The alarm clock was ringing. There was another sound in the room as
well--the more distant peal of door chimes. Oddly enough, it was the
chime music which penetrated most sharply into David Loring's awakening
mind. Each fragment was a tinkling and the tinklings ran the gamut of
the musical scale. An ice-crystal music in caverns measureless to man.
Rising, falling, almost dirge-like at times.
The alarm clock, having exhausted itself, stopped ringing. But the
chimes continued. The ice crystals broke, shattered and re-formed again.
_Another day_, Loring thought, stirring drowsily and blinking sleep
from his eyes. He let his gaze roam over the room. The floor was
thick with dust, and the record player on its handsome walnut stand,
the ornamental decoy duck on the mantel and the uneven bricks on the
built-in fireplace all needed dusting badly. In fact, the whole damned
apartment needed the attention of a cleaning woman.
Well, it wouldn't be long now. The mere fact that he could afford a
cleaning woman and no longer had to worry about the expense was reason
enough for putting it off. The place could be made spic-and-span
at a moment's notice and he profoundly disliked having his precious
knick-knacks roughly handled by a stranger. It would be all right for
Janice to take over. Wonderful, in fact.
Just bide your time, boy, and before you know it your bachelor days
will be over. In two or three weeks you'll have a wife. And you can
support her now. Two hundred dollars for just one ten-by-twelve
picture, and the next one you paint will be better than any of the
earlier ones, and you can go on from there with a wife to keep you out
of the doldrums.
No reason to move either. Janice likes Greenwich Village and
the apartment is spacious enough for two, and cheap, since you
high-pressured the landlord and got the rent whittled down to a song.
He was mixing his metaphors, but it didn't seem important to him at the
moment. Only the future seemed important. It was brighter with promise
than he could have imagined when he'd sat holding hands with her on a
bench in Washington Square on the evening before he'd sold the painting.
He was a little startled when the chimes stopped abruptly, as if a hand
had reached out and ripped the press-button mechanism from the door.
The sudden, loud knocking startled him even more. It came from the
short entrance hall just outside the room--three sharp knocks followed
by a pause and a knock so loud that it hinted at more than just
impatience. He knew that it had to be Janice, for her knocking--when
she did knock--followed a pre-arranged pattern. A fourth knock was part
of the pattern. But not a thump that rattled the door chain.
He sprang out of bed and seized the first garment that came to
hand. It was a terry-cloth bathrobe which Janice had urged him to
have laundered. But he just hadn't gotten around to it, and now it
contributed nothing to his male aplomb and early morning dash. He hoped
she wouldn't mind too much when he took her in his arms and brought
his lips down hard on hers. And smoothed her red-gold hair and ran his
rough artist's hands up and down her back until she began to shiver a
little and purr like a kitten.
He hoped she wouldn't think about the robe and how untidy he looked
in it. Making women forget little disharmonies like that could be
tougher than painting a picture that would put Utrillo in the shade.
Well ... what the heck? He was an artist, wasn't he? Not all women went
for artists, but when they did they usually liked them a bit on the
unkempt, disorganized side.
You just had to keep the disorganization from getting out of control.
If you allowed it to spread to the romance department you were sunk.
But that couldn't happen with Janice--not when he took her in his arms
and told her how beautiful she was.
As he strode toward the door a tiny muscle in his jaw started
twitching. Something was seriously wrong. He was sure of it.
Self-containment was Janice's specialty. Her self-control was
phenomenal and no matter how eager she might be to see him it just
wasn't in character for her to try to break the door down.
Something extraordinary must have come up to make her act that way. It
was hard to imagine what it could be, to bring about such a change in
the way she ordinarily behaved. Fright? Hysteria? But Janice didn't
have a baker's pinch of hysteria in her make-up. His alarm increased as
he reached the door, and started fumbling with the chain. His fingers
were all thumbs and the knocking was so loud and continuous now that it
further unnerved him, so that it took him nearly a minute to get the
door open.
She came in with a sobbing gasp, her hair disheveled, her eyes so
wide with fright it gave her a staring, almost China-doll aspect. She
was startlingly pale and hadn't bothered to cover up her pallor with
lipstick and rouge.
For an instant the machinery of Loring's mind was barely able to
function. It moved slowly, as if ice-clogged, with one dread thought
uppermost. Village streets were likely to be deserted in the early
hours of the morning and a scream could be quickly smothered. Had she
been fleeing from someone who wouldn't have let her failure to use
lipstick discourage him? A brutish someone who cared only that she was
a woman?
She was trembling violently and her voice was so agitated that he had
to strain to catch the words which tumbled from her lips as she clung
to him, her eyes still China-doll wide, her fingers tightening on his
wrists.
"Darling, darling, hold me tight. Just keep your arms around me for a
moment, and I'll be able to tell you what happened. Right now I can't
seem to think straight."
Loring stood for a moment without moving, holding her close, his
temples throbbing. "What is it?" he urged, trying to keep his voice
calm but not succeeding very well. "Tell me. I've got to know."
"There was a man in my room when I woke up this morning. A complete
stranger. I'd never seen him before."
Loring's heart skipped a beat and for an instant he couldn't seem to
breathe. "A man--"
"Yes. The door was locked and I don't see how he could have gotten in.
I never forget to lock the door when I go to bed. I'm very careful
about it. The windows were locked too. I'm sure of it. I--I was
terribly frightened. He just stood there looking at me. I don't think
he was a burglar or anything like that. He was tall, dark and very good
looking. Young, about twenty-seven. Just about your age. I don't think
I've ever seen a more attractive looking man. If I'd met him at a party
before I met you--I don't know. I just don't know."
"You don't _know_. You mean you'd have gone overboard for him at first
glance, without knowing a thing about him?"
"I might have. I'm being completely honest, because the experience was
so terrifying that I have to get it straightened out in my mind. And I
want you to understand too, darling. I thought of you, and something
deep inside me protected me, so that I didn't really feel that way
about him at all. But I almost did. I had to struggle against it,
before I overcame it. If he'd moved forward and taken me into his arms
I'm quite sure I would have screamed. But before I thought of you I
might have--"
"Janice! For God's sake."
"I know, darling. The thought torments you. In a way, that makes me
happy, because I love you so very much. So very, very much. And the
torment you're experiencing proves that you love me. But it's cruel of
me to feel that way--but all women do. There's something very primitive
in us that makes us want to be fought over. If the man you love will
fight for you, to the death, if necessary, it brings him closer to you."
"If he's dead that won't give him any pleasure at all."
"I know, darling, I know. I hardly know what I'm saying. Forgive me, be
patient with me."
"I'm trying to. But don't you see what you're doing to me? You've told
me nothing so far. Or very little. I mean, did he try to make love to
you? Did he--touch you?"
"No, darling. He didn't. He just stood there by the fireplace staring
at me. He had a strange way of looking at me. As if he could see deep
inside my mind and knew exactly what I was thinking. And there was a
kind of--tenderness in his eyes, as if he would have cut off his right
arm before he'd take advantage of the fact that we were completely
alone and I was wearing only--"
"Never mind what you were wearing. Do you have to tell me? All right, I
want to know. I must know."
"That lace-fringed nightgown you gave me, darling. You know, the one
with the black lace at the neck and sleeves. It really isn't so very
revealing. Only--"
"Only what?"
"It may have slipped down a little at the shoulders. Of course I was
embarrassed as well as frightened, but I don't think he gloated over
it or took advantage of it in his mind in any way. Try to understand
what I'm trying to say."
"I'm trying."
"He apologized. He was very nice about it."
"He apologized for what? For breaking into your room like a thief in
the night? You can't clear yourself of a criminal charge by making a
simple apology. The courts would take a very dim view of that."
"But he didn't do anything criminal. It was all a mistake. His exact
words were: 'I'm terribly sorry. I hope I haven't embarrassed you. I
live on the next block, and I've been to a party and--well, you know
how it is sometimes when you've had a little too much to drink. All
these buildings look alike....'"
"He didn't finish. He just smiled, hoping I'd understand, and there was
something boyish and even a little pathetic about the way he smiled.
As if he was pleading with me to forgive him for forgetting himself
and drinking a little too heavily. And of course I did understand. It
wasn't a crime. After all, darling, I do live in the Village."
"Why don't you say what you mean? He was probably reeling drunk."
"No, he wasn't. I could see he wasn't. He might have reached the
reeling stage for just a moment, when he made a mistake about the
apartment. But it must have passed very quickly, because when he spoke
to me his speech wasn't slurred and he held himself very straight."
"What happened then?"
"Nothing you need to be alarmed about." Most of the agitation had gone
out of Janice's voice, but there was still a look of fright and sharp
apprehension in her eyes, as if she were trying hard not to think about
something she hadn't yet told him.
"He--he just crossed to the bed, bent and kissed me lightly on the
forehead."
"Good God! I thought you said he didn't even touch you. What right had
he to take such a liberty? He must be a clownish Village character of
some sort. I wish I could get my hands on him."
"Aren't you being a little absurd, darling? The man was emotionally
upset. It was a crazy thing to do, but I wasn't offended. Everybody who
lives in the Village does things like that occasionally. It was just a
spur-of-the-moment, completely impulsive substitution for old-fashioned
gallantry."
"You think so? I don't. What did he do then?"
"He just turned without saying another word and walked straight out
of the door. He opened the door and walked out, and I could hear his
footsteps dying away on the stairs. He didn't come back."
Loring let out his breath in a long sigh of relief. Then he seemed to
regret having allowed himself to feel relieved. He tightened his lips
and his voice became that of an angrily bewildered man who has a great
many questions to ask and is not at all sure that the answers will
satisfy him.
"And the instant he left you dressed and came rushing over here to tell
me all about it, in a condition bordering on shock. Why were you so
terrified? Why do you still look so frightened? You've done nothing
but make apologies for him. You keep telling me that you weren't
offended in the least. Then why--"
"David, darling, there's something I haven't told you."
"What was it? For God's sake, don't keep me in suspense."
"I--I felt myself being embraced."
"You _what_?"
"Felt his arms about me, felt him lifting me up. Of course it had to be
just something I imagined. He was gone. I'd seen him walk out of the
room, and close the door. But for an instant I could see him again. The
outlines of his head and shoulders were very hazy, and--well, ghostly
isn't just the right word. Not ghostly. Shifting, smokelike--like an
image in a mirror wrapped in mist. But I could feel the strength of his
arms, his hands moving across my back, even fumbling with the shoulder
strap of my nightgown, crushing the lace--"
"Stop it, Janice! Keep quiet! You don't know what you're saying. If I
thought for a moment...."
Loring's face was very white, and his fingers clamped tightly on
Janice's arm, causing her to cry out in pain. He released her
instantly, stroking the arm with his hand.
"I'm sorry, Janice," he said contritely. "I got a little carried away.
Let's get out of here and get some breakfast. Maybe we can talk more
sensibly about this. What you are saying is too confusing to take on an
empty stomach."
"All right, darling. That sounds like a fine idea." She followed him to
the dressing room and leaned against the doorjamb as he stripped off
the bathrobe without any self-consciousness, revealing the compact,
finely muscled body she knew and loved. He appeared so agitated that
Janice's own hysteria left her, and she felt a sudden, overwhelming
tenderness sweeping over her, making her forget her own need for
reassurance.
She walked over to him, and reaching up, drew his head down and opened
her lips, murmuring endearments and running her fingers through his
hair to enhance the ardor of her embrace. His arms tightened about her
and for an instant he was not only holding her close, but saw her as
if she were standing a little apart from him in warm sunlight, with
whispering tropical palms at her back, and the trade winds ruffling her
red-gold hair above the exquisite beauty of her face. To him it was
the loveliest of all faces, and he had painted it a dozen times, from
the stubborn, loyal chin to the slightly tilted nose and the precious,
adorable brow with its sprinkling of enchanting freckles.
When he released her, her eyes were shining. Then, slowly, the look of
near rapture faded and her face clouded over. She shuddered and took a
slow step backwards. He had the feeling that she had more to tell him,
that she was more deeply disturbed than he had imagined. Suddenly, he
didn't want to hear it.
He lost his head then completely. It was a strange time for lovemaking,
but he couldn't help himself. He gathered her in his arms and carried
her across the living room to the couch that could be folded back
into the wall when he had no occasion to stop painting and turn his
attention to a different kind of artistry.
He put her gently down and unfastened her dress, easing the zipper over
the places where the cloth fit tightly. He drew the dress down over her
shoulders, freeing her brassiere-ensheathed breasts and allowing the
light to caress the soft, white skin of her truly lovely back, and the
shadowed recess in the small of her back from which it was so easy for
a hand to glide downward over the smooth roundness of equally lovely
hips.
He could not quite persuade himself to do more than run his fingers
lightly along the curve of her neck for an instant, to nibble at her
ear, and then plant a single firm kiss in the middle of her back. It
was not, he reminded himself, with an effort, quite the right time for
reckless abandon. She was still too nervous and upset and was trembling
violently.
It was only when it slowly dawned on him that she was not trembling
because her nerves had been strained to the breaking point but for a
quite different reason that he ceased to be constrained and scrupulous,
and embraced her with so fierce an ardor that it put a complete end
to all restraint, and led them both along pathways of rapture in a
continuously unfolding intimacy....
Later, eating Danish pastry and tasting steaming coffee in the coffee
shop a block away from Loring's apartment, the world seemed normal
again. Their eyes met across the table, and they smiled, a little
sheepishly, at one another.
"Feel better, sweetheart?" Loring asked.
"You know I do," she said softly. Then her smile abruptly disappeared
and she frowned slightly. "But David, I have to tell you the rest of
it, even though I want to forget it, and I know you would. After I had
this feeling of being embraced--"
"You had an erotic fantasy, Janice." David interrupted firmly. "It's
nothing to be ashamed of. It's an honest, sound objective appraisal of
a scientific reality that every man has experienced a good many times
in his life, and every woman too."
Janice shook her head.
"It would be all right if my erotic fantasy involved a man with no
particular cast of features, just a man in the abstract. But it
involved a living man, a man whom I'd just met and described to you.
He's alive and a rival and you have to think of him in that way. You
can't help yourself--no matter how scientifically enlightened you may
try to be."
"I know," Loring said. "I was lying to myself and to you. I'd be
jealous if it was just a man in the abstract. I'd be jealous if that
man wasn't me."
She tried to laugh, tried to force gaiety into her voice. "You don't
have to carry it quite as far as that," she said. "The man would be
you, without all of the very dear, very special details filled in. You
create a mental image first, in the abstract, a kind of unconscious
clay model. Then you meet the only man in the world for you, and fill
the details in.
"It was a terrifying experience. I knew he couldn't be real but his
strength was so great I couldn't free myself. Even if I'd struggled
violently and clawed at his face he'd have caught me again before I
could reach the door."
Loring's face had gone very white. "But he was so attractive to you
that you didn't struggle. Is that it?" Even before the words left his
lips he hated himself, but he had to say them.
She shook her head, her eyes firmly denying it. "He was attractive,
yes. The handsomest man I've ever seen. But his attractiveness had
nothing to do with it. Oh, if he'd been an ugly-faced brute I suppose
it might have seemed worse. But not much worse. I couldn't struggle
because I'd gone numb all over. I couldn't even raise my arms."
"A man doesn't have to have an ugly face to be a brute!"
"There's nothing more, so you can stop torturing yourself. Quite
suddenly he was gone, almost as if he'd never been there. It was all
like some hideous nightmare, one of those dangerous, utterly terrifying
dreams from which you awaken just in time. They're dangerous because
people have died in their sleep just from shock. But I did awaken in
time. You'll never know how relieved I felt, how inwardly glad."
"Then why are you still so frightened? Nothing happened to you. It's
over and done with. Even his actual presence in your room, when you
heard him speak, may have been an hallucination. Perfectly normal
people can have hallucinations. What else is bothering you, Janice?"
She toyed with her coffee cup for a moment before answering, then spoke
in a low voice. "An even stranger, more terrifying, thing happened.
Harder to explain and ghastly in a completely non-human way. I don't
think I was in quite as much danger, because it just stood there in the
hall watching me without moving at all. But I had the feeling that if
it did move I'd be in even greater danger."
"_It?_ Janice, what are you talking about?"
"Just give me a moment, darling. I'll tell you, but please don't
rush me. Let me tell it in my own way. It was so frightening, so
unbelievable that the mere thought of it makes me almost physically
ill. In a way, it could be an hallucination, because I did have the
shock of the other experience before I saw it. No shock preceded the
first experience, as I told you, but this one--"
"All right now, try to stay calm. You're in no danger now. You're safe
here with me. Remember that."
"I'll try."
"I love you very much."
"I know you do, darling. Well, I calmed myself down so successfully
that I believe I could have gone back to sleep again. But I decided
instead to get dressed and go out. I thought the fresh air might help
to clear the cobwebs out of my brain.
"My nerves had stopped screaming, but I couldn't shake off the feeling
that there were still cobwebs deep in my mind crisscrossing, forming a
hideous pattern. Down one of the gleaming strands a black widow spider
was crawling slowly toward me."
"Black widow spiders devour their own mates," Loring said. "But the
female is about fifty times as large as the male. Only the males have
to worry."
It was the wrong way to ease her tension, and he instantly regretted
that he hadn't kept silent.
She went on quickly, her voice tightening. "It took me only a moment
to get some clothes on and I didn't waste any time with make-up. But I
was trembling so I kept dropping things, and I thought I'd never get
the door open. I didn't realize just how badly shaken I was, though,
until I got out into the hall. There was a dim light bulb at the end
of the hall and there were shadows everywhere, large dark shadows that
seemed to change shape as I stared at them. Then I saw it."
Her voice shook and she looked quickly around the nearly deserted
restaurant, as though expecting someone to be eavesdropping.
"Just remembering it is terrifying. The creature looked almost human.
It had a face with nose, eyes, ears and the body of a man. Darling,
I--I can't describe it. Not really, not perfectly, because I only saw
it for an instant and it was standing in shadows. But I saw enough to
know that it wasn't human--couldn't have been human. It wasn't a man or
a woman. It was a _thing_."