The Best of Robert Bloch by Robert Bloch Read Free Book Online Page B

steady light; a wavering light. Like a fire. A fire—where his cigarette had landed. The cottage was beginning to burn!
    Ronnie gulped and clung to the fence. Yes, it was on fire all right. Mrs. Mingle would come out and the firemen would come and they'd find the butt and see him and then—
    He fled down the street. The wind cat howled behind him, the wind that fanned the flames that burned the cottage—
    Ma was in bed. He managed to slow down and walk softly as he slipped into the house, up the stairs. He undressed in the dark and sought the white womb between the bedsheets. When he got the covers over his head he had another chill. Lying there, trembling, not daring to look out the window and see the glare from the other side of the block, Ronnie's teeth chattered. He knew he was going to pass out in a minute.
    Then he heard the screaming from far away. Fire engines. Somebody had called them. He needn't worry now. Why should the sound frighten him? It was only a siren, it wasn't Mrs. Mingle screaming, it couldn't be. She was all right. He was all right. Nobody knew . . .
    Ronnie fell asleep with the wind and the siren wailing in his ears. His slumber was deep and only once was there an interruption. That was along towards morning, when he thought he heard a noise at the window. It was a scraping sound. The wind, of course. And it must have been the wind, too, that sobbed and whined and whimpered beneath the windowsill at dawn. It was only Ronnie's imagination, Ronnie's conscience, that transformed the sound into the wailing of a cat . . .
     
     
    4
    "Ronnie!"
    It wasn't the wind, it wasn't a cat. Ma was calling him.
    "Ronnie! Oh, Ronnie!"
    He opened his eyes, shielding them from the sun-shafts.
    "I declare, you might answer a person." He heard her grumbling to herself downstairs. Then she called again.
    "Ronnie!"
    "I'm coming, Ma."
    He got out of bed, went to the bathroom, and dressed. She was waiting for him in the kitchen.
    "Land sakes, you sure slept sound last night. Didn't you hear the fire engines?"
    Ronnie dropped a slice of toast. "What engines?"
    Ma's voice rose. "Don't you know? Why boy, it was just awful—Mrs. Mingle's cottage burned down."
    "Yeah?" He had trouble picking up the toast again.
    "The poor old lady—just think of it—trapped in there—"
    He had to shut her up. He couldn't stand what was coming next. But what could he say, how could he stop her?
    "Burned alive. The whole place was on fire when they got there. The Ogdens saw it when they came home and Mr. Ogden called the firemen, but it was too late. When I think of that old lady it just makes me—"
    Without a word, Ronnie rose from the table and left the room. He didn't wait for his lunch. He didn't bother to examine himself in the mirror. He went outside, before he cried, or screamed, or hauled off and hit Ma in the puss.
    The puss—
    It was waiting for him on the front walk. The black bundle with the agate eyes. The cat.
    Mrs. Mingle's cat, waiting for him to come out.
    Ronnie took a deep breath before he opened the gate. The cat didn't make a sound, didn't stir. It just hunched up on the sidewalk and stared at him.
    He watched it for a moment, then cast about for a stick. There was a hunk of lath near the porch. He picked it up and swung it. Then he opened the gate.
    "Scat!" he said.
    The cat retreated. Ronnie walked away. The cat moved after him. Ronnie wheeled, brandishing the stick.
    "Scram before I let you have it!"
    The cat stood still.
    Ronnie stared at it. Why hadn't the damn thing burned up in the fire? And what was it doing here?
    He gripped the lath. It felt good between his fingers, splinters and all. Just let that mangy tom start anything—
    He walked along, not looking back. What was the matter with him? Suppose the cat did follow him. It couldn't hurt him any. Neither could old Mingle. She was dead. The dirty witch. Talking about cutting his tongue out. Well, she got what was coming to her, all right. Too bad her scroungy