neighbors broke in and stopped them.
'The entire family,' she ended, 'was put in an asylum.'
'Oh, boy!' breathed Chris as she thought of Captain Howdy. He had now assumed a menacing coloration. Mental illness. Was that it? Something. 'I knew I should take her to see a psychiatrist!'
'Oh, for heaven sakes,' said Mrs. Perrin, stepping into the light, 'you never mind about me; you just listen to your doctor.' There was attempted reassurance in her voice that was not convincing. 'I'm great at the future'--- Mrs. Perrin smiled---'but in the present I'm absolutely helpless.' She was fumbling in her purse. 'Now then, where are my glasses? There, you see? I've mislaid them. Oh, here they are right here.' She had found them in a pocket of her coat. 'Lovely home,' she remarked as she put on the glasses and glanced up at the upper facade of the house. 'Gives a feeling of warmth.'
'God almighty, I'm relieved! For a second, there, I thought you were going to tell me it's haunted!'
Mrs. Perrin glanced down to her. 'Why would I tell you a thing like that?'
Chris was thinking of a friend, a noted actress in Beverly Hills who had sold her home because of her insistence that it was inhabited by a poltergeist. 'I -don't' know.' She grinned wanly. 'On account of who you are, I guess. I was kidding.'
'It's a very fine house,' Mrs. Perrin reassured her in an even tone. 'I've been here before, you know; many times.'
'Have yogi really?'
'Yes, an admiral had it; a friend of mine. I get a letter from him now and then. They've shipped him to sea again, poor dear. I don't know if it's really him that I miss or this house.' She smiled. 'But then maybe you'll invite me back.'
'Mary Jo, I'd love to have you back. I mean it. You're a fascinating person.'
'Well, at least I'm the nerviest person you know.'
'Oh, come on. Listen, call me. Please. Will you call me next week?'
'Yes, I would like to hear how your daughter's coming on.'
'Got the number?'
'Yes, at home in my book.'
What was off? wondered Chris. There was something in her tone that was slightly off-center.
'Well, good night,' said Mrs. Perrin, 'and thanks again for a marvelous evening.' And before Chris could answer her, she was walking rapidly down the street.
For a moment, Chris watched her; and then closed the front door. A heavy lassitude overcame her. Quite a night, she thought; some night... some night...
She went to the living room and stood over Willie, who was kneeling by the urine stain. She was brushing up the nap of the rug.
'White vinegar I put on,' muttered Willie. 'Twice.'
'Comin' out?'
'Maybe now,' answered Willie. 'I do not know. We will see.'
'No, you can't really tell until the damned thing dries.'
Yeah, that's brilliant there, punchy. That's really a brilliant observation. Judas priest, kid, go to bed!
'C'mon, leave it alone for now, Willie. Get to sleep.'
'No, I finish.'
'Okay, then. And thanks. Good night.'
-'Good night, madam.'
Chris started up the stairs with weary steps. 'Great curry, there, Willie. Everybody loved it.'
'Yes, thank you, madam.'
Chris looked in on Regan and found her still asleep. Then she remembered the Ouija board. Should she hide it? Throw it away? Boy, Perrin's really dingy when it comes to that stuff. Yet Chris was aware that the fantasy playmate was morbid and unhealthy. Yeah, maybe I should chuck it.
Still, Chris was hesitant. Standing by the bedside and looking at Regan, she remembered an incident when her daughter was only three: the night that Howard had decided she was much too old to continue to sleep with her baby bottle, on which she had grown dependent. He'd taken it away from her that night, and Regan had screamed until four in the morning, then acted hysterical for days. And now Chris feared a similar reaction. Better wait until I talk it all out with a shrink. Moreover, the Ritalin, she reflected, hadn't had a chance to take effect.
At the last, she decided to wait and see.
Chris retired to her room, settled wearily into bed, and almost instantly fell asleep. Then awakened to fearful, hysterical screaming at the rim of her consciousness.
'Mother, come here, come here, I'm afraid!'
'Yes, I'm coming, all right, hon, I'm coming!'
Chris raced down the hall to Regan's bedroom. Whimpering. Crying. Sounds like bedsprings.
'Oh, my baby, what's wrong?' Chris exclaimed as she reached out and flicked on the lights.
