9

READING
COMPREHENSION
BOOKLET

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 9

READING
COMPREHENSION
BOOKLET

Academic Year: 2022 - 2023

Compiled by: HUMSS 12 - Vikings Researchers

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 ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
I would like to extend our deepest gratitude for the help of
some individuals on working on this booklet to be published and
recognized. Without them, this booklet is impossible to succeed.

To our Almighty Father, for giving us strength to go

along every challenges that we, the researchers encounter each
and every day towards making on this booklet. For giving us
wisdom and knowledge to finish this booklet on time.

To our School Principal, Madam Elma M. Larumbe, for

approving us to conduct our study.

To our Dear Panelists, thank you very much for your

guidance towards making our research and this booklet
successful.

And to the Researchers, thank you very much for your

hard work and dedication towards working on this booklet. The
booklet could not be recognized and finished without your drive
and dedication towards finishing this booklet.

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 TABLE OF CONTENTS
PRELIMINARY PAGE
Front Page ………………………………………………… 1
Title/First Page …………………………………………… 2
Acknowledgement ………………………………………... 3
Table of Contents ………………………………………… 4
List of Figures ……………………………………………. 5
Letter to the Learners …………………………………….. 6

Passage A: The Story of an Hour …………………………. 7

Processing Questions ………………………………. 12
Vocabularies ……………………………………….. 12
Passage B: The Hanging Stranger ………………………... 15
Processing Questions ……………………………… 44
Vocabularies ………………………………………. 45
Passage C: A Dark Brown Dog …………………………... 47
Processing Questions ……………………………… 57
Vocabularies ………………………………………. 57
Answer Key ………………………………………………. 60
BIBLIOGRAPHY ………………………………………... 62

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 LIST OF FIGURES
Figure 1: Louise Mallard ………………………………… 7
Figure 2: The Hanging Stranger …………………………. 15
Figure 3: A Dark Brown Dog ……………………………. 47

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 LETTER TO THE LEARNERS

Dear Learners,
We, the researchers, have made a reading comprehension
booklet that consists of different passages. Each passage has a
story, and at the end of the story, there are a set of processing
questions based on the story that you need to answer.

Doing the different activities will help you hone and

develop your reading comprehension skills. Also, by doing the
different activities, you will have the opportunity to work
individually with your classmates as well as other people in the
community who can give important input in regards to this
learning material. We are hoping that you will enjoy all the
activities that you will be doing in this booklet, be able to gain
new lessons and understanding, and be able to apply these in
your daily life.

Respectfully,
The Researchers

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 Passage
A
The Story of an Hour
By: Kate Chopin

Figure 1: Louise Mallard

Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart

trouble, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible
the news of her husband's death.

It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken

sentences; veiled hints that revealed in half concealing. Her
husband's friend Richards was there, too, near her. It was he who
had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the
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railroad disaster was received, with Brently Mallard's name
leading the list of "killed." He had only taken the time to assure
himself of its truth by a second telegram, and had hastened to
forestall any less careful, less tender friend in bearing the sad
message.

She did not hear the story as many women have heard the
same, with a paralyzed inability to accept its significance. She
wept at once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in her sister's
arms. When the storm of grief had spent itself she went away to
her room alone. She would have no one follow her.

There stood, facing the open window, a comfortable,

roomy armchair. Into this she sank, pressed down by a physical
exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her
soul.

She could see in the open square before her house the tops
of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The
delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a
peddler was crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which
someone was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows
were twittering in the eaves.

8
 There were patches of blue sky showing here and there
through the clouds that had met and piled one above the other in
the west facing her window.

She sat with her head thrown back upon the cushion of the
chair, quite motionless, except when a sob came up into her
throat and shook her, as a child who has cried itself to sleep
continues to sob in its dreams.

She was young, with a fair, calm face, whose lines

bespoke repression and even a certain strength. But now there
was a dull stare in her eyes, whose gaze was fixed away off
yonder on one of those patches of blue sky. It was not a glance
of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent
thought.

There was something coming to her and she was waiting

for it, fearfully. What was it? She did not know; it was too subtle
and elusive to name. But she felt it, creeping out of the sky,
reaching toward her through the sounds, the scents, and the color
that filled the air.

Now her bosom rose and fell tumultuously. She was

beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to
possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her will--as
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powerless as her two white slender hands would have been.
When she abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped her
slightly parted lips. She said it over and over under the breath:
"free, free, free!" The vacant stare and the look of terror that had
followed it went from her eyes. They stayed keen and bright.
Her pulses beat fast, and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed
every inch of her body.

She did not stop to ask if it were or were not a monstrous

joy that held her. A clear and exalted perception enabled her to
dismiss the suggestion as trivial. She knew that she would weep
again when she saw the kind, tender hands folded in death; the
face that had never looked save with love upon her, fixed and
gray and dead. But she saw beyond that bitter moment a long
procession of years to come that would belong to her absolutely.
And she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome.

There would be no one to live for during those coming

years; she would live for herself. There would be no powerful
will bending hers in that blind persistence with which men and
women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a
fellow-creature. A kind intention or a cruel intention made the
act seem no less a crime as she looked upon it in that brief

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moment of illumination. And yet she had loved him--sometimes.
Often she had not. What did it matter! What could love, the
unsolved mystery, count for in the face of this possession of self-
assertion which she suddenly recognized as the strongest
impulse of her being!

"Free! Body and soul free!" she kept whispering.

Josephine was kneeling before the closed door with her lips to
the keyhole, imploring for admission. "Louise, open the door! I
beg; open the door--you will make yourself ill. What are you
doing, Louise? For heaven's sake open the door." "Go away. I
am not making myself ill." No; she was drinking in a very elixir
of life through that open window. Her fancy was running riot
along those days ahead of her. Spring days, and summer days,
and all sorts of days that would be her own. She breathed a quick
prayer that life might be long. It was only yesterday she had
thought with a shudder that life might be long.

She arose at length and opened the door to her sister's

importunities. There was a feverish triumph in her eyes, and she
carried herself unwittingly like a goddess of Victory. She
clasped her sister's waist, and together they descended the stairs.
Richards stood waiting for them at the bottom. Someone was

11
opening the front door with a latchkey. It was Brently Mallard
who entered, a little travel-stained, composedly carrying his
grip-sack and umbrella. He had been far from the scene of the
accident, and did not even know there had been one. He stood
amazed at Josephine's piercing cry; at Richards' quick motion to
screen him from the view of his wife.

Processing Questions:

1. Who are the characters of the story?

2. What happened to the husband of Mrs. Mallard in the

beginning of the story?

3. Who told Mrs. Mallard about his husband's death?

4. If you are in Louise / Mrs. Mallard position, what would you

feel about it?

5. What is the conflict of the story?

VOCABULARIES:

Abandonment - the action or fact of abandoning or being

abandoned.
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Example: “The whole district had an air of abandonment and
neglect.”

Afflicted - mentally or physically impaired

Example: “People so afflicted behave as if controlled from

outside themselves.”

Elixir - a substance held capable of prolonging life indefinitely.

Example: “The elixir of life felt cold when it went into my

body.”

Elusive - tending to evade grasp or pursuit.

Example: “He was searching for the ever elusive 'perfect job.”

Paralyzed - rendered incapable of movement or action.

Example: “The company was paralyzed by debt.”

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Physical exhaustion - our body's sensation of extreme,
persistent tiredness.

Example: “He was suffering from extreme exhaustion and totally

run down.”

Striving - make great efforts to achieve or obtain something.

Example: “Only in this way can the results we are striving for be
achieved.”

Unwittingly - without being aware

Example: “Adults can, even unwittingly, be positive role models

to children!”

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 Passage
B
The Hanging Stranger
By: Philip K. Dick

Figure 2: The Hanging Stranger

At five o'clock Ed Loyce washed up, tossed on his hat and

coat, got his car out and headed across town toward his TV sales
store. He was tired. His back and shoulders ached from digging
dirt out of the basement and wheeling it into the back yard. But
for a forty-year-old man he had done okay. Janet could get a new
vase with the money he had saved; and he liked the idea of
repairing the foundations himself. It was getting dark. The

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setting sun cast long rays over the scurrying commuters, tired
and grim-faced, women loaded down with bundles and
packages, students, swarming home from the university, mixing
with clerks and businessmen and drab secretaries. He stopped his
Packard for a red light and then started it up again. The store had
been open without him; he'd arrive just in time to spell the help
for dinner, go over the records of the day, maybe even close a
couple of sales himself. He drove slowly past the small square of
green in the center of the street, the town park. There were no
parking places in front of LOYCE TV SALES AND SERVICE.
He cursed under his breath and swung the car in a U-turn. Again
he passed the little square of green with its lonely drinking
fountain and bench and single lamppost. From the lamppost
something was hanging. A shapeless dark bundle, swinging a
little with the wind. Like a dummy of some sort. Loyce rolled
down his window and peered out. What the hell was it? A
display of some kind? Sometimes the Chamber of Commerce
put up displays in the square. Again he made a U-turn and
brought his car around. He passed the park and concentrated on
the dark bundle. It wasn't a dummy. And if it was a display it
was a strange kind. The hackles on his neck rose and he
swallowed uneasily. Sweat slid out on his face and hands.

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 It was a body. A human body.

"Look at it!" Loyce snapped. "Come on out here!"

Don Fergusson came slowly out of the store, buttoning his

pin-stripe coat with dignity. "This is a big deal, Ed. I can't just
leave the guy standing there."

"See it?" Ed pointed into the gathering gloom. The

lamppost jutted up against the sky—the post and the bundle
swinging from it. "There it is. How the hell long has it been
there?" His voice rose excitedly. "What's wrong with
everybody? They just walk on past!"

Don Fergusson lit a cigarette slowly. "Take it easy, old

man. There must be a good reason, or it wouldn't be there."

"A reason! What kind of a reason?"

Fergusson shrugged. "Like the time the Traffic Safety

Council put that wrecked Buick there. Some sort of civic thing.
How would I know?"

Jack Potter from the shoe shop joined them. "What's up,
boys?"

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 "There's a body hanging from the lamppost," Loyce said.
"I'm going to call the cops."

They must know about it," Potter said. "Or otherwise it

wouldn't be there."

"I got to get back in." Fergusson headed back into the
store. "Business before pleasure."

Loyce began to get hysterical. "You see it? You see it

hanging there? A man's body! A dead man!" "Sure, Ed. I saw it
this afternoon when I went out for coffee."

"You mean it's been there all afternoon?"

"Sure. What's the matter?" Potter glanced at his watch.

"Have to run. See you later, Ed."

Potter hurried off, joining the flow of people moving

along the sidewalk. Men and women, passing by the park. A few
glanced up curiously at the dark bundle—and then went on.
Nobody stopped. Nobody paid any attention.

"I'm going nuts," Loyce whispered. He made his way to

the curb and crossed out into traffic, among the cars. Horns
honked angrily at him. He gained the curb and stepped up onto
the little square of green.
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 The man had been middle-aged. His clothing was ripped
and torn, a gray suit, splashed and caked with dried mud. A
stranger. Loyce had never seen him before. Not a local man. His
face was partly turned away, and in the evening wind he spun a
little, turning gently, silently. His skin was gouged and cut. Red
gashes, deep scratches of congealed blood. A pair of steel-
rimmed glasses hung from one ear, dangling foolishly. His eyes
bulged. His mouth was open, tongue thick and ugly blue.

For Heaven's sake," Loyce muttered, sickened. He pushed

down his nausea and made his way back to the sidewalk. He was
shaking all over, with revulsion—and fear.

Why? Who was the man? Why was he hanging there?

What did it mean?

And—why didn't anybody notice?

He bumped into a small man hurrying along the sidewalk.

"Watch it!" the man grated. "Oh, it's you, Ed."

Ed nodded dazedly. "Hello, Jenkins."

"What's the matter?" The stationery clerk caught Ed's aim

"You look sick."

"The body. There in the park."

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 "Sure, Ed." Jenkins led him into the alcove of LOYCE TV
SALES AND SERVICE. "Take it easy."

Margaret Henderson from the jewelry store joined them.

"Something wrong?"

"Ed's not feeling well."

Loyce yanked himself free. "How can you stand here?

Don't you see it? For God's sake—" "What's he talking about?"
Margaret asked nervously.

"The body!" Ed shouted. "The body hanging there!"

More people collected. "Is he sick? It's Ed Loyce. You

okay, Ed?"

"The body!" Loyce screamed, struggling to get past them.

Hands caught at him. He tore loose. "Let me go! The police! Get
the police!"

"Ed—"

"Better get a doctor!"

"He must be sick."

"Or drunk."

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 Loyce fought his way through the people. He stumbled
and half fell. Through a blur he saw rows of faces, curious,
concerned, and anxious. Men and women halting to see what the
disturbance was. He fought past them toward his store. He could
see Fergusson inside talking to a man, showing him an Emerson
TV set. Pete Foley in the back at the service counter, setting up a
new Philco. Loyce shouted at them frantically. His voice was
lost in the roar of traffic and the murmuring around him.

"Do something!" he screamed. "Don't stand there! Do

something! Something's wrong! Something's happened! Things
are going on!" The crowd melted respectfully for the two heavy-
set cops moving efficiently toward Loyce.

"Name?" the cop with the notebook murmured.

"Loyce." He mopped his forehead wearily. "Edward C.

Loyce. Listen to me. Back there—"

"Address?" the cop demanded. The police car moved

swiftly through traffic, shooting among the cars and buses.
Loyce sagged against the seat, exhausted and confused. He took
a deep shuddering breath.

"1368 Hurst Road."

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 "That's here in Pikeville?"

"That's right." Loyce pulled himself up with a violent

effort. "Listen to me. Back there. In the square. Hanging from
the lamppost—"

"Where were you today?" the cop behind the wheel

demanded.

"Where?" Loyce echoed.

"You weren't in your shop, were you?"

"No." He shook his head. "No, I was home. Down in the

basement."

"In the basement?"

"Digging. A new foundation. Getting out the dirt to pour a

cement frame. Why? What has that to do with—"

"Was anybody else down there with you?"

"No. My wife was downtown. My kids were at school."

Loyce looked from one heavy-set cop to the other. Hope
flickered across his face, wild hope. "You mean because I was
down there I missed—the explanation? I didn't get in on it? Like

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everybody else?" After a pause the cop with the notebook said:
"That's right. You missed the explanation."

"Then it's official? The body—it's supposed to be hanging

there?"

"It's supposed to be hanging there. For everybody to see."

Ed Loyce grinned weakly. "Good Lord. I guess I sort of

went off the deep end. I thought maybe something had
happened. You know, something like the Ku Klux Klan. Some
kind of violence. Communists or Fascists taking over." He wiped
his face with his breast-pocket handkerchief, his hands shaking.
"I'm glad to know it's on the level."

"It's on the level." The police car was getting near the Hall
of Justice. The sun had set. The streets were gloomy and dark.
The lights had not yet come on.

"I feel better," Loyce said. "I was pretty excited there, for
a minute. I guess I got all stirred up. Now that I understand,
there's no need to take me in, is there?"

The two cops said nothing.

"I should be back at my store. The boys haven't had

dinner. I'm all right, now. No more trouble. Is there any need of
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—" "This won't take long," the cop behind the wheel interrupted.
"A short process. Only a few minutes."

"I hope it's short," Loyce muttered. The car slowed down
for a stoplight. "I guess I sort of disturbed the peace. Funny,
getting excited like that and—"

Loyce yanked the door open. He sprawled out into the

street and rolled to his feet. Cars were moving all around him,
gaining speed as the light changed. Loyce leaped onto the curb
and raced among the people, burrowing into the swarming
crowds. Behind him he heard sounds, snouts, people running.

They weren't cops. He had realized that right away. He

knew every cop in Pikeville. A man couldn't own a store, operate
a business in a small town for twenty-five years without getting
to know all the cops.

They weren't cops—and there hadn't been any

explanation. Potter, Fergusson, Jenkins, none of them knew why
it was there. They didn't know—and they didn't care. That was
the strange part.

Loyce ducked into a hardware store. He raced toward the

back, past the startled clerks and customers, into the shipping

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room and through the back door. He tripped over a garbage can
and ran up a flight of concrete steps. He climbed over a fence
and jumped down on the other side, gasping and panting.

There was no sound behind him. He had got away.

He was at the entrance of an alley, dark and strewn with

boards and ruined boxes and tires. He could see the street at the
far end. A street light wavered and came on. Men and women.
Stores. Neon signs. Cars.

And to his right—the police station.

He was close, terribly close. Past the loading platform of a

grocery store rose the white concrete side of the Hall of Justice.
Barred windows. The police antenna. A great concrete wall
rising up in the darkness. A bad place for him to be near. He was
too close. He had to keep moving, get farther away from them.

Them?

Loyce moved cautiously down the alley. Beyond the

police station was the City Hall, the old-fashioned yellow
structure of wood and gilded brass and broad cement steps. He
could see the endless rows of offices, dark windows, the cedars
and beds of flowers on each side of the entrance.

25
 And—something else.

Above the City Hall was a patch of darkness, a cone of

gloom denser than the surrounding night. A prism of black that
spread out and was lost into the sky.

He listened. Good God, he could hear something.

Something that made him struggle frantically to close his ears,
his mind, to shut out the sound. A buzzing. A distant, muted hum
like a great swarm of bees.

Loyce gazed up, rigid with horror. The splotch of

darkness, hanging over the City Hall. Darkness so thick it
seemed almost solid. In the vortex something moved. Flickering
shapes. Things, descending from the sky, pausing momentarily
above the City Hall, fluttering over it in a dense swarm and then
dropping silently onto the roof.

Shapes. Fluttering shapes from the sky. From the crack of

darkness that hung above him. He was seeing—them.

For a long time Loyce watched, crouched behind a

sagging fence in a pool of scummy water.

They were landing. Coming down in groups, landing on

the roof of the City Hall and disappearing inside. They had

26
wings. Like giant insects of some kind. They flew and fluttered
and came to rest—and then crawled crab-fashion, sideways,
across the roof and into the building.

He was sickened. And fascinated. Cold night wind blew

around him and he shuddered. He was tired, dazed with shock.
On the front steps of the City Hall were men, standing here and
there. Groups of men coming out of the building and halting for
a moment before going on.

Were there more of them?

It didn't seem possible. What he saw descending from the

black chasm weren't men. They were alien—from some other
world, some other dimension. Sliding through this slit, this break
in the shell of the universe. Entering through this gap, winged
insects from another realm of being.

On the steps of the City Hall a group of men broke up. A

few moved toward a waiting car. One of the remaining shapes
started to re-enter the City Hall. It changed its mind and turned
to follow the others.

Loyce closed his eyes in horror. His senses reeled. He

hung on tight, clutching at the sagging fence. The shape, the

27
man-shape, had abruptly fluttered up and flapped after the
others. It flew to the sidewalk and came to rest among them.

Pseudo-men. Imitation men. Insects with ability to

disguise themselves as men. Like other insects familiar to Earth.
Protective coloration. Mimicry.

Loyce pulled himself away. He got slowly to his feet. It

was night. The alley was totally dark. But maybe they could see
in the dark. Maybe darkness made no difference to them.

He left the alley cautiously and moved out onto the street.
Men and women flowed past, but not so many, now. At the bus
stops stood waiting groups. A huge bus lumbered along the
street, its lights flashing in the evening gloom.

Loyce moved forward. He pushed his way among those

waiting and when the bus halted he boarded it and took a seat in
the rear, by the door. A moment later the bus moved into life and
rumbled down the street.

Loyce relaxed a little. He studied the people around him.

Dulled, tired faces. People going home from work. Quite
ordinary faces. None of them paid any attention to him. All sat
quietly, sunk down in their seats, jiggling with the motion of the

28
bus. The man sitting next to him unfolded a newspaper. He
began to read the sports section, his lips moving. An ordinary
man. Blue suit. Tie. A businessman, or a salesman. On his way
home to his wife and family.

Across the aisle a young woman, perhaps twenty. Dark

eyes and hair, a package on her lap. Nylons and heels. Red coat
and white Angora sweater. Gazing absently ahead of her.

A high school boy in jeans and black jacket.

A great triple-chinned woman with an immense shopping

bag loaded with packages and parcels. Her thick face dim with
weariness. Ordinary people. The kind that rode the bus every
evening. Going home to their families. To dinner.

Going home—with their minds dead. Controlled, filmed

over with the mask of an alien being that had appeared and taken
possession of them, their town, their lives. Himself, too. Except
that he happened to be deep in his cellar instead of in the store.
Somehow, he had been overlooked. They had missed him. Their
control wasn't perfect, foolproof.

Maybe there were others.

29
 Hope flickered in Loyce. They weren't omnipotent. They
had made a mistake, not got control of him. Their net, their field
of control, had passed over him. He had emerged from his cellar
as he had gone down. Apparently their power-zone was limited.
A few seats down the aisle a man was watching him. Loyce
broke off his chain of thought. A slender man, with dark hair and
a small mustache. Well-dressed, brown suit and shiny shoes. A
book between his small hands. He was watching Loyce, studying
him intently. He turned quickly away.

Loyce tensed. One of them? Or—another they had

missed?

The man was watching him again. Small dark eyes, alive
and clever. Shrewd. A man too shrewd for them—or one of the
things itself, an alien insect from beyond.

The bus halted. An elderly man got on slowly and dropped

his token into the box. He moved down the aisle and took a seat
opposite Loyce.

The elderly man caught the sharp-eyed man's gaze. For a

split second something passed between them. A look rich with
meaning.

30
 Loyce got to his feet. The bus was moving. He ran to the
door. One step down into the well. He yanked the emergency
door release. The rubber door swung open.

"Hey!" the driver shouted, jamming on the brakes. "What

the hell—?"

Loyce squirmed through. The bus was slowing down.

Houses on all sides. A residential district, lawns and tall
apartment buildings. Behind him, the bright-eyed man had
leaped up. The elderly man was also on his feet. They were
coming after him. Loyce leaped. He hit the pavement with
terrific force and rolled against the curb. Pain lapped over him.
Pain and a vast tide of blackness. Desperately, he fought it off.
He struggled to his knees and then slid down again. The bus had
stopped. People were getting off.

Loyce groped around. His fingers closed over something.

A rock, lying in the gutter. He crawled to his feet, grunting with
pain. A shape loomed before him. A man, the bright-eyed man
with the book.

Loyce kicked. The man gasped and fell. Loyce brought

the rock down. The man screamed and tried to roll away. "Stop!
For God's sake listen—"
31
 He struck again. A hideous crunching sound. The man's
voice cut off and dissolved in a bubbling wail. Loyce scrambled
up and back. The others were there, now. All around him. He
ran, awkwardly, down the sidewalk, up a driveway. None of
them followed him. They had stopped and were bending over the
inert body of the man with the book, the bright-eyed man who
had come after him.

Had he made a mistake?

But it was too late to worry about that. He had to get out
—away from them. Out of Pikeville, beyond the crack of
darkness, the rent between their world and his.

"Ed!" Janet Loyce backed away nervously. "What is it?

What—"

Ed Loyce slammed the door behind him and came into the
living room. "Pull down the shades. Quick." Janet moved toward
the window. "But—"

"Do as I say. Who else is here besides you?"

"Nobody. Just the twins. They're upstairs in their room.

What's happened? You look so strange. Why are you home?"

32
 Ed locked the front door. He prowled around the house,
into the kitchen. From the drawer under the sink he slid out the
big butcher knife and ran his finger along it. Sharp. Plenty sharp.
He returned to the living room.

"Listen to me," he said. "I don't have much time. They

know I escaped and they'll be looking for me."

"Escaped?" Janet's face twisted with bewilderment and

fear. "Who?"

"The town has been taken over. They're in control. I've got
it pretty well figured out. They started at the top, at the City Hall
and police department. What they did with the real humans they
—"

"What are you talking about?"

"We've been invaded. From some other universe, some

other dimension. They're insects. Mimicry. And more. Power to
control minds. Your mind."

"My mind?"

"Their entrance is here, in Pikeville. They've taken over

all of you. The whole town—except me. We're up against an
incredibly powerful enemy, but they have their limitations.
33
That's our hope. They're limited! They can make mistakes!"
Janet shook her head. "I don't understand, Ed. You must be
insane."

"Insane? No. Just lucky. If I hadn't been down in the

basement, I'd be like all the rest of you." Loyce peered out the
window. "But I can't stand here talking. Get your coat."

"My coat?"

"We're getting out of here. Out of Pikeville. We've got to

get help. Fight this thing. They can be beaten. They're not
infallible. It's going to be close—but we may make it if we
hurry. Come on!" He grabbed her arm roughly. "Get your coat
and call the twins. We're all leaving. Don't stop to pack. There's
no time for that."

White-faced, his wife moved toward the closet and got

down her coat. "Where are we going?"

Ed pulled open the desk drawer and spilled the contents

out onto the floor. He grabbed up a road map and spread it open.
"They'll have the highway covered, of course. But there's a back
road. To Oak Grove. I got onto it once. It's practically
abandoned. Maybe they'll forget about it."

34
 "The old Ranch Road? Good Lord—it's completely
closed. Nobody's supposed to drive over it."

"I know." Ed thrust the map grimly into his coat. "That's
our best chance. Now call down the twins and let's get going.
Your car is full of gas, isn't it?"

Janet was dazed.

"The Chevy? I had it filled up yesterday afternoon." Janet

moved toward the stairs. "Ed, I—"

"Call the twins!" Ed unlocked the front door and peered

out. Nothing stirred. No sign of life. All right so far.

"Come on downstairs," Janet called in a wavering voice.

"We're—going out for a while."

"Now?" Tommy's voice came.

"Hurry up," Ed barked. "Get down here, both of you."

Tommy appeared at the top of the stairs. "I was doing my

homework. We're starting fractions. Miss Parker says if we don't
get this done—"

35
 "You can forget about fractions." Ed grabbed his son as he
came down the stairs and propelled him toward the door.
"Where's Jim?"

"He's coming."

Jim started slowly down the stairs. "What's up, Dad?"

"We're going for a ride.

"A ride? Where?"

Ed turned to Janet. "We'll leave the lights on. And the TV

set. Go turn it on." He pushed her toward the set. "So they'll
think we're still—"

He heard the buzz. And dropped instantly, the long

butcher knife out. Sickened, he saw it coming down the stairs at
him, wings a blur of motion as it aimed itself. It still bore a
vague resemblance to Jimmy. It was small, a baby one. A brief
glimpse—the thing hurtling at him, cold, multi-lensed inhuman
eyes. Wings, body still clothed in yellow T-shirt and jeans, the
mimic outline still stamped on it. A strange half-turn of its body
as it reached him. What was it doing?

A stinger

36
 Loyce stabbed wildly at it. It retreated, buzzing frantically.
Loyce rolled and crawled toward the door. Tommy and Janet
stood still as statues, faces blank. Watching without expression.
Loyce stabbed again. This time the knife connected. The thing
shrieked and faltered. It bounced against the wall and fluttered
down.

Something lapped through his mind. A wall of force,

energy, an alien mind probing into him. He was suddenly
paralyzed. The mind entered his own, touched against him
briefly, shockingly. An utter alien presence, settling over him—
and then it flickered out as the thing collapsed in a broken heap
on the rug.

It was dead. He turned it over with his foot. It was an

insect, a fly of some kind. Yellow T-shirt, jeans. His son
Jimmy... He closed his mind tight. It was too late to think about
that. Savagely he scooped up his knife and headed toward the
door. Janet and Tommy stood stone-still, neither of them
moving.

The car was out. He'd never get through. They'd be

waiting for him. It was ten miles on foot. Ten long miles over

37
rough ground, gulleys and open fields and hills of uncut forest.
He'd have to go alone.

Loyce opened the door. For a brief second he looked back

at his wife and son. Then he slammed the door behind him and
raced down the porch steps.

A moment later he was on his way, hurrying swiftly

through the darkness toward the edge of town.

The early morning sunlight was blinding. Loyce halted,

gasping for breath, swaying back and forth. Sweat ran down in
his eyes. His clothing was torn, shredded by the brush and thorns
through which he had crawled. Ten miles—on his hands and
knees. Crawling, creeping through the night. His shoes were
mud-caked. He was scratched and limping, utterly exhausted.
But ahead of him lay Oak Grove.

He took a deep breath and started down the hill. Twice he

stumbled and fell, picking himself up and trudging on. His ears
rang. Everything receded and wavered. But he was there. He had
got out, away from Pikeville.

A farmer in a field gaped at him. From a house a young

woman watched in wonder. Loyce reached the road and turned

38
onto it. Ahead of him was a gasoline station and a drive-in. A
couple of trucks, some chickens pecking in the dirt, a dog tied
with a string.

The white-clad attendant watched suspiciously as he

dragged himself up to the station. "Thank God." He caught hold
of the wall. "I didn't think I was going to make it. They followed
me most of the way. I could hear them buzzing. Buzzing and
flitting around behind me."

"What happened?" the attendant demanded. "You in a

wreck? A holdup?"

Loyce shook his head wearily. "They have the whole

town. The City Hall and the police station. They hung a man
from the lamppost. That was the first thing I saw. They've got all
the roads blocked. I saw them hovering over the cars coming in.
About four this morning I got beyond them. I knew it right away.
I could feel them leave. And then the sun came up."

The attendant licked his lip nervously. "You're out of your

head. I better get a doctor."

39
 "Get me into Oak Grove," Loyce gasped. He sank down
on the gravel. "We've got to get started—cleaning them out. Got
to get started right away."

They kept a tape recorder going all the time he talked.

When he had finished the Commissioner snapped off the
recorder and got to his feet. He stood for a moment, deep in
thought. Finally he got out his cigarettes and lit up slowly, a
frown on his beefy face.

"You don't believe me," Loyce said.

The Commissioner offered him a cigarette. Loyce pushed

it impatiently away. "Suit yourself." The Commissioner moved
over to the window and stood for a time looking out at the town
of Oak Grove. "I believe you," he said abruptly.

Loyce sagged. "Thank God."

"So you got away." The Commissioner shook his head.

"You were down in your cellar instead of at work. A freak
chance. One in a million."

Loyce sipped some of the black coffee they had brought

him. "I have a theory," he murmured.

"What is it?"
40
 "About them. Who they are. They take over one area at a
time. Starting at the top—the highest level of authority. Working
down from there in a widening circle. When they're firmly in
control they go on to the next town. They spread, slowly, very
gradually. I think it's been going on for a long time."

"A long time?"

"Thousands of years. I don't think it's new."

"Why do you say that?"

"When I was a kid... A picture they showed us in Bible

League. A religious picture—an old print. The enemy gods,
defeated by Jehovah. Moloch, Beelzebub, Moab, Baalin,
Ashtaroth—"

"So?"

"They were all represented by figures." Loyce looked up

at the Commissioner. "Beelzebub was represented as—a giant
fly."

The Commissioner grunted. "An old struggle."

"They've been defeated. The Bible is an account of their

defeats. They make gains—but finally they're defeated."

41
 "Why defeated?"

"They can't get everyone. They didn't get me. And they
never got the Hebrews. The Hebrews carried the message to the
whole world. The realization of the danger. The two men on the
bus. I think they understood. Had escaped, like I did." He
clenched his fists. "I killed one of them. I made a mistake. I was
afraid to take a chance."

The Commissioner nodded. "Yes, they undoubtedly had

escaped, as you did. Freak accidents. But the rest of the town
was firmly in control." He turned from the window, "Well, Mr.
Loyce. You seem to have figured everything out."

"Not everything. The hanging man. The dead man

hanging from the lamppost. I don't understand that. Why? Why
did they deliberately hang him there?"

"That would seem simple." The Commissioner smiled

faintly. "Bait."

Loyce stiffened. His heart stopped beating. "Bait? What

do you mean?"

"To draw you out. Make you declare yourself. So they'd

know who was under control—and who had escaped."

42
 Loyce recoiled with horror. "Then they expected failures!
They anticipated—" He broke off. "They were ready with a
trap." "And you showed yourself. You reacted. You made
yourself known." The Commissioner abruptly moved toward the
door. "Come along, Loyce. There's a lot to do. We must get
moving. There's no time to waste."

Loyce started slowly to his feet, numbed. "And the man.

Who was the man? I never saw him before. He wasn't a local
man. He was a stranger. All muddy and dirty, his face cut,
slashed—"

There was a strange look on the Commissioner's face as

he answered, "Maybe," he said softly, "you'll understand that,
too. Come along with me, Mr. Loyce." He held the door open,
his eyes gleaming. Loyce caught a glimpse of the street in front
of the police station. Policemen, a platform of some sort. A
telephone pole—and a rope! "Right this way," the Commissioner
said, smiling coldly.

As the sun set, the vice-president of the Oak Grove

Merchants' Bank came up out of the vault, threw the heavy time
locks, put on his hat and coat, and hurried outside onto the

43
sidewalk. Only a few people were there, hurrying home to
dinner.

"Good night," the guard said, locking the door after him.

"Good night," Clarence Mason murmured.

He started along the street toward his car. He was tired.

He had been working all day down in the vault, examining the
lay-out of the safety deposit boxes to see if there was room for
another tier. He was glad to be finished. At the corner he halted.
The street lights had not yet come on. The street was dim.
Everything was vague. He looked around—and froze. From the
telephone pole in front of the police station, something large and
shapeless hung. It moved a little with the wind. What the hell
was it? Mason approached it warily. He wanted to get home. He
was tired and hungry. He thought of his wife, his kids, a hot
meal on the dinner table. But there was something about the dark
bundle, something ominous and ugly. The light was bad; he
couldn't tell what it was. Yet it drew him on, made him move
closer for a better look. The shapeless thing made him uneasy.
He was frightened by it. Frightened—and fascinated. And the
strange part was that nobody else seemed to notice it.

44
Processing Questions:

1. When Ed got to oak grove, who did he meet?

2. What happens to Ed?

3. Why does Loyce leave the bus?

4. Why did we jump out of the car?

5. What is the conflict of the Hanging Stronger?

VOCABULARIES:

Admonition - an act or action of admonishing; authoritative

counsel or warning.

Example: “He offered words of advice and admonition.”

Astonish - surprise or impress (someone) greatly.

Example: “Despite the hype, there was nothing in the book to

astonish readers.”

Avaricious - having or showing an extreme greed for wealth or

material gain.

45
Example: “He sacrificed his own career so that his avaricious
brother could succeed.”

Dirgelike - having the slow, mournful character of a dirge.

Example: “The broadcasts are filled with dirgelike songs played

against a backdrop of video clips showing street fighting.”

Enthusiastic - having or showing intense and eager enjoyment,

interest, or approval.

Example: “They were enthusiastic supporters of the president.

Exertions - physical or mental effort.”

Gleeful - exuberantly or triumphantly joyful.

Example: “He laughed with gleeful malice at their

embarrassment.”

Protestations - an emphatic declaration that something is or is

not the case.

46
Example: “The police ignored his protestations of innocence.”

Stealthily - in a cautious and surreptitious manner, so as not to

be seen or heard

Example: “She crept stealthily along the corridor.”

Passage
C
A Dark Brown Dog
By: Stephen Crane

47
 Figure 2: A Dark Brown Dog

A Child was standing on a street-corner. He leaned with

one shoulder against a high board-fence and swayed the other to
and fro, the while kicking carelessly at the gravel. Sunshine beat
upon the cobbles, and a lazy summer wind raised yellow dust
which trailed in clouds down the avenue. Clattering trucks
moved with indistinctness through it. The child stood dreamily
gazing. After a time, a little dark-brown dog came trotting with
an intent air down the sidewalk. A short rope was dragging from
his neck. Occasionally he trod upon the end of it and stumbled.
He stopped opposite the child, and the two regarded each other.
The dog hesitated for a moment, but presently he made some
little advances with his tail. The child put out his hand and called
him. In an apologetic manner the dog came close, and the two
had an interchange of friendly patting and waggles. The dog
became more enthusiastic with each moment of the interview,
until with his gleeful capering’s he threatened to overturn the
child. Whereupon the child lifted his hand and struck the dog a
blow upon the head.

This thing seemed to overpower and astonish the little

dark-brown dog, and wounded him to the heart. He sank down in

48
despair at the child's feet. When the blow was repeated, together
with an admonition in childish sentences, he turned over upon
his back, and held his paws in a peculiar manner. At the same
time with his ears and his eyes he offered a small prayer to the
child. Presently he struggled to his feet and started after the
child. He looked so comical on his back, and holding his paws
peculiarly, that the child was greatly amused and gave him little
taps repeatedly, to keep him so. But the little dark-brown dog
took this chastisement in the most serious way, and no doubt
considered that he had committed some grave crime, for he
wriggled contritely and showed his repentance in every way that
was in his power. He pleaded with the child and petitioned him,
and offered more prayers. At last the child grew weary of this
amusement and turned toward home. The dog was praying at the
time. He lay on his back and turned his eyes upon the retreating
form. Presently he struggled to his feet and started after the
child. The latter wandered in a perfunctory way toward his
home, stopping at times to investigate various matters. During
one of these pauses he discovered the little dark-brown dog who
was following him with the air of a footpad.

The child beat his pursuer with a small stick he had found.
The dog lay down and prayed until the child had finished, and
49
resumed his journey. Then he scrambled erect and took up the
pursuit again. On the way to his home the child turned many
times and beat the dog, proclaiming with childish gestures that
he held him in contempt as an unimportant dog, with no value
save for a moment. For being this quality of animal the dog
apologized and eloquently expressed regret, but he continued
stealthily to follow the child. His manner grew so very guilty
that he slunk like an assassin. When the child reached his door-
step, the dog was industriously ambling a few yards in the rear.
He became so agitated with shame when he again confronted the
child that he forgot the dragging rope. He tripped upon it and fell
forward. The child attempts to drag the dark brown dog the child
sat down on the step and the two had another interview. During
it the dog greatly exerted himself to please the child. He
performed a few gambols with such abandon that the child
suddenly saw him to be a valuable thing. He made a swift,
avaricious charge and seized the rope. He dragged his captive
into a hall and up many long stairways in a dark tenement. The
dog made willing efforts, but he could not hobble very skillfully
up the stairs because he was very small and soft, and at last the
pace of the engrossed child grew so energetic that the dog
became panic-stricken. In his mind he was being dragged toward

50
a grim unknown. His eyes grew wild with the terror of it. He
began to wiggle his head frantically and to brace his legs. The
child redoubled his exertions. They had a battle on the stairs.
The child was victorious because he was completely absorbed in
his purpose, and because the dog was very small. He dragged his
acquirement to the door of his home, and finally with triumph
across the threshold. Presently he struggled to his feet and
started after the child. No one was in. The child sat down on the
floor and made overtures to the dog. These the dog instantly
accepted. He beamed with affection upon his new friend. In a
short time they were firm and abiding comrades. When the
child's family appeared, they made a great row. The dog was
examined and commented upon and called names. Scorn was
leveled at him from all eyes, so that he became much
embarrassed and drooped like a scorched plant. But the child
went sturdily to the center of the floor, and, at the top of his
voice, championed the dog. It happened that he was roaring
protestations, with his arms clasped about the dog's neck, when
the father of the family came in from work. The parent
demanded to know what the blazes they were making the kid
howl for. It was explained in many words that the infernal kid
wanted to introduce a disreputable dog into the family. A family

51
council was held. On this depended the dog's fate, but he in no
way heeded, being busily engaged in chewing the end of the
child's dress? The affair was quickly ended. The father of the
family, it appears, was in a particularly savage temper that
evening, and when he perceived that it would amaze and anger
everybody if such a dog were allowed to remain, he decided that
it should be so. The child, crying softly, took his friend off to a
retired part of the room to hobnob with him, while the father
quelled a fierce rebellion of his wife. So it came to pass that the
dog was a member of the household.

He and the child were associated together at all times save

when the child slept. The child became a guardian and a friend.
If the large folk kicked the dog and threw things at him, the child
made loud and violent objections. Once when the child had run,
protesting loudly, with tears raining down his face and his arms
outstretched, to protect his friend, he had been struck in the head
with a very large saucepan from the hand of his father, enraged
at some seeming lack of courtesy in the dog. Ever after, the
family were careful how they threw things at the dog. Moreover,
the latter grew very skilful in avoiding missiles and feet. In a

52
small room containing a stove, a table, a bureau and some chairs,
he would display strategic ability of a high order, dodging,
feinting and scuttling about among the furniture. He could force
three or four people armed with brooms, sticks and handfuls of
coal, to use all their ingenuity to get in a blow. And even when
they did, it was seldom that they could do him a serious injury or
leave any imprint.

But when the child was present, these scenes did not
occur. It came to be recognized that if the dog was molested, the
child would burst into sobs, and as the child, when started, was
very riotous and practically unquenchable, the dog had therein a
safeguard. However, the child could not always be near. At
night, when he was asleep, his dark-brown friend would raise
from some black corner a wild, willful cry, a song of infinite
lowliness and despair, that would go shuddering and sobbing
among the buildings of the block and cause people to swear. At
these times the singer would often be chased all over the kitchen
and hit with a great variety of articles.

Sometimes, too, the child himself used to beat the dog,

although it is not known that he ever had what could be truly
called a just cause. The dog always accepted these thrashings

53
with an air of admitted guilt. He was too much of a dog to try to
look to be a martyr or to plot revenge. He received the blows
with deep humility, and furthermore he forgave his friend the
moment the child had finished, and was ready to caress the
child's hand with his little red tongue. When misfortune came
upon the child, and his troubles overwhelmed him, he would
often crawl under the table and lay his small distressed head on
the dog's back. The dog was ever sympathetic. It is not to be
supposed that at such times he took occasion to refer to the
unjust beatings his friend, when provoked, had administered to
him. He did not achieve any notable degree of intimacy with the
other members of the family. He had no confidence in them, and
the fear that he would express at their casual approach often
exasperated them exceedingly. They used to gain a certain
satisfaction in underfeeding him, but finally his friend the child
grew to watch the matter with some care, and when he forgot it,
the dog was often successful in secret for himself. So the dog
prospered. He developed a large bark, which came wondrously
from such a small rug of a dog. He ceased to howl persistently at
night. Sometimes, indeed, in his sleep, he would utter little yells,
as from pain, but that occurred, no doubt, when in his dreams he
encountered huge flaming dogs who threatened him direfully.

54
His devotion to the child grew until it was a sublime thing. He
wagged at his approach; he sank down in despair at his
departure. He could detect the sound of the child's step among
all the noises of the neighborhood. It was like a calling voice to
him. The scene of their companionship was a kingdom governed
by this terrible potentate, the child; but neither criticism nor
rebellion ever lived for an instant in the heart of the one subject.
Down in the mystic, hidden fields of his little dog-soul bloomed
flowers of love and fidelity and perfect faith. The child was in
the habit of going on many expeditions to observe strange things
in the vicinity. On these occasions his friend usually jogged
aimfully along behind. Perhaps, though, he went ahead. This
necessitated his turning around every quarter-minute to make
sure the child was coming. He was filled with a large idea of the
importance of these journeys. He would carry himself with such
an air! He was proud to be the retainer of so great a monarch.
One day, however, the father of the family got quite
exceptionally drunk. He came home and held carnival with the
cooking utensils, the furniture and his wife. He was in the midst
of this recreation when the child, followed by the dark-brown
dog, entered the room. They were returning from their voyages.
He was the picture of a little dark-brown dog en route to a friend.

55
 The child's practiced eye instantly noted his father's state.
He dived under the table, where experience had taught him was a
rather safe place. The dog, lacking skill in such matters, was, of
course, unaware of the true condition of affairs. He looked with
interested eyes at his friend's sudden dive. He interpreted it to
mean: Joyous gambol. He started to patter across the floor to join
him. He was the picture of a little dark-brown dog en route to a
friend. The head of the family saw him at this moment. He gave
a huge howl of joy, and knocked the dog down with a heavy
coffee-pot. The dog, yelling in supreme astonishment and fear,
writhed to his feet and ran for cover. The man kicked out with a
ponderous foot. It caused the dog to swerve as if caught in a tide.
A second blow of the coffee-pot laid him upon the floor. Here
the child, uttering loud cries, came valiantly forth like a knight.
The father of the family paid no attention to these calls of the
child, but advanced with glee upon the dog. Upon being knocked
down twice in swift succession, the latter apparently gave up all
hope of escape. He rolled over on his back and held his paws in
a peculiar manner. At the same time with his eyes and his ears he
offered up a small prayer. But the father was in a mood for
having fun, and it occurred to him that it would be a fine thing to
throw the dog out of the window. So he reached down and

56
grabbing the animal by a leg, lifted him, squirming, up. He
swung him two or three times hilariously about his head, and
then flung him with great accuracy through the [Link]
soaring dog created a surprise in the block. A woman watering
plants in an opposite window gave an involuntary shout and
dropped a flower-pot. A man in another window leaned
perilously out to watch the flight of the dog. A woman, who had
been hanging out clothes in a yard, began to caper wildly. Her
mouth was filled with clothes-pins, but her arms gave vent to a
sort of exclamation. In appearance she was like a gagged
prisoner. Children ran whooping. The dark-brown body crashed
in a heap on the roof of a shed five stories below. From thence it
rolled to the pavement of an alleyway. The child in the room far
above burst into a long, dirgelike cry, and toddled hastily out of
the room. It took him a long time to reach the alley, because his
size compelled him to go downstairs backward, one step at a
time, and holding with both hands to the step above....they found
him seated by the body of his dark-brown friend. When they
came for him later, they found him seated by the body of his
dark-brown friend.

57
Processing Questions:

1. Who is the author of the story?

2. What does a dark brown dog symbolize?

3. What does the father hit the dog with?

4. Who became the guardian angel of the dog inside the house?

5. How does the dog feel when he sees the child?

VOCABULARIES:

Commissioner - a person appointed to a role on or by a

commission.

Example: “The baseball commissioner decided to suspend the

players for 10 games.”

Gazing - look steadily and intently, especially in admiration,

surprise, or thought.

Answer: “He is gazing at her, his eyes full of longing.”

58
Crouched - adopt a position where the knees are bent and the
upper body is brought forward and down, sometimes to avoid
detection or to defend oneself.

Example: “She crouched down, trying to get a closer look at the

spider.”

Frightened - afraid or anxious.

Example: “I'm frightened of walking home alone in the dark.”

Lumbered - move in a slow, heavy, awkward way.

Example: “He lumbered to his feet and went to see who was at
the door.”

Prism - a polyhedron with two opposite ends that are parallel

polygons and faces that are each parallelograms.

Example: “A prism decomposes sunlight into various colors.”

Splotch - a blob or smear of something, typically a liquid.

59
Example: “His muddy boots splotched the carpet.”

Stumbled - trip or momentarily lose one's balance; almost fall.

Example: “The horse stumbled and almost fell.”

“Reading should not be presented to children

as a chore or duty. It should be offered to them
as a precious gift.”
-Kate DiCamillo-

ANSWER KEY

The Story of an Hour:

1. Josephine, Louise, Richard, Brently Mallard

2. It was reported that his husband (Brently Mallard) name

leading the list of killed of the railroad disaster.
60
3. Her sister Josaphine

4. I feel sad too

5. Mrs. Mallard knew the news about the railroad disaster and
his husband is one of the person in the accident.

The Hanging Stranger:

1. The Police Commissioner.

2. was hanged as bait to lure others to escape.

3. because he believes that two men on the bus are planning on

attacking him.

4. because he could tell they weren't cops because he knows all

the cops in town.

5. aliens are attempting to take over Pikeville.

A Dark Brown Dog:

1. Stephen Crane.

2. it symbolizes a man recently freed from the chains of slavery.

3. Pan.

61
4. Child.

5. Enthusiastic

BIBLIOGRAPHY

“The Story of an Hour”

[Link]
the-story-of-an-hour

62
“The Hanging Stranger”
[Link]
e-hanging-stranger

“A Dark Brown Dog”

[Link]
a-dark-brown-dog

63