It all started the day his mother hadn't said a single word. Though she didn't talk constantly, her nagging could be relied upon at least twice an hour. Ever since she caught that cough, she began saving her voice. Now it seemed she didn't have any left.

His brothers were always rowdy, always loud. Lately, they'd been more subdued, too. One sniffling, the other sneezing, both were bleary-eyed as they went about hauling off tree after tree.

While his aunt and uncle kept mostly inside, doing most of the knitting, Griselda complained about being too hot while Ubb bemoaned being too cold. Then an hour later, he would be sweating while she 'tested' the thneeds by wrapping several around herself. The temperature never changed, though. Even the coolest nights were warm, and even the sunniest days were breezy.

Ultimately, they blamed it on being in the middle of nowhere — strange pollen and fur and who-knew-what else. It seemed a little much for just a little dander and flower dust, though.

One night at the dinner table, the Onceler paused with fork in hand, a piece of the main course speared on the tines, though he only held it aloft. Blinking slowly, he stared at a spot on the opposite wall, the gears in his mind turning slowly but steadily. When his vision blurred, he gave his head a clearing shake, cupping a hand over his forehead. He'd been out swinging the axe all day, but the sun had already set. Yet his head still felt like his neck had in the middle of the afternoon. It just didn't make sense.

"Oncie, what on Earth are you doin'?"

Shaking his head again, Onceler said "Uh, nothing, Mom. Just…thinking."

"Thinkin' about how we're gonna go about buildin' that factory you've been drawin' up plans for?"
"Y-Yeah…that."

"Well, don't stress yourself too hard — okay, well, maybe just a lil' bit." With a wheezy chuckle, she added "You said yourself this wasn't a 'rinky dink' operation anymore, but, honey, we are still square on the corner of 'rink' and 'dink'." With that, she leaned forward with a loud few hacks and resumed her silence as she ate.

"Yeah, Mom," he echoed, "I'll get on it…" Gaze falling to his fork again, it almost felt as if someone had dug one into his brow. Flinching, he glanced over at Chet who made another obnoxiously audible inhale, while Brett blew his nose just as noisily. A few drips splattered in his direction, at which he leaned away with a squint.

"Where're you going?" his aunt asked as he pushed himself away from the table, "I hope it's to turn down the heat. I'm almost as roasted as this ham!"

"Don't listen to her!" his uncle said, leaning forward. "If it doesn't get any warmer in here soon I'll be a block of ice by tomorrow!"

"That's a load — just three hours ago you said you were gonna melt!"
"And three hours ago you were trying to sew ten thneeds into a blanket for yourself!"

As they began to argue, Onceler sighed, saying "I'm gonna go…to my room. Goodnight, Mom…"

His mother looked up at him, but didn't speak. She was frowning, but there was a softer look in her eyes. Griselda and Ubb were still bickering, and his brothers stuffed their faces, occasionally playing with their food and chuckling about it.

"…everybody." Walking away, Onceler dragged a hand down his face, rubbing his eyes and giving his head another shake.

Stepping out of the RV, he stopped, turning and staring out at the lush landscape. The air felt damp and smelled faintly of butterfly milk. A sleuth of Barbaloot cubs were huddled around the trunk of a nearby tree, snoozing cutely. Earlier, they'd been sucking down truffula fruits and climbing up and down and in and out of that same tree. They all seemed perfectly healthy and fit.

The same thought that had kept wriggling just out of his reach at dinner, like an elusive Humming Fish, came doubling back to him now. This place was an untouched paradise — but he'd found an old tent stake the night they'd arrived, and a few more knick-knacks since. He and his family hadn't been the first ones to find this place. And it wasn't at all a secluded spot so much as one that took a while to reach. It was worth the while, though, so the question he wound up with, again, was: why was there no one else here? Why had the gorgeous glory of the truffula tree not circled the globe ten times already?

Head throbbing again, he tried to shake it off as he stumbled toward another tree. This one had a Swomee Swan's nest, the birds also peacefully asleep. Most of the fruits had been plucked, but up next to the trunk, one half-eaten chunk of fruit remained. Digging his glove out of his pocket, he slipped it on and scooped the thing up, peering at it.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea crashed over him, and he found himself sprinting for his tent in a daze, dropping the fruit on the way. Barreling through the door, he firmly clutched the edges of his sink and heaved. With each impossibly tight twist of his stomach, his head pounded like a drum on Christmas morning.

Washing his face and splashing some cold water on his eyes, he gave his stomach a gentle rub and finally changed into his pajamas. After he sat then flopped down on his bed, he lay on his back, watching the ceiling swim.

He could hear the faint — and not so faint — noises of his family in the RV. Starting to shiver, he tugged up the covers around him and rolled over. Curling a little, he tried to ignore his headache and other aches and willed himself to sleep. If he could just get a little more rest, he was sure he'd get better. They'd all get better, eventually.

"…Oncie! …ONCIE!"

Eyes opening as his pulse raced, Onceler swore he heard his mother's voice. Rolling out of bed and struggling to stand on numb legs, he listened, but heard nothing. Pushing his voice out of his throat, he called out "Mom?" Waiting a few moments, he repeated "…Mom?"

The sun's first rays had just begun to shine from the horizon. Rushing back outside, past the silhouetted truffulas, he pushed open the RV door.

"…Mom?! MOM!"

"Ma, wake up," Brett said, kneeling beside her and shaking her by the shoulder.

"What's wrong, Ma?" Chet asked. His nose was still dripping, but it wasn't snot clinging to his jaws.

Eyes wide, jaw slacked, and chest completely numb, Onceler uttered "We have to get out of here. NOW."

"What about your business?" Ubb asked.

"Forget it!" the young man snapped back, pushing himself to his feet, "Forget thneeds! We have to get Mom to a doctor!"

"You idiot, just start driving!" Griselda butted in, towering over her husband, snorting. "I told you this place was a dump!"

Throwing on his shoes, Onceler packed up his tent and helped the others hurriedly load everything back into the camper — even Melvin. Hitching the wagon to the back bumper, the vehicle raced off toward the nearest town as fast and furiously as it had plowed through the grass the first time.

Pressing the phone to his ear, the young man said "Hello? …yes, hi — I've got an emergency. My Mom —…uh, just a few minutes ago — no, I — no, she's not breathing, I — we're on our way right now…okay…okay. All right, got it. Thank you!"

"What did they say?" his uncle asked.

"They said they'd be ready as soon as we got there," Onceler replied. "Just park out front and they'll come and get her." Pausing with a glance over his shoulder, "I'm gonna go check on Mom. Be right back."

Kneeling by the side of the bed, he gingerly clutched his mother's hand. Smiling weakly, he said "I know just what you'd say…'You gave up your money-making to save my life? Why, you're the stupidest child I ever had!'" Flinching, he gulped back the lump in his throat, "I know, I know, Mom —…and…you might not care about me unless I'm making you rich, but…I care about you, okay?!"

With a grunt, he pressed his finger and thumb firmly against his brow. Fingers slipping to the bed's edge, he struggled to keep himself upright as his vision blurred heavily again. Finally, he toppled onto his side, curling up. The rumble of the wheels almost distracted him from the pain.

"Once? Oncie? …hey, Uncle! Now Once's not talkin', either!"

Opening his eyes to a squint, Onceler tried to keep his breathing steady as he stared across at a brightly-colored blotch. A piece of the cotton-candy-like tuft. Straining to reach it, he felt his hand shaking. As he grabbed it, his whole body spasmed, rocking and writhing there on the floor. Gasping for breath, he felt his head grow light, lids drooping shut. The pain finally began to fade.

He'd left a stake of his own in the ground back in the truffula grove — and a toothbrush. They lay buried in the grass with the rest. The trees were beautiful and they would stay that way. Tomorrow the Barbaloots would frolic and play, the Swomee Swans would glide and sing, and the Humming Fish would hum and perhaps dance.

But there would be one less Onceler.

THE END