When Charlie Gereson saw the blood, his round and good-natured
face went very pale. His eyes, already magnified by his thick
spectacles, grew even huger. Blood was puddled on the lab table. It
had run down one of the table legs. It was pooled on the floor, and
beads of it clung to the light globe and to the white tile wall. Yes,
there was plenty of blood.
But no janitor. No crate.
Dex Stanley's jaw dropped. 'What the fuck!' Charlie whispered.
Dex saw something then, perhaps the only thing that allowed him
to keep his sanity. Already he could feel that central axle trying to
pull free. He grabbed Charlie's shoulder and said, 'Look at the
blood on the table!'
'I've seen enough,' Charlie said.
His Adam's apple rose and fell like an express elevator as he
struggled to keep his lunch down.
'For God's sake, get hold of yourself,' Dex said harshly. 'You're a
zoology major. You've seen blood before.'
It was the voice of authority, for that moment anyway. Charlie did
get a hold of himself, and they walked a little closer. The random
pools of blood on the table were not as random as they had first
appeared. Each had been neatly straight-edged on one side.
'The crate sat there,' Dex said. He felt a little better. The fact that
the crate really had been there steadied him a good deal. 'And look
there.' He pointed at the floor. Here the blood had been smeared
into a wide, thin trail. It swept toward where the two of them stood,
a few paces inside the double doors. It faded and faded, petering
out altogether about halfway between the lab table and the doors. It
was crystal clear to Dex Stanley, and the nervous sweat on his skin
went cold and clammy.
It had gotten out.
It had gotten out and pushed the crate off the table. And then it had
pushed the crate... where? Under the stairs, of course. Back under
the stairs. Where it had been safe for so long.
'Where's the... the...' Charlie couldn't finish.
'Under the stairs,' Dex said numbly. 'It's gone back to where it
came from.'
'No. The...' He jerked it out finally. 'The body.'
'I don't know,' Dex said. But he thought he did know. His mind
would simply not admit the truth.
Charlie turned abruptly and walked back through the doors.
'Where are you going?' Dex called shrilly, and ran after him.
Charlie stopped opposite the stairs. The triangular black hole
beneath them gaped. The janitor's big four-cell flashlight still sat
on the floor. And beside it was a bloody scrap of gray cloth, and
one of the pens that had been clipped to the man's breast pocket.
'Don't go under there, Charlie! Don't.' His heartbeat whammed
savagely in his ears, frightening him even more.
'No,' Charlie said. 'But the body...'
Charlie hunkered down, grabbed the flashlight, and shone it under
the stairs. And the crate was there, shoved up against the far wall,
