Goldfinger stomped through the village. His knuckles went tap-tap-tap on every window.
"Boo!" he bellied. Shutters slammed. Birds took flight, wings clapping like tiny drums.
He tripped over a garden hose and tumbled into Mrs. Pickle's flower bed. Roses went flying.
Petals stuck to his knees. Then he heard it: "Goldfinger, stop it!" from behind the curtain.
Goldfinger slunk to the edge of the village. A little girl sat alone on a bench. She didn't look up.
He tapped his fingers on the wooden slats. Tap. Tap. Tap-tap-tap.
A dandelion seed drifted past. The girl's head lifted. Her eyes went wide.
She pressed her palm against the bench and tapped back. Tap. Tap. Tap-tap-tap.
A smile spread across her face. Goldfinger beamed so hard his whole face crinkled.
The girl waved. He waved back, his giant hand almost too big for the gesture.
He sat beside her. Together they tapped out a new rhythm on the bench.
Tap-tap-tap. Tap. Tap-tap. The village was quiet. Only the bench kept time.