Bradbury Stories Read Free Page A

steamed sidewalk. It was as if someone had predicted freezing weather a moment ago.
    â€œWe’re crazy being out on a night like this,” said Helen.
    â€œLonely One won’t kill three ladies,” said Lavinia. “There’s safety in numbers. And besides, it’s too soon. The killings always come a month separated.”
    A shadow fell across their terrified faces. A figure loomed behind a tree. As if someone had struck an organ a terrible blow with his fist, the three women gave off a scream, in three different shrill notes.
    â€œGot you!” roared a voice. The man plunged at them. He came into the light, laughing. He leaned against a tree, pointing at the ladies weakly, laughing again.
    â€œHey! I’m the Lonely One!” said Frank Dillon.
    â€œFrank Dillon!”
    â€œFrank!”
    â€œFrank,” said Lavinia, “if you ever do a childish thing like that again, may someone riddle you with bullets!”
    â€œWhat a thing to do!”
    Francine began to cry hysterically.
    Frank Dillon stopped smiling. “Say, I’m sorry.”
    â€œGo away!” said Lavinia. “Haven’t you heard about Elizabeth Ramsell—found dead in the ravine? You running around scaring women! Don’t speak to us again!”
    â€œAw, now—”
    They moved. He moved to follow.
    â€œStay right there, Mr. Lonely One, and scare yourself. Go take a look at Elizabeth Ramsell’s face and see if it’s funny. Good night!” Lavinia took the other two on along the street of trees and stars, Francine holding a kerchief to her face.
    â€œFrancine, it was only a joke.” Helen turned to Lavinia. “Why’s she crying so hard?”
    â€œWe’ll tell you when we get downtown. We’re going to the show no matter what! Enough’s enough. Come on now, get your money ready, we’re almost there!”
    The drugstore was a small pool of sluggish air which the great wooden fans stirred in tides of arnica and tonic and soda-smell out onto the brick streets.
    â€œI need a nickel’s worth of green peppermint chews,” said Lavinia to the druggist. His face was set and pale, like all the faces they had seen on the half-empty streets. “For eating in the show,” said Lavinia as the druggist weighed out a nickel’s worth of the green candy with a silver shovel.
    â€œYou sure look pretty tonight, ladies. You looked cool this afternoon, Miss Lavinia, when you was in for a chocolate soda. So cool and nice that someone asked after you.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œMan sitting at the counter—watched you walk out. Said to me, ‘Say, who’s that?’ Why, that’s Lavinia Nebbs, prettiest maiden lady in town, I said. ‘She’s beautiful,’ he said. ‘Where does she live?’” Here the druggist paused uncomfortably.
    â€œYou didn’t!” said Francine. “You didn’t give him her address, I hope? You didn’t!”
    â€œI guess I didn’t think. I said, ‘Oh, over on Park Street, you know, near the ravine.’ A casual remark. But now, tonight, them finding the body, I heard a minute ago, I thought, My God, what’ve I done!” He handed over the package, much too full.
    â€œYou fool!” cried Francine, and tears were in her eyes.
    â€œI’m sorry. Course, maybe it was nothing.”
    Lavinia stood with the three people looking at her, staring at her. She felt nothing. Except, perhaps, the slightest prickle of excitement in her throat. She held out her money automatically.
    â€œThere’s no charge on those peppermints,” said the druggist, turning to shuffle some papers.
    â€œWell, I know what I’m going to do right now!” Helen stalked out of the drugshop. “I’m calling a taxi to take us all home. I’ll be no part of a hunting party for you, Lavinia. That man was up to no good. Asking about you. You want to be dead in the ravine