I’m jogging through a quiet neighborhood, when suddenly I see the street up ahead blocked by a line of strollers, manned by angry parents. WTF? I slow to a trot, then a walk. One of the moms points at me. “BOW BEFORE CONFORMITY, FOOLISH WRITER!” All of them slam down levers on their strollers and catapult a slew of red-eyed, long-fanged babies toward me. The skies darken with a horde of demonic infants. I turn to run, but they’re slamming into my back, driving me to my knees and gnawing at my exposed flesh. The ones that don’t land on me slap the concrete and skitter forward in a Gollum-worthy gallop. I roll on the ground in agony, the blue sky eclipsed by a gaggle of scarlet gazes and gross little fingers. This is the end…I’m gonna be eaten by a legion of suburban hellspawn…NO. I open my eReader to Echo. Magic flash. The clown from It appears—M60 slung over his back—and runs through their midst, scaring them off. One brave demon-baby charges him, and he soccer-kicks it back toward the parents, then shoulders his gun and rakes the hissing suburbanites with 7.62. He turn to me and I’m screaming in terror, when he takes off his clown-head and reveals himself to be Chuck Norris. Those steely, eighties-action-movie eyes lock on to mine. “Relax, buddy. I only had to use the clown-suit to scare off the tykes. Let’s go grab a beer and do some squats, huh?” I grasp his extended hand, he pulls me up, and we continue our adventures in the world of All That Is Man.