fuse, to revolve about one another accompanied by continuous pounding and the sound of clashing metal.
She sprang up in bed, awake, frightened. She felt the flesh contract about her body; her nightgown was soaking wet.
The images were gone. But the noises remained. She listened carefully, flicked on the small reading light and looked up at the ceiling. The pounding? Footsteps! She was positive. They were coming from an apartment that was supposedly empty and had been so for many years. She shivered and looked at her alarm clock. It was four fifteen in the morning.
Someone was in a place where no one should have been, pacing back and forth methodically, like a soldier on guard.
Then the walking ceased, but the sound of clashing metal continued.
She threw on her robe, bolted into the living room and rushed to the door. She checked it; it was locked.
She stood panting, terrified. The footsteps, the noise; something was wrong.
She turned her back to the door. She was exhausted. She shut her eyes. Her mouth closed and arms dropped. Exhausted, she slid down the door and fell unconscious to the floor, her hand wrapped tightly about the crucifix.
Chapter IX
"There's something peculiar going on in that house!"
Allison turned to Michael and waited for a response. Behind them a large ape dangled from the crossbeam in his cage, arms and legs extended over the bars, poised as if he were listening to their conversation. Every several seconds he rumpled his heavy jowls and grunted his disapproval.
Michael walked away from her, stopped in front of the next cage and leaned over the rail to get a closer look at the Bengal tiger that paced behind the heavy iron bars. His study was brief, his interest minimal; he turned away and leaned in his French-cut suit against the hand railing.
"I'll admit that Chazen is a little weird and that those others who live there are also a bit odd, but so what? This is New York, and weirdos are not a species in danger of extinction."
"You're being flippant?"
"I'm not.
"You are, and I don't like it."
"How serious can you expect me to be? Look what we're dealing with. An old coot with one foot in the grave, an alley cat and a squawking parrot."
"Parakeet!"
"Parakeet. Not very sinister. I think it's funny."
"Ha, ha," she said bitterly.
"And then there's Mrs. Clark, a hunchback, hardening after years of loneliness and pain. Doesn't smile. Doesn't talk much. Rude. What do you expect?" He waited for an answer but, receiving none, added, "She sounds as if she's done all right. If you or I had been born hunchbacked we would have put ourselves in a box and locked the lid. The two fat women? The only frightening thing about them is the thought of them falling on you. And let's take a look at what's his name-"
"Malcolm."
"Yes, Malcolm and his wife. Now there's a pair! They're absolutely harmless. So look at what we have: a group of nonentities souring in their old age. I think you're making too much out of your geriatric friends. So what if they're odd!"
"It's more than that, Michael. The pieces don't fit together properly!" She scanned the brick walkway, observed that the area seemed more deserted than usual, then said, "It's as if someone mixed three different puzzles together and then tried to fit the parts into one big picture-for example, the fear that dyke showed when she saw Chazen."
"We have the probable explanation for that."
"Or the sound of footsteps above me last night?"
"Mice!"
"They were human."
"How do you know?"
"I know!" Her voice was stern.
"Okay, so someone was in the apartment last night."
"But it's supposed to be empty."
"Whoever it was walked in by mistake."
"At four fifteen in the morning? Michael, let's be rational about this. No one accidentally walks into the wrong apartment that time of night, and if he does he certainly doesn't go to the bedroom and pace back and forth for an hour."
Michael bit his lower lip, turned to the animal cages and tossed several pieces of
She sprang up in bed, awake, frightened. She felt the flesh contract about her body; her nightgown was soaking wet.
The images were gone. But the noises remained. She listened carefully, flicked on the small reading light and looked up at the ceiling. The pounding? Footsteps! She was positive. They were coming from an apartment that was supposedly empty and had been so for many years. She shivered and looked at her alarm clock. It was four fifteen in the morning.
Someone was in a place where no one should have been, pacing back and forth methodically, like a soldier on guard.
Then the walking ceased, but the sound of clashing metal continued.
She threw on her robe, bolted into the living room and rushed to the door. She checked it; it was locked.
She stood panting, terrified. The footsteps, the noise; something was wrong.
She turned her back to the door. She was exhausted. She shut her eyes. Her mouth closed and arms dropped. Exhausted, she slid down the door and fell unconscious to the floor, her hand wrapped tightly about the crucifix.
Chapter IX
"There's something peculiar going on in that house!"
Allison turned to Michael and waited for a response. Behind them a large ape dangled from the crossbeam in his cage, arms and legs extended over the bars, poised as if he were listening to their conversation. Every several seconds he rumpled his heavy jowls and grunted his disapproval.
Michael walked away from her, stopped in front of the next cage and leaned over the rail to get a closer look at the Bengal tiger that paced behind the heavy iron bars. His study was brief, his interest minimal; he turned away and leaned in his French-cut suit against the hand railing.
"I'll admit that Chazen is a little weird and that those others who live there are also a bit odd, but so what? This is New York, and weirdos are not a species in danger of extinction."
"You're being flippant?"
"I'm not.
"You are, and I don't like it."
"How serious can you expect me to be? Look what we're dealing with. An old coot with one foot in the grave, an alley cat and a squawking parrot."
"Parakeet!"
"Parakeet. Not very sinister. I think it's funny."
"Ha, ha," she said bitterly.
"And then there's Mrs. Clark, a hunchback, hardening after years of loneliness and pain. Doesn't smile. Doesn't talk much. Rude. What do you expect?" He waited for an answer but, receiving none, added, "She sounds as if she's done all right. If you or I had been born hunchbacked we would have put ourselves in a box and locked the lid. The two fat women? The only frightening thing about them is the thought of them falling on you. And let's take a look at what's his name-"
"Malcolm."
"Yes, Malcolm and his wife. Now there's a pair! They're absolutely harmless. So look at what we have: a group of nonentities souring in their old age. I think you're making too much out of your geriatric friends. So what if they're odd!"
"It's more than that, Michael. The pieces don't fit together properly!" She scanned the brick walkway, observed that the area seemed more deserted than usual, then said, "It's as if someone mixed three different puzzles together and then tried to fit the parts into one big picture-for example, the fear that dyke showed when she saw Chazen."
"We have the probable explanation for that."
"Or the sound of footsteps above me last night?"
"Mice!"
"They were human."
"How do you know?"
"I know!" Her voice was stern.
"Okay, so someone was in the apartment last night."
"But it's supposed to be empty."
"Whoever it was walked in by mistake."
"At four fifteen in the morning? Michael, let's be rational about this. No one accidentally walks into the wrong apartment that time of night, and if he does he certainly doesn't go to the bedroom and pace back and forth for an hour."
Michael bit his lower lip, turned to the animal cages and tossed several pieces of
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