The slimy, scaly beasts were slithering over the newspaper holders,
the ad card readers, the girl watchers as the neat little carbon-copy
modern homes breezed past the windows.
I ignored the devils and concentrated on reading the withered,
washed-out political posters on the telephone poles. My neck ached from
holding it so stiff, staring out through the glass. More than that, I
could feel the jabberwocks staring at me. You know how it is. You can
feel a stare with the back of your neck and between your eyes. They got
one brush of a gaze out of me.
The things abruptly started their business, trying to act casually as
if they hadn't been waiting for me to look at them at all. They had a
little human being of some sort.
It was the size of a small boy, like the small boy who looked like me
that they used to destroy when I was locked up with them in the dark.
Except this was a man, scaled down to child's size. He had sort of an
ugly, worried, tired, stupid look and he wore a shiny suit with a piece
of a welcome mat or something for a necktie. Yeah, it was me. I really
knew it all the time.
They began doing things to the midget me. I didn't even lift an
eyebrow. They couldn't do anything worse to the small man than they
had done to the young boy. It was sort of nostalgic watching them, but
I really got bored with all that violence and killing and killing the
same kill over and over. Like watching the Saturday night string of
westerns in a bar.
The sunlight through the window was yellow and hot. After a time, I
began to dose.
The shrieks woke me up.
For the first time, I could hear the shrieks of the monster's victim
and listen to their obscene droolings. For the very first time in my
life. Always before it had been all pantomime, like Charlie Chaplin.
Now I heard the sounds of it all.
They say it's a bad sign when you start hearing voices.
I nearly panicked, but I held myself in the seat and forced myself
to be rational about it. My own voice was always saying things
_everybody_ could hear but which I didn't say. It wasn't any worse to
be the _only_ one who could hear other things I never said. I was as
sane as I ever was. There was no doubt about that.
But a new thought suddenly impressed itself on me.
Whatever was punishing me for my sin was determined that I turn back
before reaching 1467 Claremont.
* * * * *
"Clrmnt," the driver announced, sending the doors hissing open and the
bus cranking to a stop.
I walked through the gibbering monsters, and passing the driver's seat,
I heard my voice say, "Don't splatter me by starting up too soon, fat
gut."