Twelfth Pan Book Of Horror
Herbert Van Thal
Language: English
Pages: 176
ISBN: B005JI53T6
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
The 12th installment in the Brit Pulp classic Horror short story series.
parallel between the stream and the lane. There are no great distances in Eng- land, and the confined area gave Wetherby an idea. He looked out of the window and raised his eyebrows. 'Any ideas?' Bell asked. 'Possibly. I think we might treat this the same way we'd treat a man-eating tiger. I've done that before. Instead of trying to track it or anticipate it, we might attract it.' 'Set a trap for it?' Wetherby nodded. 'How?' Bell asked. 'We could stake out a goat or something, I suppose.
beyond. 'It walked here,' Wetherby said. 'On two legs?' Wetherby nodded. Bell looked back towards the cottage. A uniformed policeman stood by the door. 'Nothing could have jumped this far,' he said. 'Nothing we know about.' 'Could it have run to here, and only left the trail when it began to walk?' Wetherby shrugged. 'I'm beginning to think this creature can do anything.' 'The dogs…' Wetherby nodded grimly. The dogs had followed the scent to the point where the tracks began. No
sofa, his face towards the pillows. He shut his eyes tight and opened his mouth, crying but not-crying in a way he had learned through practice also. With his mouth open, his throat tight, not breathing for nearly a minute, he could somehow get the satisfaction of crying, screaming even, without anybody knowing it. He pushed his nose, his open mouth, his teeth, against the tomato-red sofa pillow, and though his mother's voice went on in a lazily mocking tone, and her laughter went on, he
closer, saw the four legs and the tail stretched out in the water, its head. He looked at his mother. She was drying her hands on a towel. She glanced at him, then said, 'Ugh!' She smelled her hands, then hung the towel back. 'Did you have to kill him like that?' 'How else? The same way you kill a lobster. Don't you know that? It doesn't hurt them.' He stared at her. When she started to touch him, he stepped back. He thought of the terra- pin's wide open mouth, and his eyes suddenly flooded
dark-green tracery of new and abundant crown growth. This was Miss Fletcher's ro- utine, a pleasing way of life even if lonely, for apart from her occasional attendance at Institute functions, Miss Fletcher much preferred to be by herself. She was no recluse, but her excursions outside her own section were infrequent. Her few bills were paid by cheque, and local trades people in the nearby country town delivered her requirements as she telephoned for them. Miss Fletcher was far from