"Have ... you ... seen ... me?" Carly had sounded out the words printed on the flyer that had come in the day’s mail while her mother hid the chocolate chip cookies on the top shelf of the cabinet, behind a box of wild rice. Beside the words on the flyer was a picture of a smiling boy with dark eyes and long brown hair hanging in his face. Carly had only asked about him so her mother wouldn't guess that she had seen the new box of cookies, so she was surprised when her mother answered her question seriously. In fact, that night the whole family had held one of their rare conferences, and created the Secret Word.
Her mother had been trying to think of a serious word, a word that would be "memorable, yet within Carly's vocabulary." Scotty had been trying to convince them to say antidisestablishmentarianism, but he couldn't even say it himself and was making Carly laugh with his efforts. Then her daddy said, "Raspberry," and spit out his tongue. That got everyone's attention. They all started saying raspberry and spitting out their tongues, except Carly's mother, of course, until finally she gave in. "At least we'll all remember that darn word," she had said.
"But don't expect people to give a Bronx cheer when they say it to you," she cautioned. "They'll just say raspberry, and then you'll know it's all right to go with them, or you say it if you're in trouble, and we'll rescue you. And for goodness sake, don't spit out your tongue or we'll think you're just joking!"
So now Carly knew all about candy and cars and strangers-who-took-you-away, and what she was wondering as she drank her milk was whether it was Scotty's ghost lady who had lost the little girl in the graveyard. The name on the stone had been too worn to read, but Carly was sure it was a little girl because any boy she had ever known would say a lamb was sissy. Scotty would want something tough on his gravestone, like a dragon or a pit bull.
Sitting on the bed the next morning, half asleep, Carly nudged around with her feet for her scuffies. When her feet couldn't find them, she reached down with her invisible hand and found what was unmistakably a kitten, although she couldn’t see it. Excited and pleased, she hid it in her closet so she could find it again after breakfast. When she came back, though, it was gone. That evening she was watching TV in the living room with Scott when, giving in to an unaccountable urge, she reached out her invisible hand and touched ... something. It felt warm and soft. Further exploration, which made Scotty yell at her for giving him the creeps, convinced her that it might be an arm. This gave her the creeps, so she resisted any more compulsions to touch things that she couldn't see, although she wished she could find the kitten.
Characteristically, she kept these incidents to herself.
A few nights later she awoke, giggling and protesting that Scotty stop tickling her. Scotty wasn't there, but her mother came in, wearing her velvety robe and asking what was the matter.
"Something was tickling me," Carly grumbled. She didn't like being tickled at the best of times; in the middle of the night was just too much.
"Pull up your pajama top and let me see your stomach, Carly," her mother said, switching on the little light beside the bed. "Maybe you're getting the measles. It would be nice if you got some normal ailment for a—" Her voice broke off as she tried to make sense of the expanse of yellow bottom sheet that was the only thing visible between Carly's belly button and her shoulders, and then she began to scream. The rest of the night was nothing but fuss.
Breakfast the next morning was a quiet, tense meal. Scotty had argued that they should "make a run for it" and stop for breakfast on the way, but Carly's mother was trying to keep things normal. After the shock of seeing that Carly's midsection had vanished, she had insisted that Carly strip down to her underpants. That's when she found out that both of Carly's feet were missing; in fact, her whole right leg was completely invisible. Carly's father, after calming his wife and forbidding Scott to dial 9-1-1, had agreed that Carly should have medical attention, but only from their original family doctor, whom he felt they could trust. They were leaving for Baltimore right after breakfast.
Carly wasn't worrying about doctors any more. She had a more immediate problem. Her mother noticed and said, in a tired voice, "Carly, use your knife to spread your jam."
"I can't," Carly whispered.
"What do you mean, you can't? You've told us again and again that you can still use your hand even though it's invisible, so please pick up that knife. No one will look at you."
Well, that wasn't true; everyone was staring at her and making her feel embarrassed, but Carly did try again to pick up the knife. Everyone watched as the sleeve of her best dress, hollow at the wrist, came up from her lap and poked at the knife. But the knife remained on the table. Carly was beginning to worry. She had been sure that her hand would come back sometime, but now it was getting more lost. All of her was getting lost.
"Mommy," she said, "I'm scared –-"
Carly's fork dropped to her plate with a clatter as her left hand disappeared. The end of her sleeve drooped into the broken yolk of her half-eaten egg.
"Carly, no," her mother moaned. This frightened Carly even more. She wished her mother would scream and make a great big fuss like normal. She looked at Scotty. He was staring at her with big, bulging eyes. His mouth had sagged open and his tongue was almost hanging out. He looked so funny that she tried to laugh, but the laugh got stuck in her throat.
Carly began to hear a rhythmic murmuring in her ears, like a lullaby. Trying again to touch something, anything, Carly swung her left arm out. With a gasp of relief, she found her mother's hand and clutched it tightly. "It's all right," she started to say, but she stopped when she saw that both of her mother's hands were covering her face. Tears were squeezing out between her fingers. The pressure on Carly's hand was increasing; she was being pulled from her chair.
Carly called out to her father. "Daddy, daddy!" He stretched his arms out to her, an angry, desperate look on his face.
Carly thought quickly. "Raspberry, Daddy, raspberry!" But even though he lunged across the table with all of his strength and grabbed with both of his hands, all he could save was her limp, empty dress.