by Greg Beatty

In a voice just above a whisper, Joe's son Bobby said, "Why do they call it Ferndale if there aren't any ferns here?"

"Is that what you've been worried about?"

Bobby nodded.

"Well, sometimes," Joe said, rumpling Bobby's hair, "people name places for what used to be in an area, not for what lives there now."

"Are you sure?"

Joe nodded. Bobby gave a sigh, and father and son walked home to their quiet little house on the corner of Pterodactyl Place and Unicorn Drive.