Shadows 7 Read Free Page A

subsided as I saw that the door remained closed and that weak grey morning light was diluting the darkness.
    After dressing hastily I walked down the worn stairs to the street door. The whole house was silent. Not a soul was in sight.
    The cold had lessened a little, but I still shivered as I walked along.
    Mr. Karda surveyed me with misgivings. "You been up all night?"
    I shook my head. "No. Didn't sleep well. Nightmares."
    The day seemed interminable, but as I worked, I consoled myself with the thought that at least I was warm and that I would have something to eat by midafternoon. Somewhat grudgingly, Karda had given me free coffee and toast for breakfast, but by lunch time I could have eaten boiled elephant ears.
    Soup, sandwiches, and coffee at 3 P.M. revived me briefly; by five-thirty, however, I was exhausted. Gratefully, I accepted my five dollars and left.
    A freezing rain was falling. In spite of my fatigue, I experienced a feeling of desolation as I approached Mrs. Clendon's rooming house. Well, at least it was a roof and a bed, I told myself. It would be an endless, miserable night for unfortunates huddled in doorways or crouched under highway bridges.
    After the customary clatter and bang of bolts and chains, Mrs. Clendon extended a skinny hand for my five dollars. She merely nodded and shot the bolts again.
    Sighing, I tramped up the stairs and sat on my bed. Although I was paying for my room, and eating enough to keep from starving to death, my situation remained precarious. After I paid Mrs. Clendon, not one cent remained in my possession. My clothes were disintegrating. The fresh pasteboard in my shoes was already mushy with moisture.
    Pondering the price of new shoes, I stretched out on the bed. I must have dropped off to sleep within minutes. Just before exhaustion overcame me, I thought I heard a doorbell ringing and, later, the closing of a door.
    Again my sleep was invaded by vile and frightening dreams. Moans, rattling coughs, sighs, and wails seemed to issue from all parts of the house. Abruptly, this discordant concert was succeeded by absolute silence.
    After a short interval, something began shuffling, or sliding, down the corridor. As it moved, or breathed, it made a sound I find difficult to describe—a kind of weird, whistling bleat, almost a muffled scream, compounded of both agony and rage. It seemed as if every groan and sigh, every wail and whimper, which arose from inside the house, was somehow gathered together in that ghastly concentrated cry.
    As before, I awoke with a wildly hammering heart and sat up in bed.
    I listened. Something was moving down the hall, something that advanced slowly, gasping and wheezing. When it stopped, I was sure that it stood just outside my door.
    As I crouched, petrified, I could hear an irregular breathing, an erratic breathing punctuated by rales. While I was staring through the darkness toward the door, whatever it was outside gave vent to a hair-raising squeal, whether of pain or fury, or both, I could not be sure. It was the most frightening sound I had ever heard.
    While I waited, half expecting the door to crash inward, the shuffling, sliding sound resumed. Gradually, it grew fainter. I thought, or imagined, that whatever was prowling the corridor had reached the head of the stairs and started down, but I could not be sure.
    I lay listening, filled with apprehension, but the shambler in the hall did not return. Even after silence settled down, I remained awake, feverish with fearful speculations. Just before dawn I dozed for a few minutes.
    As soon as I awoke, I got up, dressed quickly, and hurried down the hall to the dingy bathroom. I was starting back to my room when a door burst open on the opposite side of the corridor and a glaring, disheveled figure erupted into the hall.
    He stopped abruptly when he saw me. He drew back, his face twitching with agitation.
    Towel-draped and tousled as I was, I halted and stared back at him.
    "You—room