There was a light on in the laboratory and I flung the door open. It
was empty but ransacked. The place was a mess of broken test
tubes, smashed apparatus, and, yes, bloodstains that trailed through
the half-open door that led to the darkened garage. Then I noticed
the green liquid that was flowing over the floor in sticky rivulets.
For the first time I noticed that one of the several sheeted tanks had
been broken. I walked over to the other three. The lights inside
them were off and the sheets that draped them let by no hint of
what might have been under them - or, for that matter, what was
under them.
I had no time to see. I didn't like the looks of blood, still fresh and
uncoagulated, that led out of the front door into the garage. I
swung open the door and entered the garage. It was dark and I
didn't know where the light switch was. I cursed myself for not
bringing the flashlight that was in the glove compartment. I
advanced a few steps and realized that there was a cold draft
blowing against my face. I advanced toward it.
The light from the lab threw a golden shaft of light along the
garage floor, but it was next to nothing, in the Styngan blackness
of the garage. All my childish fears of the dark returned. Once
again I entered the realms of terror that only a child can know. I
realized that the shadow that leered at me from out of the dark
might not be dispelled by bright light.
Suddenly, my right foot went down. I realized that the draft was
coming from a stairway I had almost fallen down. For a moment I
debated, then turned and hurried back through the lab and out to
the car.
Chapter Six
Vicki pounced on me as soon as I opened the door. 'Danny, what
are you doing here?'
Her tone of voice made me look at her. In the sickly yellow glow
of the light her face was terrified.
'I'm working here,' I said shortly.
''At first I didn't realize where we were,' she said softly. I was only
here once before.
'You've been here?' I exclaimed. 'When? ''Why?'
'One night,' she said quietly 'I brought Uncle David his lunch. He
forgot it.'
The name rang a bell. She saw me grasping for it. 'My guardian,'
she said. 'Perhaps I'd better tell you the whole story. Probably,
you know that people don't get appointed guardians when they
drink. Well, Uncle David didn't always do those things. When my
mother and father were killed in a train-wreck four years ago, my
Uncle David was the kindest person you could imgine. The court
appointed him my guardian until I came of ago, with my complete
support.'
For a moment she was quiet, living in memories and the expression
that flitted rapidly through her eyes was not pretty. Then she went
on.
'Two years ago the company be was working for as a night
