Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (107 page)

Behind
him
he
heard
the
Tiring
lumbering
in
clumsy
pursuit.
The ground
reverberated
suddenly
under
its
huge
webbed
feet.
He
heard the
long
reptilian
body
flopping
heavily
in
his
wake,
heard
its
open mouth
emitting
strange
wheezing
cries
full
of
a
hateful
yearning.

It
was
moving
quickly,
too.
The
sounds
behind
him
gained
upon him
with
a
maddening
rapidity.
He
could
smell
the
creature's
hot foetid
breath.
With
one
last
despairing
effort
he
gained
the
door
of his
shop
and
flung
himself
across
the
threshold
into
what
seemed but
a
paltry
chance
of
safety.
Frenziedly
he
kicked
out
behind
him at
the
door,
closing
it
with
a
crash,
and
fell
gasping
across
his
counter.

Almost
on
the
instant
the
little
clock
on
the
shelf
began
to
strike. And
sharp
upon
the
stroke
he
heard
a
sudden
moaning
outside.
His strained
heart
leaped
again,
but
in
the
fraction
of
a
moment
he
had recognized
the
sound.
It
was
the
tram
resuming
what
had
seemed to
him
its
interrupted
journey.

The
clock
went
on
striking.
He
looked
at
it
in
blank
bewilderment. It
was
striking
the
hour
of
twelve,
midnight.

Now
he
had
paid
little
attention
to
time,
but
estimated
that
he had
spent
something
like
half
an
hour
in
the
strange
and
awful world
outside
his
shop.
Yet
it
had
turned
a
minute
to
twelve
when
the change
happened.
And
now
here
was
his
clock
only
just
striking the
hour.

He
staggered
to
the
door,
and
as
he
did
so
the
tram
passed,
throwing a
procession
of
twinkling
lights
along
the
top
of
his
window.
The curtain
on
the
door
was
still
raised
a
little,
showing
where
he
had peeped
out.
He
looked
through
and
saw
gleaming
tram-rails,
the familiar
pillar-box
on
the
comer,
the
garden
gate
of
Holmecroft opposite.
Wherever
he
had
been
he
was—and
he
thanked
God
for it—back
in
To-day.

The
clock
finished
striking
the
hour,
the
sounds
of
the
tram
grew fainter
in
the
distance,
and
silence
recaptured
her
hold
upon
the
night.

Trimmer
edged
away
from
the
door.
He
was
still
sweating
profusely,
and
his
heart
was
still
racing.
He
looked
down
at
his
feet. His
cheap,
worn
boots
were
quite
dry.

"God!"
he
ejaculated
aloud.
"What
a
dream!"

A
fit
of
shuddering
seized
him.

"That
thing!
Ugh!
It
was
like
one
of
them
things
on
the
postcards what
chase
the
pre'istoric
blokes—only
worse!
I
didn't
dream
that! I
couldn't
have
done!
I
couldn't
have
run
like
that
and
yelled
like
I did,
in
a
dream.
I
couldn't
have
been
so
surprised,
and
reasoned things
out
so
clear!
Besides,
'ow
could
I
have
fallen
asleep
like
that in
one
second?
No,
it
wasn't
no
dream!
Then
what—what
in
God's name
was
it?"