Martin found the city in a box in his grandfather’s attic, amid a heap of old children’s toys and yellowed bundles of “Reader’s Digest” tied up with twine. The box was about nine inches square, made of leather so old that it left fine reddish dust on his fingers when he picked it up.
Something about it aroused his curiosity, and he took it downstairs to get a better look. He was tempted to shake it, like a child with a mysterious Christmas present, but he was afraid that if he did the whole thing might come apart in his hands ...
Don’t miss what I consider the needle in the haystack, easy-to-miss but impossible to forget: “The City,” … The two-page story manages to be both wonderful and chilling at the same time. I’m still bothered by it!