Eerie Theater...

...Continued...

"Strangers," George asked.

"Yes, I suppose. I come into a room, and then I see them, and then they are gone."

Thunder rolled long across the evening skies, threatening with its growing might a tremendous storm at its heels. Jane glanced toward the window, covered completely over by the thick blue drapery. She gazed at it helplessly as though it might suddenly blow open until the light flickered in the hall again.

"Does that sort of thing happen often here, Jane?" Ted asked softly, drawing her attention.

Her face had gone pale. "Y-Yes. All the time."

"And what else?"

She studied him, partially in awe. He had an easy, scholarly manner, not prone to excitement. He behaved as though nothing she could say would surprise him in the least. There was great comfort in that. She had begun to believe she might be going mad.

"I live alone, but often I hear noises in different rooms. I keep a cat, Chester, and sometimes he runs from these rooms where there is nothing visible. A-And then I turn around, and there will be someone standing there, and I blink, and he is gone. I can remember only bits and pieces of him, like his black hair. He has opaque eyes, green, very light like a pastel coat of paint. There are others, they are tall, thin, blond. I see them all the time, in streets, at work, around the yard. I see them often, and yet I cannot tell you anything more about them."

"Do they realize you see them?"

"Sometimes."

"What do you mean 'sometimes'?"

"Sometimes when I see them, they are in the middle of some act. I cannot explain it. Like if you opened a door and caught me putting a jar of peas in the cupboard, and then when you stepped into the room, I simply disappeared. Imagine that, only without the jar of peas and the cupboard. It would appear bizaar, but that is how it seems, when they are not looking directly at me." She glanced at the clock. Nine-forty-two. My God, she thought; had that much time elapsed?

Ted noticed her distraction. He paused to watch her minutely, then glanced down to the tape recorder on his lap. It was moving, the reels rolling to record as planned. He glanced up again. Suddenly his breath caught in his chest. With great reserve of strength he looked intensely at Jane.

"Jane," his voice was deep, implicative...

She glanced at him warily, her blond hair falling across a portion of her round face and hiding one of her hazel eyes. She brushed it aside without thinking. Her short nails were painted yellow, almost the same color as her hair.

"Jane," he said again. Beside him George was speechless. "There is a great black dog in the doorway. Its hair is bristled. Do you own a dog, Jane?"

"No." She looked tired now.

"Don't turn around," Ted commanded quietly, his voice deliberately low. When all three were still enough and the dog had yet to move, however, its eyes as yet blazing, its teeth bared, he added: "Does anyone you know own this dog, or seen it before? It's some kind of mastiff."

"No," she repeated. Quickly, before Ted could complain, she turned in her chair to glance at the doorway. The dog looked at her strangely, its hair settling back down. It seemed to cower slightly, backing down. Then it turned its tail and scampered away, its heavy body making no sound. From the kitchen, no lights shone in the hall anymore.

"Jane?" Ted's voice echoed in the stillness.

She had turned back around in her chair, her eyes downcast with a weighted expression. "I had a dream last night," she replied weakly. Her voice felt weak. In the very back of her mind she heard herself again: I had a dream last night...





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