D A Novel (George Right) - By George Right Page 0,87
the whining of the wind and rain noise beyond the window, but, at last, a heavy drowsiness possessed him...
About midnight the businessman suddenly opened his eyes as from a kick. The storm had ended; it was astonishingly quiet in the house. And in this silence, the remote creak of floor boards suddenly was heard. Dubois tried to convince himself that there was nothing unusual: in an old house something always squeaks and crackles. However, the sounds were too rhythmical and, seemingly, their source approached. In horror Dubois realized that he was hearing confident steps; someone strode through the house. Here creaked, opening, an office door; then it slammed–the stranger left there. Now the steps moved to the bedroom.
Dubois understood that it was necessary to take a pistol, but he could not move and lay in full helplessness. Steps stopped on the other side of the door. The new lock snapped, opening. Then the latch moved by itself. Dubois felt hair move on his head. The door silently opened. Behind it, there was nobody.
But the steps came nearer to the bed and stopped. Dubois smelled the disgusting stench of a decaying corpse. A cold whiff of air touched his face and at the next instant slippery ice-cold fingers seized the businessman's neck. Dubois wanted to cry out, but a spasm blocked his throat. He desperately, but unsuccessfully, tried to move his hands; his heart beat furiously, he suffocated...
Dubois was awakened by his own shout. Still in the power of his nightmare, he jumped up on the bed, swinging hands, and knocked the lamp down from the bedside cabinet. The lamp fell and broke; burning kerosene spread on the floor, and tongues of flame licked the window curtain and the bed sheet which hung to the floor. Dubois, at last, awoke completely. In three jumps he crossed the bedroom and, having pushed the latch aside, jerked the door handle. But the door, of course, didn't open, as the lock was locked on two turns and the key lay on the bedside cabinet. Having realized this fact, Dubois helplessly turned back: the cabinet was already on fire. For some seconds the businessman helplessly looked around in search of any object which could help him, but then he understood that he had to snatch the key out of the flames barehanded. When he, at last, rushed to the cabinet, the fire reached the pistols lying there. A shot banged; a strong and hot kick in the breast threw Dubois back onto the locked door, and he slowly slipped to the floor. The flame with a cheerful crackle was devouring the room furniture.
"Yesterday in the suburb of L. there was a strong fire, as a result of which the family estate of counts de Montreux completely burned out. The last owner, the Parisian businessman Jacques Dubois, was the only victim of the fire. It is supposed that he died because of his own imprudence."
WINDY DAY IN WEST
The straight gray tape of the highway was rewinding under the Ford's wheels at 75 mph. The hot southern wind drove across the road clouds of dust and tumbleweed spheres similar to skeletons of balls. Pete Palmer had needed to close the driver's window that morning and since then the wind had only increased. A continuous haze hung over the yellow-orange desert. "The way things are going, I'll have to slow down," Pete thought. "Visibility is miserable even now." It was 3 PM; he had been en route for 74 hours and had left his car only to do the deed. He ate and slept right in the car.
"Hello, friends, Dan Daniels with you on the hour," sounded from the car radio. It was some local station. "What weather, huh? There hasn't been a scorcher like this for years. Well, the weatherman says this heat will last at least several days more. So we have to do the best we can. I like lying in a cool bath and sipping martinis with ice. Too bad my studio doesn't have a bath. Between you and me, I'm sitting here in my underpants only. Right now, I'm like the characters in the song you'll hear next–it's the hit of the month, 'Hot Guys Is What I Like!'"
"Moron," muttered Palmer and switched the radio off. The noise of the motor merged with the rustle of sand grains hitting the glass.
He finally noticed a figure on the roadside. He had nearly missed seeing it, not so much because of the dusty haze, but