the honking of a car horn from in front of the house.
She ran to the window, looked out and saw the taxi waiting there with no driver in sight. There was another call from the horn before she released the curtain.
“All right,” she said, “goddamn it, I hear you. Can’t even come to the front door? I’m supposed to carry these damn bags myself. What’s the world coming to. Jesus. Lazy bum, afraid of a little cold air?”
She picked up the bag from the bed, crossed the room, turned off the light, reached down and gathered up the other suitcase and went into the hall still muttering to herself about the poor quality of service as compared to when she was a young lady.
She was about to go down the stairs when she was stopped by a sound much softer and far closer than that of the taxi horn. Turning around she called out, “Claude!”
Then she put the two bags down, listened again before she yelled, “Where are you? Now you stop hiding like this!” Heading back down the hall away from the stairs to the main floor she felt herself getting angry for, no doubt, the driver had the meter already running.
“Goddamn it, Claude, you’re going to make me late and cost me a fortune!” She listened at Clare’s room, then Barbara’s, but there was no sound. “Come and say goodbye to Mamma, Claude. You little—!”
At the end of the hall were the stairs leading to the attic trapdoor and she stopped there, listening as the cat meowed from above.
“How the hell did you get up there?” she called.
Climbing the steps she pushed the trapdoor with her hand as the taxi driver started to honk his horn impatiently. Stopping she turned and yelled to the area below her, “Oh, shut up! You can wait.” Turning back she pushed harder saying softly, “Here, Claude.”
The door creaked eerily as she pushed it all the way open and climbed a few more steps so that her head was above the attic floor. Suddenly she shrieked and leaned down to look at where she had torn a stocking on a nail.
“Damn it, Claude, look what you’ve made me do!” Looking back up she called, “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!”
The attic was dark except for the moonlight and she, because she was hardly above ground level and because it was not likely for Claude to be above her, did not look up or she might have seen in the half-light something swaying just above her head.
Squinting as she tried to adjust her eyes to the darkness she muttered, “I’ve got to clean this mess up one of these days. Come on, Claude. I can’t see a damned thing up here. Here, kitty.”
Outside the horn honked again making her jump. “Dammit! Here, Claude. Here, kitty! Goddamn it, Claude, I’m gonna have you fixed.”
She looked up and stopped speaking, a puzzled look coming over her face as she saw what was sitting in the rocker just beyond the trap door. Her expression changed to one of horror as she realized that it was Clare Harrison and then as she stumbled back in shock she heard a loud crash and she turned her head up just in time to see the noose of the rope that had dangled above her tumbling down toward her.
Terrified and helpless she couldn’t move, couldn’t open her mouth to scream as the rope pulled taut and her struggling body was jerked upward toward the rafters.
The taxi driver had finally come to the front door and he was standing there ringing the doorbell insistently as she was slowly strangled to death.
Several times he called out, “Hey! Is anybody there?” But there was only an answering silence and finally he shrugged and walked back to his cab as the trapdoor was creakily lowered on its rusty hinges.
Had the cab driver looked to the attic he might have seen silhouetted in the window a form watching him as he got back into his taxi after curiously looking at the lower part of the big, silent house. Once in the cab he turned on the ignition and the lights, backed up and after looking back once more, pulled away.
The figure in the window was
She ran to the window, looked out and saw the taxi waiting there with no driver in sight. There was another call from the horn before she released the curtain.
“All right,” she said, “goddamn it, I hear you. Can’t even come to the front door? I’m supposed to carry these damn bags myself. What’s the world coming to. Jesus. Lazy bum, afraid of a little cold air?”
She picked up the bag from the bed, crossed the room, turned off the light, reached down and gathered up the other suitcase and went into the hall still muttering to herself about the poor quality of service as compared to when she was a young lady.
She was about to go down the stairs when she was stopped by a sound much softer and far closer than that of the taxi horn. Turning around she called out, “Claude!”
Then she put the two bags down, listened again before she yelled, “Where are you? Now you stop hiding like this!” Heading back down the hall away from the stairs to the main floor she felt herself getting angry for, no doubt, the driver had the meter already running.
“Goddamn it, Claude, you’re going to make me late and cost me a fortune!” She listened at Clare’s room, then Barbara’s, but there was no sound. “Come and say goodbye to Mamma, Claude. You little—!”
At the end of the hall were the stairs leading to the attic trapdoor and she stopped there, listening as the cat meowed from above.
“How the hell did you get up there?” she called.
Climbing the steps she pushed the trapdoor with her hand as the taxi driver started to honk his horn impatiently. Stopping she turned and yelled to the area below her, “Oh, shut up! You can wait.” Turning back she pushed harder saying softly, “Here, Claude.”
The door creaked eerily as she pushed it all the way open and climbed a few more steps so that her head was above the attic floor. Suddenly she shrieked and leaned down to look at where she had torn a stocking on a nail.
“Damn it, Claude, look what you’ve made me do!” Looking back up she called, “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!”
The attic was dark except for the moonlight and she, because she was hardly above ground level and because it was not likely for Claude to be above her, did not look up or she might have seen in the half-light something swaying just above her head.
Squinting as she tried to adjust her eyes to the darkness she muttered, “I’ve got to clean this mess up one of these days. Come on, Claude. I can’t see a damned thing up here. Here, kitty.”
Outside the horn honked again making her jump. “Dammit! Here, Claude. Here, kitty! Goddamn it, Claude, I’m gonna have you fixed.”
She looked up and stopped speaking, a puzzled look coming over her face as she saw what was sitting in the rocker just beyond the trap door. Her expression changed to one of horror as she realized that it was Clare Harrison and then as she stumbled back in shock she heard a loud crash and she turned her head up just in time to see the noose of the rope that had dangled above her tumbling down toward her.
Terrified and helpless she couldn’t move, couldn’t open her mouth to scream as the rope pulled taut and her struggling body was jerked upward toward the rafters.
The taxi driver had finally come to the front door and he was standing there ringing the doorbell insistently as she was slowly strangled to death.
Several times he called out, “Hey! Is anybody there?” But there was only an answering silence and finally he shrugged and walked back to his cab as the trapdoor was creakily lowered on its rusty hinges.
Had the cab driver looked to the attic he might have seen silhouetted in the window a form watching him as he got back into his taxi after curiously looking at the lower part of the big, silent house. Once in the cab he turned on the ignition and the lights, backed up and after looking back once more, pulled away.
The figure in the window was
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