Creeps by Night: Chills and Thrills

There was a silence. The woman sat cowering in a chair, gazing fascinated at her husband. They’re a long time coming, said the Traveler at last. Yes, said his sister, they should have been here by now. The Chemist was eying them cunningly; he began to whine and wheedle. He was safe now, he said; they could let him go; he must have his way with the child, that was all; cross him there and he was fighting-mad, but, that apart, he was as sane as they were. There was no response. He moaned, pulling feebly at the cords. Water, he gasped, for the love of Christ. Give him some water, said the woman, if you think it’s safe. The Traveler filled a glass from the carafe on the sideboard and, kneeling warily beside the Chemist’s head, poured the water into his open mouth. The Chemist spluttered and spat it out. You’ll choke me, he said between his coughs; loose my hands and let me take it myself; I can’t drink lying here. The Traveler shook his head. For the love of Christ, whined the Chemist, just let my hands go from the table so I can sit up. The Traveler shook his head.

There came a loud knocking at the front door which echoed through the still house. Quick, said the Traveler, run down and let them in; here, take the candle. Between them, in their haste, they dropped it and were in the dark. Quick, where are the matches? said the Traveler, fumbling on the table. I left them downstairs, she said. Then you’ll have to go in the dark, there’s nothing else for it; there’s not a spark left in the fire. I can’t, I daren’t, she whimpered; I can’t face those stairs again. The knocking was repeated. For God’s sake, said the Traveler sharply, pull yourself together; you must go — very well, then, I’ll go myself and you must watch him. There came a low groan from the floor. No, cried the woman, don’t leave me with him, I can’t bear it, he’ll kill me, he’ll kill me. While the Traveler stood perplexed the knocking was repeated, louder. Then we must leave him, he said desperately, and both go down. No, no, she sobbed; he’ll break loose and kill us on the stairs; we mustn’t leave him... I’ll go. She went to the door but drew back in terror from the dark landing. It’s no good, she said helplessly; you go, you’ll have to. Yes, I’ll have to, he said; there they are again, that’s the last time they’ll knock; they’ll think it’s a hoax and clear off. Now watch him and don’t answer a word; don’t give him the water whatever he says; I’ll be back with the police in thirty seconds. Now, watch him.

As he ran downstairs there suddenly came into his mind an explanation which he had not been seeking: that the Chemist had turned the gas off at the main before making his attack. Reaching the hall he flung open the front door. There was no one on the step. The high wind had cleared the sky and the street lay in bright moonlight. He stepped out onto the pavement, looked to the left — there was no one — looked to the right, and there, turning the corner at the end of the street, was a posse of policemen. They were gone. He shouted, too late. He could not make up his mind to leave his sister alone with that brute any longer, trussed up though he was; he was afraid that her nerve would go completely. But if he rang up the station they might have decided that it was a hoax and merely ring off. Every moment as he considered the policemen were further away. He must ring up and take his chance of persuading them. He stepped back to the open door; in front of him the hall yawned velvet black after the moonlight. As he stood, half in the light, half in the shadow, he heard the tiny sound of a scuffle upstairs, a crash, a scream cut short as it began, then nothing. The house was silent. Then he heard a quiet click-click at the head of the stairs. Silence again; he could hear nothing and see nothing in the darkness. There was the least sound of a little shuffle on the stairs like a faint breeze, and his ears, keyed up by fear, caught the sound of rough fingertips feeling their way down the wall. He felt sick; his heart shook him, but he could not move. There was a dim whiteness in the gloom and then the glint of steel; then it seemed that he heard a slow deep chuckle from the foot of the stairs...

A Visitor from Egypt by Frank Belknap Long, Jr.