Read Online The Mask by Dean Koontz - Free Book Online Page B

at the rain-slashed fog, which glowed dully with the last somber rays of the fading twilight. “I guess you’re right,” he said, though he was not entirely convinced. “I better go latch the gate.”
    “No, no,” Carol said quickly. “Not while the storm’s on.”
    “Now look here, sugarface, I’m not going to jump into bed and pull the blankets over my head every time there’s a little thunder—just because of what happened this afternoon.”
    “I don’t expect you to,” she said. “But before you start dancing in the rain like Gene Kelly, you’ve got to let
me
get over what happened today. It’s still too fresh in my mind for me to stand here watching you while you cavort across the lawn in the lightning.”
    “It’ll only take a moment and—”
    “Say, are you trying to get out of making that fettuccine?” she asked, cocking her head and looking at him suspiciously.
    “Certainly not. I’ll finish making it as soon as I’ve gone and closed the gate.”
    “I know what you’re up to, mister,” she said smugly. “You’re hoping you
will
be struck by lightning because you
know
your sauce is going to turn out lumpy, and you simply can’t take the humiliation.”
    “That’s a base canard,” he said, falling easily into their game again. “I make the silkiest fettuccine Alfredo this side of Rome. Silkier than Sophia Loren’s thighs.”
    “All I know is, the last time you made it, the stuff was as lumpy as a bowl of oatmeal.”
    “I thought you said it was as lumpy as a mattress in a ten-dollar-a-night motel.”
    She lifted her head proudly. “I’m not just a one-simile woman, you know.”
    “How
well
I know.”
    “So are you going to make fettuccine—or will you take the coward’s way out and get killed by lightning?”
    “I’ll make you eat your words,” he said.
    Grinning, she said, “That’s easier than eating your lumpy fettuccine.”
    He laughed. “All right, all right. You win. I can latch the gate in the morning.”
    He returned to the stove, and she went back to the cutting board where she was mincing parsley and scallions for the salad dressing.
    He knew she was probably right about the intruder. Most likely, it had been Jasper, chasing a cat or looking for an Oreo handout. The thing he’d thought he had seen—the slightly twisted, moon-white face of a woman, lightning reflected in her eyes, her mouth curled into a snarl of hatred or rage—had surely beena trick of light and shadow. Still, the incident left him uneasy. He could not entirely regain the warm, cozy feeling he’d had just before he’d looked out the window.

    Grace Mitowski filled the yellow plastic bowl with Meow Mix and put it in the corner by the kitchen door.
    “Kitty-kitty-kitty.”
    Aristophanes didn’t respond.
    The kitchen wasn’t Ari’s favorite place in the house, for it was the only room in which he was not permitted to climb wherever he wished. He wasn’t actually much of a climber anyway. He lacked the spirit of adventure that many cats had, and he usually stayed on the floor. However, even though he had no burning desire to scamper up on the kitchen counters, he didn’t want anyone telling him he
couldn’t
do it. Like most cats, he resisted discipline and despised all rules. Nevertheless, as little as he liked the kitchen, he never failed to put in an appearance at mealtime. In fact, he was often waiting impatiently by his bowl when Grace came to fill it.
    She raised her voice. “Kitty-kitty-kitty.”
    There was no answering meow. Aristophanes did not, as expected, come running, his tail curled up slightly, eager for his dinner.
    “Ari-Ari-Ari! Soup’s on, you silly cat.”
    She put away the box of cat food and washed her hands at the sink.
    Thunk, thunk-thunk!
    The hammering sound—one hard blow followedby two equally hard blows struck close together—was so sudden and loud that Grace jerked in surprise and almost dropped the small towel on which she was drying her hands. The