Chainsaw Massacre. One of the children wielded what she thought to be the most spot on miniaturized plastic version of an actual power tool that she had ever seen. The other children feigned agonizing and messy deaths on the patch of grass that served as dog-run, yard sale territory and now imaginary house of terror for the residents at Birchwood Manor. It could all be observed from her room. Late inthe day she would watch the cars and their drivers return from someplace, maybe work, maybe shopping. There was a busy road outside as well. She would try to imagine where these people were going and what they would encounter when they got there. These were the movements. She moved through this window. She was each and every stride and flailing death knell that the little girl outside proffered. She could not move in the conventional sense of the term but never felt still.