Needless to say, it was not the last time, unfortunately, that I would see that bright yellow vision.
The following day I received a package from Stavely, a publisher friend of mine who invariably pushes work my way. It was a thick manuscript that required indexing, two weeks solid work at least, so I set to with a vengeance and had little time to view my small plenum.
However, one Thursday evening I looked up casually from the typewriter to see a sky darkening towards night. One or two stars had appeared high up and were winking on and off. The street lamps had just been switched on, and I think it was that which had caught my attention and caused me to look up. A breeze was scuttling a sheet of newspaper along the gutter and its line of direction led me to a billowing movement of yellow on the right. There stood the little girl, dainty and pretty even though dirty and wearing those tattered and mismatched boys’ socks. Her weird eyes were burrowing through my retina in a supernatural fashion. I was so taken aback that I found I’d jumped back from the window, throwing my chair over, and was peering round the edge of the curtain like a criminal… I felt hot, and then cold and the hair along my arms moved, bristling like a haunted cat.
It was such an unnatural occurrence it left me a little watery at the knees and I had to sit down a while. The girl was no longer to be seen, but no sooner had I recovered my thoughts however, when the doorbell rang, a long shrill note, rattling inside my befuddled head. I went downstairs.
As I pulled the door back I tried to stifle a gasp, since standing there in the half-light was the little girl. I choked. I couldn’t say anything, my mouth was dry and my tongue seemed swollen inexplicably.
‘You want to come and play, Mister?’ the voice inquired, a normal, girlish voice. A natural, smutty little girl in all respects except for those eyes, asking an innocent question of a stranger.
‘Nnn... no... not today!’ was all I could stammer back and I closed the door sharply. I dashed back upstairs and slammed the door to my flat, expecting any minute the clamour of the doorbell again. I sat and breathed deeply for several minutes, trying to fathom my seemingly acute fear of what was purely a natural, if isolated incident. A girl who merely wants someone to play with, who has no friends, who sees me from time to time at my window, always available; and only now has she plucked up the courage to reach up the tall door and press the bell which will bring me to her. My bell! Since there are three flats in the house, how did she know which of the three bells was mine?
I couldn’t rid myself of my thoughtlessly bad manners to this small, frail human being, no matter how strangely cognizant she was of both my doorbell and me. Innocent as yet of the tortuous passages of the grown-up world and its madness. My sleeping hours would not let me forget either, and I was tormented by the fragmented images of a horrible nightmare…
In the dream I was looking out across the road to where the girl stood in her yellow dress and her eyes were red holes that sent rays of eerie light into the room. Her mouth opened slowly and mouthed silent words, her lips contorting into cruel shapes as she did so. The face stood wax-white and a slow wind moved her dress like gossamer… the image blurred, changed… She was now hacking at the front door with her fingers, the wood like soft, grey fungus giving way before her malefic onslaught. The face was twisted in a wide grin of horror, the chin protruding, saliva dripping from it, the eyes screwed tight into little knots of red hate. Then she broke through the door, the fungus falling away, tearing silently, plopping down in soggy lumps, spores puffing out clouding the scene in a multitude of minute stars… I lay under the bedclothes, her coarse breathing sounding louder as she ascended the stairs and entered the flat. The covers slipped away leaving me cold in
The following day I received a package from Stavely, a publisher friend of mine who invariably pushes work my way. It was a thick manuscript that required indexing, two weeks solid work at least, so I set to with a vengeance and had little time to view my small plenum.
However, one Thursday evening I looked up casually from the typewriter to see a sky darkening towards night. One or two stars had appeared high up and were winking on and off. The street lamps had just been switched on, and I think it was that which had caught my attention and caused me to look up. A breeze was scuttling a sheet of newspaper along the gutter and its line of direction led me to a billowing movement of yellow on the right. There stood the little girl, dainty and pretty even though dirty and wearing those tattered and mismatched boys’ socks. Her weird eyes were burrowing through my retina in a supernatural fashion. I was so taken aback that I found I’d jumped back from the window, throwing my chair over, and was peering round the edge of the curtain like a criminal… I felt hot, and then cold and the hair along my arms moved, bristling like a haunted cat.
It was such an unnatural occurrence it left me a little watery at the knees and I had to sit down a while. The girl was no longer to be seen, but no sooner had I recovered my thoughts however, when the doorbell rang, a long shrill note, rattling inside my befuddled head. I went downstairs.
As I pulled the door back I tried to stifle a gasp, since standing there in the half-light was the little girl. I choked. I couldn’t say anything, my mouth was dry and my tongue seemed swollen inexplicably.
‘You want to come and play, Mister?’ the voice inquired, a normal, girlish voice. A natural, smutty little girl in all respects except for those eyes, asking an innocent question of a stranger.
‘Nnn... no... not today!’ was all I could stammer back and I closed the door sharply. I dashed back upstairs and slammed the door to my flat, expecting any minute the clamour of the doorbell again. I sat and breathed deeply for several minutes, trying to fathom my seemingly acute fear of what was purely a natural, if isolated incident. A girl who merely wants someone to play with, who has no friends, who sees me from time to time at my window, always available; and only now has she plucked up the courage to reach up the tall door and press the bell which will bring me to her. My bell! Since there are three flats in the house, how did she know which of the three bells was mine?
I couldn’t rid myself of my thoughtlessly bad manners to this small, frail human being, no matter how strangely cognizant she was of both my doorbell and me. Innocent as yet of the tortuous passages of the grown-up world and its madness. My sleeping hours would not let me forget either, and I was tormented by the fragmented images of a horrible nightmare…
In the dream I was looking out across the road to where the girl stood in her yellow dress and her eyes were red holes that sent rays of eerie light into the room. Her mouth opened slowly and mouthed silent words, her lips contorting into cruel shapes as she did so. The face stood wax-white and a slow wind moved her dress like gossamer… the image blurred, changed… She was now hacking at the front door with her fingers, the wood like soft, grey fungus giving way before her malefic onslaught. The face was twisted in a wide grin of horror, the chin protruding, saliva dripping from it, the eyes screwed tight into little knots of red hate. Then she broke through the door, the fungus falling away, tearing silently, plopping down in soggy lumps, spores puffing out clouding the scene in a multitude of minute stars… I lay under the bedclothes, her coarse breathing sounding louder as she ascended the stairs and entered the flat. The covers slipped away leaving me cold in
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