watching the house for a few seconds. He sighed, looked at his watch, rubbed his forehead thoughtfully and then Peter Smythe stood up, stared at the dark house for a few more minutes before he started to walk, the sound of his footsteps receding in the crisp snow.
Upstairs in the attic, Claude wandered through an array of trunks and boxes, occasionally looking up at the window through which the moonlight poured. Sitting in the rocking chair was a human form and Claude leaped onto its lap. The chair moved but the form didn’t, even when Claude purred and rubbed against Clare Harrison’s body lovingly. Her face stared out blankly through the piece of plastic as her body continued to rock.
Downstairs, unaware of Claude’s whereabouts, Mrs. MacHenry, dressed in a wool suit and matching hat, obviously ready for traveling, sat at a small desk in the living room sipping on a drink as she penned a note to the few girls who had not yet left the house for the Christmas vacation.
When she had finished she signed it with a flourish and then began to reread it to herself in a low mumbling monotone, standing and pacing the room and hall as she read.
“Dear girls. (Should have dotted that ‘i’, they’ll think I’m illiterate) Mrs. Mac is deeply sorry (Where’s that drink? Ah, there you are.) but she has to go away tonight. I know I am obligated to stay until all of you girls have left the house for the holidays, but (Christ, I’ve got lousy penmanship) I’m sure you will understand that this is the only time I could get a ticket to go for Christmas at my sister’s.
“I’m sure that Clare will show up. (Like hell I am.) Please say goodbye to Mr. Harrison for me. Merry Christmas to all of you.
“Love, Mrs. Mac.
“There, that ought to hold the little . . . Uh-oh.”
She went back to the desk and picked up the pen, adding a line which she read aloud as she wrote. “P.S. I still cannot find Claude. Could you keep an eye out for him? Mr. Reynolds said that he would feed him over the holidays.”
She waved the letter in the air a few times to dry the ink then took a piece of Scotch tape from a roll on the desk, folded the note and taped it to the front of the Christmas tree. Glancing at her watch she saw that it was late so she hurried out into the hall and rapidly climbed the stairs to her room on the second floor.
Above her, in the attic, a rasping voice prayed aloud with only the indifferent Claude and the no longer breathing Clare Harrison as audience.
“Oh, God! No! Please! Please, stop me! Please! I don’t want to do it. Won’t you stop me, please? I can’t help myself.”
There was an ominous silence and then the sound of a cat meowing. The person who had just spoken looked around but Claude was nowhere in sight and the hideously contorted face of the girl in the plastic bag watched mutely as his body heaved from its crouching position beside the bed.
CHAPTER NINE
The cab would be there any minute, she told herself as she bustled about the small bedroom adding last minute items to the second of two bags, the first of which was already closed and standing ready by the door. Scurrying from place to place she threw things helter-skelter into the bag while she kept one ear cocked for the sound of the doorbell which would mean that the taxi driver was waiting outside in the cold, no doubt impatiently stamping his foot.
Although he had not arrived she already anticipated his annoyance and said aloud, “Let him wait.”
Next to the open suitcase was the box that contained the nightgown the girls had given her as a Christmas present. She opened it and took out the negligee, holding it up in front of her. Then beginning to hum she waltzed to the mirror, spun around and bowed to her image in imitation of her once upon a time vaudeville act.
Remembering the hour she stopped as quickly as she started, tossed the negligee into the suitcase and hurriedly closed it. Just as she finished locking the snaps she heard
Upstairs in the attic, Claude wandered through an array of trunks and boxes, occasionally looking up at the window through which the moonlight poured. Sitting in the rocking chair was a human form and Claude leaped onto its lap. The chair moved but the form didn’t, even when Claude purred and rubbed against Clare Harrison’s body lovingly. Her face stared out blankly through the piece of plastic as her body continued to rock.
Downstairs, unaware of Claude’s whereabouts, Mrs. MacHenry, dressed in a wool suit and matching hat, obviously ready for traveling, sat at a small desk in the living room sipping on a drink as she penned a note to the few girls who had not yet left the house for the Christmas vacation.
When she had finished she signed it with a flourish and then began to reread it to herself in a low mumbling monotone, standing and pacing the room and hall as she read.
“Dear girls. (Should have dotted that ‘i’, they’ll think I’m illiterate) Mrs. Mac is deeply sorry (Where’s that drink? Ah, there you are.) but she has to go away tonight. I know I am obligated to stay until all of you girls have left the house for the holidays, but (Christ, I’ve got lousy penmanship) I’m sure you will understand that this is the only time I could get a ticket to go for Christmas at my sister’s.
“I’m sure that Clare will show up. (Like hell I am.) Please say goodbye to Mr. Harrison for me. Merry Christmas to all of you.
“Love, Mrs. Mac.
“There, that ought to hold the little . . . Uh-oh.”
She went back to the desk and picked up the pen, adding a line which she read aloud as she wrote. “P.S. I still cannot find Claude. Could you keep an eye out for him? Mr. Reynolds said that he would feed him over the holidays.”
She waved the letter in the air a few times to dry the ink then took a piece of Scotch tape from a roll on the desk, folded the note and taped it to the front of the Christmas tree. Glancing at her watch she saw that it was late so she hurried out into the hall and rapidly climbed the stairs to her room on the second floor.
Above her, in the attic, a rasping voice prayed aloud with only the indifferent Claude and the no longer breathing Clare Harrison as audience.
“Oh, God! No! Please! Please, stop me! Please! I don’t want to do it. Won’t you stop me, please? I can’t help myself.”
There was an ominous silence and then the sound of a cat meowing. The person who had just spoken looked around but Claude was nowhere in sight and the hideously contorted face of the girl in the plastic bag watched mutely as his body heaved from its crouching position beside the bed.
CHAPTER NINE
The cab would be there any minute, she told herself as she bustled about the small bedroom adding last minute items to the second of two bags, the first of which was already closed and standing ready by the door. Scurrying from place to place she threw things helter-skelter into the bag while she kept one ear cocked for the sound of the doorbell which would mean that the taxi driver was waiting outside in the cold, no doubt impatiently stamping his foot.
Although he had not arrived she already anticipated his annoyance and said aloud, “Let him wait.”
Next to the open suitcase was the box that contained the nightgown the girls had given her as a Christmas present. She opened it and took out the negligee, holding it up in front of her. Then beginning to hum she waltzed to the mirror, spun around and bowed to her image in imitation of her once upon a time vaudeville act.
Remembering the hour she stopped as quickly as she started, tossed the negligee into the suitcase and hurriedly closed it. Just as she finished locking the snaps she heard
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