The Great Sneeze of Hollow Creek
Hollow Creek was a quiet town where nothing much happened until the morning that Hector Abernathy sneezed. Hector was a gentle farmer with a large nose and a small tolerance for goldenrod pollen, and when it tickled him that Tuesday, he drew in a breath so enormous that the laundry on three clotheslines leaned toward him. Then he let it go. The sneeze rolled across the valley like thunder wearing a coat. It blew the weathervanes around backward, flipped every pancake in the diner at once, and scattered all the street signs in town into the branches of the old maple tree.
By lunchtime, Hollow Creek was hopelessly lost. Delivery drivers wandered in circles, the mail carrier arrived at the library when he meant to visit the bank, and a man looking for the hardware store found himself in a bakery, where he stayed because the muffins were excellent. The mayor called an emergency meeting, but half the town could not find the meeting hall.
It was a group of children who solved the problem. Since the signs had landed in a jumble, they decided to skip the hard work of putting them back in order. Instead, they painted new signs with directions anyone could follow, such as "Left of the Bakery," "Past the Very Big Dog," and "Where the Pancake Landed." The new names were so friendly and so easy to remember that the town voted to keep them. Hector, who felt dreadful, volunteered to wear a handkerchief over his nose all through the goldenrod season. The old signs now decorate the maple tree, and visitors often ask whether the tree is a famous landmark. Locals just smile and say, "Ask Hector."