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The rocket glided silently toward the lunar surface, the gray, cratered landscape expanding with every passing second—each ridge and shadow sharpening into a reality far more tangible than any textbook or television screen could convey. Tommy and Sarah pressed their faces to the windows, hearts pounding in unison, caught between awe and disbelief. The Moon they had imagined, a distant, monochrome fantasy, now loomed vast and unmistakably real—an otherworldly stage where dreams met the unforgiving touch of reality.
Then, with a gentle shudder, the rocket settled onto the lunar surface—a terrain transformed, smooth and silvery, as if the ancient craters had been buffed to a flawless sheen by some unseen hand. An eerie silence hung in the air, heavy with anticipation, before the hatch slid open with a soft hiss, parting like the curtain on a stage.
They stepped cautiously onto a narrow ramp, descending toward what they expected to be the cold, barren wasteland of the Moon’s surface. But what greeted them was anything but desolation. Before them sprawled a city—an improbable, shimmering fantasia beneath a tapestry of stars. It was no ordinary metropolis, more like a wonderland spun from dreams and stardust, a collection of colorful, bubble-like domes, each glowing softly in hues of pastel pinks, purples, and blues. Translucent tubes, delicate as gossamer strands, wove between the domes, floating just above the lunar soil as if defying gravity itself. Giant windows framed vistas of distant galaxies—cosmic paintings alive with swirling light and mystery.
The entrance to the city rose before them—a colossal, stylized "M," its soaring arches reminiscent of twin rocket fins frozen in flight. Beneath this gateway, ribbons and streamers drifted lazily in the Moon’s low gravity, swaying with a slow, deliberate grace as if the universe itself had declared every day a cosmic celebration. The air hummed with a palpable excitement, an electric pulse that seemed to infuse the very atmosphere—a joyful heartbeat echoing through the lunar night. Here, in this improbable place, the Moon was not a barren rock, but a living, breathing carnival of wonder.
But the most astonishing sight was the docking station itself. Far from the cold, sterile metal platforms they had come to expect from tales of science fiction, this station resembled something out of a whimsical carnival. Balloon-like structures, tethered delicately to the ground, caught the lunar light and fractured it like shimmering mirror balls, casting fractured glimmers into the dark. Bright, kaleidoscopic steps spiraled from the rocket’s door to the station’s heart, while along the path stood peculiar plants—tall, spiraled stems crowned with glowing orbs, pulsing softly with an otherworldly light. It was a place where fantasy had taken physical form, a rendezvous between imagination and the moon’s silent expanse.
As they stepped off the ramp, the ordinary gave way to the extraordinary—an encounter that defied every expectation. From one of the translucent tubes emerged a creature both bizarre and enchanting, a living enigma born from the lunar whimsy. Small and round, it was cloaked in thick, bright green fur that shimmered like liquid emeralds under the faint glow of the Moon. It ambled on two stubby legs, but it was the trio of eyes that held their gaze—three luminous orbs blinking in perfect unison above a wide, welcoming grin. One eye perched atop its head like a solitary star; the other two, where eyes ought to be, sparkled with a mischievous light. Its round body bobbed rhythmically, a gentle dance of curiosity and warmth as it shuffled closer.
“Greetings, Earthlings! Welcome to the Moon!” it announced, its voice high-pitched and cheerful—like the soft jingling of bells carried on a gentle breeze. “I’m Snizzy, here to take you on a journey through this lunar wonderland!”
Tommy and Sarah stood frozen, eyes locked on Snizzy, their minds struggling to grasp the reality unfolding before them. For a moment, words escaped them—caught somewhere between disbelief and wonder. Then, with a tentative tug on Tommy’s sleeve, Sarah offered a nervous smile—half hesitation, half hope—an unspoken question hanging in the lunar air.
“It’s… it’s real,” Sarah whispered, her voice trembling—not just with awe, but with a flicker of something darker, a shadow of unease lurking beneath the wonder.
- Snizzy wobbled with an infectious excitement, clapping its tiny hands in a gesture both joyful and oddly urgent. “Oh yes! It’s all very real! And my boss is expecting you both. Come, come!” It pointed eagerly toward a glowing tube spiraling upward into one of the larger domes—an invitation wrapped in mystery and promise.
They followed Snizzy into the shimmering tube—an artery of light that pulsed gently with each step. And as they entered, the walls around them came alive, rippling with bursts of color that danced and twisted like northern lights bottled into glass. For one weightless moment, they floated—lifted not just by the tube’s quiet power, but by something far more elusive: wonder.
It carried them upward into the very heart of the lunar city—a place where whimsy had rewritten the laws of physics and imagination wore the crown. Inside, colors swirled through open rooms like living paint. Confetti hung in the air, motionless and gleaming, as though caught mid-laugh. Distant corridors rang with the music of unseen merriment, and here and there, windows opened to the stars—burning bright, impossibly close, as if the Moon itself were riding through the cosmos on a joyride.
Finally, the journey ended in a vast chamber—a hall so grand it might have belonged to a dream. Giant chairs, soft and puffy like marshmallows, ringed a table groaning under the weight of delights: cake in impossible shapes, bowls of ice cream that shimmered like pearls, and soda pop bottles bubbling and rising like tiny geysers in slow motion.
And at the head of this fantastical banquet—reclined with the ease of a monarch in his realm—was a figure beyond ordinary description. He was not quite man, not quite myth. He was the architect of this peculiar kingdom of laughter and light.
To label him simply as “alien” would be to drain the color from the canvas—to reduce the extraordinary to the mundane. What sat before Tommy and Sarah Randall was a figure born not just of another world, but of another sensibility altogether—one where joy was not occasional, but elemental.
His face, round and green, radiated a kind of rapture that made you forget the rules. Beneath a shining helmet—hued in purples and pinks like the inside of a gemstone—exploded a crown of red hair, wild and untamed, rising in every direction like celebratory fireworks frozen in mid-burst. The helmet itself was crowned with two antennae, spring-loaded and twitching with curiosity, bobbing in the still lunar air as though they, too, had minds of their own.
His suit glittered in the ambient light—an ensemble of starlight and sparkle sewn in the colors of childhood birthday parties and sweet dreams. He lounged comfortably, as though the Moon were merely his living room, spoon in hand, happily engaged in what might have been his most sacred ritual: ice cream. Not the dignified indulgence of a connoisseur, but the wild, reckless delight of a being who had never been taught the word “moderation.”
Beside him, a half-demolished chocolate cake slouched on its plate, and a bottle of soda fizzed in a lazy spiral, as though even carbonation obeyed a more joyful gravity in this place. This was not merely nourishment—it was celebration.
And in this glittering chamber, deep within a city that should not exist, on a world that defied every law of reason, Tommy and Sarah found themselves face-to-face with something more than a host.
His eyes—large, bright, and full of mischief—sparkled as he turned his attention to the children who had just entered his domain. “Well now---if it ain't my guests of honor! Tommy! Sarah!" he said jovially. "Been waitin’ for you, I have! And look at you—bright-eyed and ready for wonder! Welcome, welcome... to the most splendiferously spectacular spot in the whole blooming galaxy—469Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSpChJxJGCF
the one and only... Joyniverse Jubilee! Where the stars throw confetti and every birthday’s a bash to remember!”"
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 still, wide-eyed. The lights of the strange place flickered behind them, casting long, impossible shadows. Tommy swallowed. "Who... are you?" he asked quietly— not like a boy meeting a stranger, but like someone asking a question they weren’t sure they wanted answered.
The jolly figure let out a deep, rolling laugh. It echoed longer than it should have, as if the walls themselves were in on the joke. His whole body shook with the force of it—like joy was something he practiced. Then he beamed, arms flung wide, voice bubbling with a musical lilt: "I'm Mr. McLune! Your host, your guide, your very own jester of jubilation!" He tapped a gleaming spoon against his cheek with a twinkle.469Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVSVAzw0kl7
"And you—” he pointed it right at them, gently but deliberately, “—are just the two I’ve been waiting for!" He spun slightly on his heel—more dance than step—and gestured to the impossible feast behind him. "Come now! Sit, sit! There’s cake, ice cream, soda—floatin’ fizz from Jupiter’s third moon! It’s all here, and it’s all for you!"
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 stood there, eyes wide like she was trying to take in a world too big to understand. Everything about this felt too perfect… like a dream that forgot how to end. She looked up, voice small. “Why’d it have to be us?”
Mr. McLune’s grin softened, but there was still a sparkle in his eyes. He set his spoon down with a little flourish and leaned in, propping his chin on his hands like he was about to tell the world’s best secret. “Well now,” he said, voice light and full of mischief, “I’ve got a bit of a knack for spotting when certain children—special ones, mind you—are in need of a proper celebration.” He gave them a wink, and the helmet on his head gave a cheerful bounce, its antennas wiggling like they were in on the joke. “You two?” He chuckled gently. “You’ve had your fair share of cloudy days, haven’t you? Bit too much drizzle, not quite enough sunshine. But here—” he threw his arms open wide, like unveiling a magic trick, “here it’s sunshine all the time! Music in the air, sweets on the table, and not a cross word to be found. Just laughter, light, and a bit of magic to go 'round.”
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 gave a cheerful wave of his hand, as if gravity, reason, and common sense were all optional. “Oh, pish-posh, Tommy! We don’t fuss about the how in these parts. That’s boring grown-up talk!” He leaned in, eyes twinkling. “What matters is the what—and the what, my boy, is fun!” He bounced a little in his seat for emphasis. “Ice cream that never melts, cake as tall as you are, and more adventure than you can shake a stick at—if you had time to stop and shake one, that is!”
Sarah looked down at the cake on the table, then up at Mr. McLune. “Are we... are we staying here?”
Mr. McLune let out a hearty chuckle, the kind that seemed to bounce off the walls like a warm song. “Well now, that’s entirely up to you, of course! No pressure, no hurry—heaven forbid we rush a good thing.” He leaned back with a playful grin, tapping the side of his nose. “But I’ll tell you this—once you’ve had a taste of this moonbase... well!” He gave a little clap and a wink. “Some choices don’t need much choosin’. They just sort of... choose you!"
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 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 said, his voice all gentle sunshine and bounce, “what’s this I see? A tear? At a birthday party?” He shook his head with a soft chuckle. “Oh no, no, no—that just won’t do. Not when there’s cake to eat and songs to sing.”
The alien boy didn’t look up. He sat frozen, hands knotted in his lap like he was bracing for impact. His voice came out in short, fractured bursts—half sob, half confession. “P-please… don’t walk away. Don’t leave me. Not on my birthday…” His accent bent strangely through the air—rising in odd tones, dipping into something almost inhuman—but the fear in his words needed no translation. “I—I didn’t mean to be bad,” he whispered, eyes still locked on the ground. “I tried to be good. I really did. But you’re gonna leave… just like they did. Because I messed it up.”
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 barely more than a whisper, full of warmth and gentle care. “Oh, now, what’s this talk about leaving?” he said softly, eyes shining like stars in the quiet night. His smile was a gentle promise, steady and true. “I don’t walk away from children. Not ever. Not when their hearts are heavy, or when they’re scared, or when they think they’ve done wrong.” He reached up and brushed a hand lightly over his helmet, as if to say, I see you, and I’m here. “I know your customs, the way your people hold their birthdays close—with rules and fears that can weigh a child down. But here, all of that falls away. Here, you’re safe. Here, you are loved and celebrated just as you are.” He leaned in just a little, voice soft and sure, like a lullaby meant to ease a restless soul.469Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfJV5GXx4kK
“I’m here to bring you wishes, and joy, and a promise that you will never be alone on your birthday. Not now, not ever. That’s my promise to you.”
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, his smile lighting up the room like the first sunbeam of morning. He reached into his pocket with a little flourish and pulled out a tiny, glowing star—a golden sparkle that seemed to hum with warmth in the alien boy’s hand. “Now, take a gander at this! A special birthday star, just for you.” He winked, voice bubbling with cheerful delight. “Whenever you’re feeling blue, just hold it close and remember—you're never alone. Nope, not ever. Because I’m right here, right beside 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 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.469Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfDVKiOVdZh
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469Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡS4OvtIGRcy
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.
