by Peter Ponzo
Chapter 32
It was after midnight when I heard the scraping. It seemed to come from just outside my bedroom window, as though someone—or something—was climbing across the roof. It must have been a clear night, a full moon, because the window was gleaming, the room bright.
The noise stopped. A squirrel no doubt. I rolled over, was about to close my eyes when the room went dark. I twisted about to look at the window. A great black hulk was blocking the light, silhouetted against the moonlight.
"Charlie!"
I jumped out of bed, grabbed left and right for the most suitable weapon, found a long solid object, and headed for the window. With my weapon poised I leaned forward, threatening, and the black shape vanished. I was standing there, sweating, when the light came on in my room. I was holding up a mop.
"Miss Fleetsmith?" Charlie was at the open door, behind him Josey, each in a robe.
"Why Miss Fleetsmith," Josey said, pulling her collar about her dark chin. "Not bad, honey."
I dropped the mop and looked at myself in the dresser mirror. I was, of course, completely naked. That's the way I sleep. It would be no surprise to Charles, but Josey seemed quite amused. I jumped into bed and pulled the sheet over.
"The window, there's someone out there, on the roof. Listen."
I pointed to the window. We listened. There was a faint scraping, remote, on the other side of the house. Charles spun about to investigate, bumped into Josey, staggered down the hall. I fell back into bed. I had been too eager to assault the black hulk at the window with my mop. Now I began to tremble.
"There, there, dear." Josey sat on the edge of my bed. It was her turn to comfort me. "It's all right. It's gone now—whatever it was." She looked uneasily at the moonlit window. "It's all gone."
Somehow, I didn't think so. Indeed, I think I knew what it was.
When Charles returned he was holding up a piece of broken glass.
"Someone—or something—broke the window in the basement," he said. "Apparently it left without doing more than breaking the window."
"How come you're so sure it left?" Josey said. I was silent, thinking.
"No one there, Miss Josephine," Charles said. "I searched the entire basement and first floor, armed with Miss Fleetsmith's revolver. The rooms are empty, the house uninhabited except for us."
"Then what was it?" Josey asked.
"I think I know," I said weakly. The two looked at me, silent. Josey got up from my bedside. I crept just a bit deeper under my sheet.
"Hans," I said.
"Ohshit?" Josey sat again, abruptly. "Hans Ohshit?"
"Perhaps not the Hans we know," I whispered, "but Hans, nevertheless."
"Come to harm you, Miss Fleetsmith, to seek revenge." Charles reached into a deep pocket of his robe and withdrew my Smith and Wesson revolver, holding it in the air. "You are the cause of his discontent, the origin of his transformation, the—"
"Yeah," Josey volunteered, "and the old fart wants to get even." Then she jumped up from my bed and stared at me. "Ohshit? How could it be Ohshit? Back from the dead? Lordy, lordy, ain't that what yer sayin? Hans has come back from the dead to haunt us?"
Now it was my turn to comfort her.
"Josey," I said in my sweetest voice, "sit beside me." She sat again, crying, clinging to the edge of a sheet. Her shagginess and the tears seemed somehow incongruous. I spoke softly. "We think ... we just think, mind you ... we don't know for sure, that Hans von Oerschott isn't dead. We think that he was transformed into a hairy ape, just like ... uh, well, similar to the transformation you are now experiencing."
"Bastard! Serves him right!"
"Yes, of course, but remember that he's out there somewhere, a gorilla, roaming the streets. Who knows whether he has memories of his recent past, as director of Oerschott Medical, as your friend and boss, or whether he is now a beast with only beastly instincts? We must be careful."
"Miss Fleetsmith," Charles said, "if it really were Hans, just now at the window, then presumably he knew how to get here, to your house. That suggests a certain familiarity with his recent past."
"Mmm ... let's check out the basement," I said. I wriggled beneath my sheets and Josey got up. "If you two would please leave, I'll get dressed and meet you downstairs."
"But, Miss Fleetsmith," Charles whined, "I have already completed a thorough investigation of—"
"Out, Charlie." I pointed to the door and they both left. They were waiting at the bottom of the stairs when I came down, dressed. "Let's go."
I took the lead and we stomped single file down the basement stairs. It was dark even though I had turned on the light. "Remind me to get a bigger bulb," I said. Charles grunted. I could feel a draft. I walked to the window. It was broken all right, with pieces of glass scattered about the floor. The others stood by, watching. I took a broom and peered into each dark corner, poking. Somehow the broom seemed a reasonable weapon. "Look, here," I said. I bent and picked up a bit of hair. I swept and gathered more hair.
"Lordy," whispered Josey, "this ain't no time for house cleaning."
"Ape hair?" Charles asked.
"Mmm." I looked about, found a plastic bag and put the hair into it. "DNA," I said. "I'll take it to the lab."
We stood there in the gloom for several minutes. The only noise was a tap dripping somewhere. Josey sighed heavily. "This place gives me the creeps." She turned to leave, brushing the hair from her eyes.
She was half-way up the stairs when we heard the scraping. She spun about and almost tumbled to the bottom of the stairs.
"Hear that?" she moaned.
We listened, but the sound had gone. Just the drip drip of the tap. I counted about twenty drips. That was enough for one night.
"Okay, let's go back to sleep," I said.
Josey was crying softly. "Sleep? I can't hardly sleep after this."
"Sure you can, honey. Just dream about the bastard that did this to you."
I wasn't sure that was good advice, but we eventually made our way to our bedrooms, saying shaky goodnights at the top of the stairs. I knew I wouldn't sleep much that night. I kept imagining a gorilla slipping over the roof, hanging to the eaves, climbing to the chimney. A gargantuan Santa Claus. I stared at the window. I closed my eyes.
I don't know how long I lay awake with my eyes closed. It seemed like hours. Then the scraping came again. It sounded different. I opened my eyes, stared at the window. The moon was clearly visible, a giant eyeball, staring. Where had I put the mop? Scraping, again, nearer. Not at the window. On the roof? No, it was coming from my room!
Shit! No mop. Could I defend myself with bare hands? I could scream. Charles would come running with the revolver, but that might be too late, might evoke some violent reaction from the creature in my room. Scraping, again, nearer. I slid out from under the sheets, onto the floor, beside the bed, under the bed. I felt something shaggy!
Shit! It was the mop. I pulled it close and peered out from under the bed. I could see feet, hairy feet, in the moonlight, coming closer. Somehow the sight of those feet made me angry. The bloody bastard, coming right into my bedroom. I rolled out from under the bed, sprang to my feet, mop swinging in a great arc.
"Hai!"
"Lordy! Lordy!"
It was Josey. I stopped just short of clobbering her with the mop.
"Shit, lady, what are you doing creeping into my bedroom with your hairy feet?" It just came out that way. It wasn't what I would have said in other circumstances.
Josey fell to her knees, sobbing.
"Franny, I wanna to stay here, with you. I can't sleep. I'm afraid," she said.
When Charles came by we were both in bed. It must have looked ridiculous. A ravishingly beautiful Fran and her shaggy playmate. He stood for a moment by the door, then left. The rest of the night was uneventful. Thank God.
Except for a quick trip to the lab to confim that the hair I had gathered in the basement was indeed ap
e hair—although I didn't really think I could positively identify ape hair— we three spent much of the next day trying to think of some way to avoid being mauled by a hairy Hans. Charles kept us supplied with things to eat, but we ate little. Josey's mental condition was terrible and I admit that my state of mind was little better. I guess we made little progress, no brilliant plan was devised, but we were still at it when the clock struck midnight. From fear to revulsion to anger. That's how it went. Eventually I migrated to my bed and Josey followed, expecting that our cosy bedroom relation would continue. Since she seemed to need the comforting, I didn't object. Charles stood at the foot of my bed and Josey sat on the bedside.
No one seemed eager to sleep, so the discussion continued.
"I wanna talk to him!" Josey cried. "Let me at the bastard."
"Miss Josephine," Charles said quietly, "you are best advised to stay hidden from his unwholesome advances. Mr. von Oerschott cannot be trusted to recall the moments of affection you once shared—"
"No, no, that's not a bad idea," I said. I sat up quickly and Josey slid off the bed onto the floor. "What if Josey were to attract Hans as only she can." I put my arm about her shoulders and smiled. She looked a little stunned, sitting on the floor. "As you rightly say, Charlie-boy, Hans did find his way here so he cannot have forgotten his recent human past. And he is male. Perhaps, just perhaps ..."
I looked squarely at Josey.
"Do you think you can entice this ... this gorilla?"
Josey seemed confused at the question, then, slowly she began to understand. "He's a man, ain't he? A apeman, sure, but a man." Josey actually smiled at the thought. "Ain't never done it with a ape," she said.
"Miss Fleetsmith, really!" Charles stood as straight as he could, a frown firmly fixed on his face. "I must insist—" he began.
"Don't worry, Charles. We'll be very careful, won't we sweets?"
I caressed Josey's hair, the hair on the top of her head, on her cheeks, on her chin. I scratched behind her ears. She closed her eyes, like a sheep dog. I thought I heard her purr.
