Manhunt. Volume 5, Number 5, May 1957

“No, not at all,” Gretta said. Her voice was cool. She was rapidly gaining possession of herself. She was both ashamed and angry that they should have seen her show of weakness. She stood up, a short, rather heavy set girl. She wore her usual severe, tailored suit. Her face was without makeup, her brows thicker than most girls because she didn’t pluck them.

As she turned to get her coat from the living room cloak closet, Gretta felt Mrs. Carson’s gaze following her. Gretta could almost read the thoughts behind the puffy features. If Gretta had eaten something here to make her sick, maybe Gretta wouldn’t come again. And that would be a calamity in Mrs. Carson’s selfish little world. For Gretta wasn’t like most girls of her age, flighty, their minds filled with thoughts of boys, boys, boys. Mrs. Carson wouldn’t trust her two precious children with just any sitter. Mr. and Mrs. Carson hadn’t married until late in life. Mrs. Carson had given birth to two children, a boy and girl, before natural changes common to her years had precluded further results. As a consequence, Gretta thought she doted over the children with an affection that was stupid, vain, and a little sickening.

“Here,” Mr. Carson said suddenly. “I’ll bet this is what brought on the nocturnal horrors.”

Gretta turned. Mr. Carson had picked up the newspaper from the couch. Gretta had been reading it, pondering over what she had read, just before she had fallen asleep.

The paper rattled in Mr. Carson’s hand. “Razor killer claims a third victim,” he read. “The body of an elderly man, his throat slashed with a razor...”

Mrs. Carson clapped her hands over her ears. “Oh, please dear, I can’t bear to hear such horrid stuff.”

Mr. Carson looked at his wife with contempt. Then he turned his gaze toward Gretta. “You were reading this when you dozed off?”

Gretta nodded.

“Ah,” said Mr. Carson, “you see. That did it. I’ll bet your mind pictured all sorts of things. The rustle of the wind outside became his footsteps creeping up the fire escape. A touch of moonlight at the window was his face.”

“Please, please,” Mrs. Carson said. “I’d die at the thought of him ever coming here. Oh, my precious darlings...”

She rushed across the room, down a short hallway, and there came to the living room the sound of her opening a door. She returned in a moment, fanning her face with a limp hand. “They’re sleeping like angels, the dears. Please, let’s have a cup of tea. I do need something to brace me. Why don’t they catch that horrid man and take his razor away from him?”

“I guess they’re trying,” Mr. Carson said.

“Oh, I suppose so,” his wife said. “But why don’t they do something? He’s operating in this end of town. We have no idea when he might — oh, dear, I think we really should hire someone to protect the children.”

“You mean a bodyguard?” Mr. Carson asked.

“Don’t you think it would be a good idea, dear?”

Mr. Carson laughed in sour humor. “The man we hired might be the very one. He could be any Tom, Dick, or Harry. Outwardly, by day, a respectable business man even. You never know. He could be living in this very building.”

Gretta slipped quickly into her coat, pulling her eyes from Mr. Carson’s face. Mrs. Carson let a short, quick breath out of her red, puffy lips. “It’s dreadful. I won’t sleep a wink— Oh, Gretta, must you go now?”

“Yes, ma’m.”

“Oh, dear, that long walk you have...”

“It’s only six or eight blocks.”

“But alone... So late...”

“I’ll be all right.”

“Let Mr. Carson take you.”

“Sure,” Mr. Carson said. “I’ll drive you over, Gretta.”

He looked at her, and she was aware of her youth and his age. How old and repulsive he became suddenly, looking at her in that way!

“No,” she said, “you don’t have to bother.”

“It’s no bother.”

“I said no!” Gretta said.

“Well,” Mrs. Carson said. “We were only thinking of you, dear, trying to be nice.”

“But I think you need him here more.”

“I am upset,” Mrs. Carson admitted.

“You see? Well, good night.”

Gretta left the apartment, closed the door quickly behind her. She hesitated in the hallway a moment. Memory of the dream she’d had on the couch tried to come creeping back into her mind. She shook her head and walked quickly down the hallway.

It was late and the sidewalks were dark, deserted, and in this residential section there were few automobiles moving on the street at this hour. Across the street, a delicatessen was just closing, and down on the corner, the lights of a bar looked lonely.

Gretta started resolutely down the sidewalk. She fought thoughts of the razor fiend from her mind. She was afraid even of the thought of him, so afraid that a shiver, almost like a shiver of pleasure, passed over her.