eye, “the Moon has a way of keeping things just as they should be."
The party swirled on around them, a blur of balloons, cake, and laughter, but for Tommy and Sarah, something unspoken lingered in the air. A feeling, a question they couldn’t quite name. What did Mr. McLune see in their faces that made him smile just a little too knowingly?
And somewhere, far away, the echoes of an argument—the sound of their parents’ voices—seemed so distant now, like a forgotten world, fading into the void.
Mr. McLune, ever the picture of cheer and warmth, pivoted gracefully from Tommy and Sarah, his eyes catching on a little girl seated to Sarah’s right. She was perched on a small moon rock that seemed to mold itself to her shape, like the Moon itself was trying to make her more comfortable. Her party hat sat askew atop her head, its festive design a stark contrast to the look on her face—a mix of fear, confusion, and something else Sarah couldn’t quite place.
She was a peculiar sight, this girl. Her dress, stiff and prim, was adorned with lace and ribbons, its old-fashioned cut reminding Sarah of something out of an old photograph. She wore black shoes with large silver buckles, her white socks pulled high to her knees. Even her hair was pinned up in tight curls, the kind Sarah had only seen in pictures of girls from long ago. And yet, here she was, sitting at Mr. McLune’s party like the rest of them, though there was an unmistakable air of displacement about her, like she didn’t quite belong.
Mr. McLune’s jovial expression softened as he approached her, bending down slightly so he could meet her eye to eye. “Well now, Veruca, how are we doing today?” His voice was as sweet as the cake on the table, his antennaed helmet bouncing slightly as he tilted his head.
Veruca looked up at him, wide-eyed. For a moment, Sarah thought the girl might not answer at all, might shrink away from Mr. McLune’s cheery presence. But instead, Veruca shifted in her seat, her fingers fidgeting nervously with the hem of her dress. There was something fragile in her expression, something that made Sarah feel uneasy, as though this girl were standing on the edge of an invisible cliff.
“Mr. McLune,” Veruca began hesitantly, her voice almost a whisper. “Am I... being a brat?”
The question hung in the air, strange and unexpected, as if it didn’t belong in the middle of such a lively, colorful party. Sarah blinked, momentarily thrown off by the girl's directness. What kind of child would ask that at a time like this? But then, she realized, Veruca's tone wasn’t just confused—it was worried. Almost... fearful.
Mr. McLune’s eyes crinkled at the edges, his smile widening as he took her tiny, trembling hand in his own. “Now what makes you say something like that, Veruca? Why, you’ve been having a grand old time! Isn’t that right?”
Veruca bit her lip, her large, watery eyes searching his face as if she were trying to find some hidden truth in his words. She looked down at her shoes, the stiff curls of her hair bouncing slightly with the movement. “It’s just...” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard. “I feel like you... don’t want to be around me anymore. Because I’ve been bad. I keep doing things wrong. I keep acting like... like a brat.”
Sarah felt a shiver run down her spine. The way Veruca spoke, the way her voice wavered between guilt and desperation—it wasn’t normal. It was like she carried the weight of a hundred scoldings on her tiny shoulders, as if she had learned to believe she was unworthy of kindness, simply for being... difficult. But what struck Sarah most was the deep sense of time that seemed to cling to Veruca. She wasn’t just any child—she was a child out of step with this moment, a girl from another era where expectations, punishments, and perceptions of right and wrong were different, harsher.
Mr. McLune’s smile never faltered. He knelt down beside Veruca, his antennae brushing gently against her curls as he leaned in close, his voice a soothing balm. “Oh, Veruca, let me tell you something very important,” he said, his tone gentle but firm, as if he were speaking a universal truth. “Being a brat doesn’t mean I won’t be here for you. It doesn’t mean I’ll ever stop caring about you. Every kid—every single one—has their days. Some days, you’ll laugh and play, and some days, maybe you’ll get upset. Maybe you’ll feel out of place, like you’re doing everything wrong. But here, on the Moon, none of all that matters.”
Veruca blinked up at him, her eyes wide with a cautious hope. “It... doesn’t?”
Mr. McLune shook his head slowly, the light of the party twinkling in his big, playful eyes. “Not one bit. You see, Veruca, this place is special. It’s a place where you can be yourself—whether that self is a little bratty or a little sad or anything in between. I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. Not unless you want to.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Even if you’re misbehaving, you still belong here. You’re still part of the fun.”
Veruca sniffled, her lip trembling as she looked into Mr. McLune’s face, searching for some sign of rejection that she didn’t find. Slowly, the tension in her body eased, and she gave him a tiny nod, though the worry didn’t completely vanish from her face.
“Okay,” she whispered, her voice fragile but no longer broken. “Thank you, Mr. McLune.”
“Anytime, dear,” Mr. McLune replied, standing up straight once more and giving her a wink. “Now, how about we find you a nice big piece of cake, eh? That should do the trick.”
As Veruca managed a small, hesitant smile, Sarah watched her intently. There was something... off. Something Sarah couldn’t quite shake about the girl’s presence here. Her dress, her words, even her fears—they all felt like they belonged to a time that no longer existed. A time where children weren’t just scolded—they were shaped, molded, and sometimes broken by the harsh hands of the adults around them. And yet here, in Mr. McLune’s world, Veruca had found something she clearly hadn’t found anywhere else. Acceptance. A place where she could be a child, even if she wasn’t perfect.
Sarah’s eyes drifted over the other children, over the balloons and the cake and the alien creatures frolicking in the strange party atmosphere. It was all so wonderful, so carefree. But as she looked at Veruca, she couldn’t help but wonder—was this really the kind of escape they were looking for?
The festive atmosphere around them hummed with excitement—balloons bobbing in the air, otherworldly creatures cavorting in the trees, and children, both human and alien, darting about in bursts of joy. Yet, despite the swirl of color and noise, there was a shadow at the table. It wasn’t the balloons or the strange alien flora, nor was it the children’s laughter that caught Sarah’s attention. It was the boy sitting quietly at Mr. McLune’s left, wearing a strange, fawn-colored uniform.
His presence was unnerving. Something about him felt wrong—like a puzzle piece that didn’t belong in this bright, cheerful scene. He was older than the other children, probably ten or eleven, with a sharp, angular face and cold blue eyes. His blonde hair was cropped close to his head, and though he sat still, there was a rigidity to him, as though he were standing at attention even while seated. He glanced around the table with a measured skepticism, as if searching for something to disapprove of.
And then, there was the uniform.
Tommy tugged at Sarah’s sleeve, whispering, “Do you see that? He’s... He looks like something we saw in history class.”
Sarah swallowed hard. She’d noticed too. The fawn-colored uniform. The strange, severe cut of the jacket. The insignia on the collar, though small, looked eerily familiar. Her school lessons flashed in her mind—photographs in black and white of soldiers, marching in unison, flags draped in sinister symbols. It couldn’t be, she thought, not here. But the uniform spoke volumes. This boy, Fritz, came from a time and place far darker than anything Sarah had ever known.
Mr. McLune turned his attention to Fritz, his ever-present smile softening the edges of the tension that clung to the boy like a shroud. “And how are you doing, Fritz?” Mr. McLune’s voice was gentle, almost like he was speaking to a much younger child.
Fritz blinked, his ice-blue eyes locking on Mr. McLune with an unsettling intensity. His posture didn’t soften, though; if anything, it became even more rigid. “I am fine,” Fritz said in a clipped, precise German accent. His voice was sharp and cold, a far cry from the joyous shouts of the other children. “But I don’t understand why you are always so... happy.”
Tommy and Sarah exchanged a glance. This was a question neither of them would have dared ask. Mr. McLune, who floated through his whimsical world like a child himself, always cheerful, always beaming, had never seemed to invite that sort of scrutiny. But Fritz didn’t seem to care about the rules of this strange place. He was scrutinizing Mr. McLune, with the same cold, calculating eyes that Sarah imagined might have been used to judge soldiers in a grim world far away from here.
Mr. McLune chuckled softly, but there was something different about it this time. The lightness of the sound seemed to bounce off Fritz’s cold exterior without effect. He reached for his bottle of soda pop, taking a slow, deliberate sip before setting it down beside his cake. His jovial demeanor didn’t falter, though Sarah noticed that his eyes lingered on Fritz for a beat longer than usual, as if he were reading the boy, trying to understand something buried deep inside him.
“Ah, Fritz,” Mr. McLune began, leaning slightly closer, his smile soft but unwavering. “I’m happy because it’s my job to be happy. To spread joy. To make sure every child who finds their way here has a place where they can smile, laugh, and feel safe. That’s what I believe in—happiness. It’s what every child deserves, no matter where they come from, or what they’ve been told.”
Fritz’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Sarah could see his jaw tighten. “But not all children deserve happiness,” he muttered darkly, his voice barely above a whisper, as though the words were meant only for himself. “Some... some children are bad. Some are not worth saving.”
A cold shiver ran down Sarah’s spine at those words, the echoes of something far darker than Mr. McLune’s Moon base creeping into her mind. She glanced at Tommy, who was watching Fritz with wide eyes, his face pale.
Mr. McLune didn’t flinch. He remained as calm and cheerful as ever, though there was a softness, a tenderness to his voice now that hadn’t been there before. “That’s where you’re wrong, Fritz,” he said gently. “Every child deserves kindness. Every single one. It doesn’t matter if you’ve made mistakes or been told things that made you feel... small. What matters is that you know you’re cared for. That there’s always a second chance.”
Fritz looked down, his fingers clenching the edge of the table. For a moment, Sarah thought she saw something shift in his face, a crack in the coldness. But it was gone just as quickly, and he looked back up at Mr. McLune with the same steely gaze.
“Why do you care so much?” Fritz asked, his voice softer now, almost unsure. There was no challenge left in his words, only curiosity. “Why do you care about kids like me?”
Mr. McLune’s smile grew wider, but it wasn’t the broad, playful grin he usually wore. It was softer, kinder. “Because, Fritz, I know that deep down, every child is worth caring about. Even the ones who think they don’t deserve it.” He leaned back in his chair, his party hat bobbing ever so slightly. “And besides, this is the Moon! Here, we don’t worry about who deserves what. We just have fun.”
Fritz didn’t say anything for a long moment. He stared at Mr. McLune, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, as though he were acknowledging something to himself.
Sarah and Tommy exchanged another glance, unsure of what they had just witnessed. There was something deeply unsettling about Fritz—about the way he carried himself, the way he spoke, the way his presence seemed to cast a shadow over the party. But somehow, Mr. McLune’s warmth had reached him, even if only for a moment.
Mr. McLune turned back to Sarah and Tommy, his bright, jovial energy returning in full force. “Now then!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “How about we all dig into that cake, eh? It’s not every day we get to celebrate such a special occasion!”
The children cheered, the tension in the air lifting as quickly as it had come. But Sarah couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more going on beneath the surface of this whimsical world.
Amidst the laughter, the noisemakers, and the gentle hum of party chatter, a sob broke through the bubble of joy. It was small at first, almost lost beneath the din, but it grew steadily louder, a lonely cry cutting through the moonbase's celebratory atmosphere.
Sarah turned toward the sound, her eyes widening as she caught sight of the source—a child sitting off to the side, far from the large, inviting birthday cake and the brightly colored balloons. The boy was humanoid, but clearly not from Earth. His skin was a soft, bluish-gray, and ridges lined his forehead in symmetrical patterns, glowing faintly with an odd luminescence. His large, wet eyes, a deep violet color, shimmered with tears. Though he seemed around their age, perhaps a little younger, his face was a mask of sadness, his chest shaking with every sob.
Mr. McLune noticed, too. He always did. His cheerful face softened instantly as he pushed back his chair and floated over to the boy with a gentle swiftness that made him seem more like a dream than anything real. In moments, he was crouched beside the alien child, his arm draped lightly around his small, trembling shoulders.
"Hey now," Mr. McLune began, his voice a soft melody of warmth and reassurance, "what’s this? Tears at a birthday party? That just won’t do."
The alien boy didn’t look up at first. His hands were clenched tightly in his lap, and his voice came out in shaky bursts. “D-don’t walk away… please… d-don’t leave me alone. Not on my birthday,” he stammered between sobs. His accent was strange, a mix of high-pitched notes and low, guttural sounds, but the words came through clear enough. “You're going to leave me too, j-just like everyone else did."
Sarah’s heart twinged as she watched the boy’s pitiful face, streaked with tears. Tommy leaned in close to her and whispered, "Where do you think he’s from?"
"I don’t know," Sarah whispered back. "I’ve never seen anyone like him before."
They watched, wide-eyed, as Mr. McLune knelt before the alien child, his voice a soft balm for the boy’s bruised heart. “Oh now, what’s all this talk about leaving?” Mr. McLune’s eyes twinkled, his smile never wavering. “I don’t walk away from children. Not ever. No matter how mean they might be, no matter how big their tantrums are, or even if they’ve been rude to me. I’ll always be here, bringing wishes and joy. That’s my promise.”
The boy sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. His ridges pulsed a little brighter, and he peeked up at Mr. McLune, his violet eyes still shimmering. "R-really?" he asked, his voice hopeful but unsure.
"Really, really!" Mr. McLune said, beaming. He reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a small, glowing star—a brilliant, golden thing that shimmered in the alien boy's hand like a warm, comforting light. “And look at this! A little birthday star, just for you. Every time you feel sad, just hold it close and remember that you're never alone. I’m right here with you, always.”
The boy’s eyes widened at the sight of the glowing star, his fingers closing around it gently as if it were the most precious thing in the universe. The tears slowed, replaced by a small, shy smile creeping across his face. The ridges on his forehead glowed brighter now, pulsing with a faint, gentle light.
Sarah and Tommy watched, caught between awe and curiosity. The boy’s alien features, the ridges on his forehead, the glowing eyes—he was so different from anyone they had ever seen. What planet could he possibly be from? What kind of life had he lived before he ended up here, in Mr. McLune’s whimsical moonbase?
Tommy leaned closer to Sarah. “Do you think he’s… like us? I mean, from a world with parents and birthdays?”
“I don’t know…” Sarah said slowly, her eyes still fixed on the boy. “But it’s like he’s just as scared as we were when we first got here.”
“Yeah,” Tommy nodded, thoughtful now. “But Mr. McLune… he makes everyone feel better, doesn’t he?”
Before Sarah could answer, Mr. McLune stood back up, still smiling as the alien boy clutched his little glowing star. He ruffled the boy’s strange, blue hair and gave him a wink. “Now, how about you come join the rest of us, hmm? The cake is waiting, and it’s not every day you get to celebrate a birthday on the Moon!”
The boy nodded, his smile growing a little wider as he wiped away the last of his tears. Slowly, he stood up and followed Mr. McLune back toward the group, his star glowing softly in his hand.
Mr. McLune turned back to the crowd, his voice booming with playful enthusiasm. “Alright, everybody! Back to the party! After all, there’s no time to waste when you’re having fun!”
The children cheered, the atmosphere returning to its light, joyful tone, but Sarah and Tommy still felt the weight of what they had just witnessed. There was something deeper going on beneath the surface of this strange, happy world. Behind every smile, every piece of cake, there were stories—some happy, some sad, some darker than they could imagine. And somehow, Mr. McLune knew all of them. He knew how to make each child feel seen, understood, cared for.
But even in this paradise of endless birthdays, Sarah couldn’t help but feel the faintest hint of an unspoken truth, hovering just out of reach.317Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8N01AwOkL3
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The wonders of Mr. McLune’s lunar world unfolded before Tommy and Sarah like pages from a dream they never wanted to end. Everywhere they turned, the impossible had become reality. Characters from Saturday morning cartoons—those familiar faces they'd only seen flicker across a black-and-white screen—now danced and laughed among the children, their antics as vivid and alive as the Moon itself.
With a flick of his wrist, Mr. McLune handed each of them a shimmering levitation belt, their strange, silvery buckles humming with energy. The moment they fastened it on, they were weightless, zooming across the Moon's surface with giddy abandon, soaring over craters, dipping between the colorful domes of the Moonbase, gravity forgotten.
Then came the tour of the stars. Mr. McLune, ever the cheerful guide, led them on a whirlwind journey, hopping from planet to planet like steppingstones. They watched the rings of Saturn shimmer with icy brilliance and waved to the mysterious, red-eyed inhabitants of Jupiter, all while Mr. McLune’s laughter echoed in the cosmos.
At the end of their journey, he introduced them to his friends—Mr. McMars, a jolly fellow with a bright orange face and a booming laugh, and Ms. Venus, whose gown shimmered like the morning star, her voice as soft as a lullaby. "These are my best pals in the galaxy," Mr. McLune said with a wink. "They throw the best parties this side of the solar system."
But none of it compared to the toy room. Deep in the Moon’s core, Mr. McLune led them to an impossibly vast chamber, filled floor to ceiling with every toy a child could imagine—trains, dolls, robots, and rocket ships—all alive with magic. It was a world of play, where wishes became real, and every corner held the promise of a new adventure.
As Tommy and Sarah returned to the party, their hearts still racing from the wonders they’d seen, a sudden chill crept into the air. The sound of laughter, balloons bouncing in the gentle lunar breeze, and cartoon characters dancing seemed to fade as an unmistakable voice—angry, loud, and too familiar—pierced the moonlit fantasy.
It was their father, Frank Randall. His voice, clear and sharp, echoed across the Moon’s surface, as though the distance between their two worlds had collapsed. "Where's my beer?" he barked, the slam of the front door reverberating like a distant thunderclap. "This whole country's goin' to hell. My boss doesn't know a thing, but guess who pays for it? Me! And where the hell are those kids? “
Tommy froze. The joy, the sense of safety, evaporated in an instant. He looked at Sarah, who stood trembling beside him, her wide eyes reflecting the same fear he felt. The voice of their mother, Sue, followed, quieter but strained with tension. “Frank, calm down. Please. Just calm down for once…”
But Frank wasn’t listening. His voice grew louder, angrier, cutting through the magic like a knife. “I said where’s my beer, Sue?! And where the hell are Tommy and Sarah?”
The sounds of the Moon—the soft music, the laughter, the distant shimmer of the stars—were swallowed by the dark reality of their father’s fury. Tommy’s hands clenched into fists, his heart pounding in his chest. The Moon had felt like a refuge, a dream, but now it was collapsing around them, pulling them back into the nightmare they’d tried so hard to escape.
Sarah’s voice was barely a whisper. “Tommy… what are we going to do?”
Before he could answer, Mr. McLune appeared at their side, his ever-present smile faltering slightly as he glanced up at the sky, where the voice of Frank Randall still hung like a storm cloud. For the first time, there was a trace of concern in his eyes.
The party seemed to dim, the joy slipping away, as the reality of Earth—of their father—threatened to pull them back.
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