Read Online The Uninvited by William W. Johnstone - Free Book Online

ways—set in concrete—but a good man. A loving father and husband. And really, she retreated into her memories, he’s right. We did have the best of all music worlds. She began humming a Sam Cooke tune. You Send Me.
    â€™57-’58,” Bob said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThat tune you’re humming. 1957-58?”
    â€œI think so. I was in high school, dating Wally Mumford, I believe.”
    â€œWho the hell is Wally Mumford? Or what in the hell is a Wally Mumford?”
    She laughed out loud.
    The radio in Sarah’s room once more began to snort and burp and roar.
    â€œHe stopped looking after us,” Bob muttered.
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    â€œWhat happened out there?” the station manager yelled over the phone.
    â€œWe lost power,” the morning DJ replied. “I don’t know what caused it. The engineer’s working on it now, but we’re back on the air.”
    In the transmitter room, the engineer picked up the phone. “I went to auxiliary,” he told the manager. “But I don’t know how long I can keep it running. It’s just about had it.”
    â€œWell, get it fixed. If you can’t fix it, call somebody who can!”
    â€œWho?” the engineer fired back. “Edison? Both the auxiliary and the main transmitter are so old you can’t get parts for them. Besides, it’s the wiring. Something’s been chewing on the wiring.”
    â€œMice?”
    â€œI don’t think so.”
    Goddamn it!” the station manager swore.
    â€œI doubt He had a thing to do with it,” the engineer said, then hung up. Radio and TV engineers, being a peculiar breed, have a tendency to say exactly what is on their minds, and the hell with the consequences.
    The station manager looked at the buzzing phone in his hand. “Bastard hung up on me!”
    Then his phone quit working, as did many phones in the two-Parish area.
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    The radio station in the next Parish went off the air moments after the station in Bonne Terre kicked off, then came back on.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” the morning DJ asked the engineer.
    When an engineer does not know the nature of the problem, the reply is almost universal.One of the mysteries of communications,” he said.
    Well, thanks just a whole hell of a lot!” the DJ responded.
    â€œYou’re certainly welcome.”
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    â€œMr. Travers,” said the young lady to her summer school history teacher at Bonne Terre High, “that is the grossest thing I have ever seen. What is that ugly thing?”
    â€œWell, Kitty, from all outward appearances, it’s a roach. But it’s certainly unlike any roach I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been in some distant places.”
    The girl nodded. Mr. Travers sometimes brought slides and films of the places he’d traveled, working them into his history lesson.
    Dick Plano, one of Bonne Terre’s science teachers, walked into the classroom and looked at the bug in a jar on Brett’s desk. He blinked, then took a closer look. “That is one strange-looking varmit, Brett.”
    â€œI think it’s a roach. How ’bout you?”
    â€œAm I a roach? No, I’m certain I’m not a roach. Where’d you find that bug?”
    â€œWould you believe in my house? Darned near stepped on it this morning getting out of bed. I took a swipe at it with my slipper, stunned it, put it in a quart jar—carefully, I might add—and there it is. What do you think it is, Dick? I’ve never seen anything like it.”
    â€œUm.” The science teacher peered through the glass jar. “It vaguely resembles the Madagascar roach. That’s one of the largest roaches known to exist. But this one also has characteristics of the German cockroach, the black beetle, and the American and Australian cockroach. It’s ugly, mean-looking. I’d have to say . . .” he paused for a second or two. “Holy cow!