by Robert Bloch
"Of course."
"And you won't tell a soul?"
"Not a soul."
"Of course you know what will happen to you if you refuse to give Enoch what he wants," I warned Mr. Cassidy. "He will take it—from you—by force?"
"Don't you worry, Seth."
I stood still for a minute. Because all at once I could feel something move towards my ear.
"Enoch," I whispered. "Can you hear me?"
He heard.
Then I explained everything to him. How I was giving him to Mr. Cassidy.
Enoch didn't say a word.
Mr. Cassidy didn't say a word. He just sat there and grinned. I suppose it must have looked a little strange to see me talking to—nothing.
"Go to Mr. Cassidy," I whispered. "Go to him, now."
And Enoch went.
I felt the weight lift from my head. That was all, but I knew he was gone.
"Can you feel him, Mr. Cassidy?" I asked.
"What—oh, sure!" he said, and stood up.
"Take good care of Enoch," I told him.
"The best."
"Don't put your hat on," I warned. "Enoch doesn't like hats."
"Sorry, I forgot. Well, Seth, I'll say good-bye now. You've been a mighty great help to me—and from now on we can just forget about Enoch, as far as telling anybody else is concerned.
"I'll come back again and talk about the trial. That Doctor Silversmith, he's going to try and tell the folks you're crazy. Maybe it would be best if you just denied everything you told him—now that I have Enoch."
That sounded like a fine idea, but then I knew Mr. Cassidy was a smart man.
"Whatever you say, Mr. Cassidy. Just be good to Enoch, and he'll be good to you."
Mr. Cassidy shook my hand and then he and Enoch went away. I felt tired again. Maybe it was the strain, and maybe it was just that I felt a little queer, knowing that Enoch was gone. Anyway, I went back to sleep for a long time.
It was nighttime when I woke up. Old Charley Potter was banging on the cell door, bringing me my supper.
He jumped when I said hello to him, and backed away.
"Murderer!" he yelled. "They got nine bodies out'n the swamp. You crazy fiend!"
"Why Charley," I said. "I always thought you were a friend of mine."
"Loony! I'm gonna get out of here right now—leave you locked up for the night. Sheriff'll see that nobuddy breaks in to lynch you—if you ask me, he's wasting his time."
Then Charley turned out all the lights and went away. I heard him go out the front door and put the padlock on, and I was all alone in the jailhouse.
All alone! It was strange to be all alone for the first time in years—all alone, without Enoch.
I ran my fingers across the top of my head. It felt bare and queer.
The moon was shining through the window and I stood there looking out at the empty street. Enoch always loved the moon. It made him lively. Made him restless and greedy. I wondered how he felt now, with Mr. Cassidy.
I must have stood there for a long time. My legs were numb when I turned around and listened to the fumbling at the door.
The lock clicked open, and then Mr. Cassidy came running in.
"Take him off me!" he yelled. "Take him away!"
"What's the matter?" I asked.
"Enoch—that thing of yours—I thought you were crazy—maybe I'm the crazy one—but take him off!"
"Why, Mr. Cassidy! I told you what Enoch was like."
"He's crawling around up there now. I can feel him. And I can hear him. The things he whispers!"
"But I explained all that, Mr. Cassidy. Enoch wants something, doesn't he? You know what it is. And you'll have to give it to him. You promised."
"I can't. I won't kill for him—he can't make me—"
"He can. And he will."
Mr. Cassidy gripped the bars on the cell door. "Seth, you must help me. Call Enoch. Take him back. Make him go back to you. Hurry."
"All right, Mr. Cassidy," I said.
I called Enoch. He didn't answer. I called again. Silence.
Mr. Cassidy started to cry. It shocked me, and then I felt kind of sorry for him. He just didn't understand, after all. I know what Enoch can do to you when he whispers that way. First he coaxes you, and then he pleads, and then he threatens—
"You'd better obey him," I told Mr. Cassidy. "Has he told you who to kill?"
Mr. Cassidy didn't pay any attention to me. He just cried. And then he took out the jail keys and opened up the cell next to mine. He went in and locked the door.
"I won't," he sobbed. "I won't, I won't!"
"You won't what?" I asked.
"I won't kill Doctor Silversmith at the hotel and give Enoch his head. I'll stay here, in the cell, where I'm safe! Oh you fiend, you devil—"
He slumped down sideways and I could see him through the bars dividing our cells, sitting all hunched over while his hands tore at his hair.
"You'd better," I called out. "Or else Enoch will do something. Please, Mr. Cassidy—oh, hurry—"
Then Mr. Cassidy gave a little moan and I guess he fainted. Because he didn't say anything more and he stopped clawing. I called him once but he wouldn't answer.
So what could I do? I sat down in the dark corner of my cell and watched the moonlight. Moonlight always makes Enoch wild.
Then Mr. Cassidy started to scream. Not loud, but deep down in his throat. He didn't move at all, just screamed.
I knew it was Enoch, taking what he wanted—from him.
What was the use of looking? You can't stop him, and I had warned Mr. Cassidy.
I just sat there and held my hands to my ears until it was all over.
When I turned around again, Mr. Cassidy still sat slumped up against the bars. There wasn't a sound to be heard.
Oh yes, there was! A purring. A soft, faraway purring. The purring of Enoch, after he has eaten. Then I heard a scratching. The scratching of Enoch's claws, when he frisks because he's been fed.
The purring and the scratching came from inside Mr. Cassidy's head.
That would be Enoch, all right, and he was happy now.
I was happy, too.
I reached my hand through the bars and pulled the jail keys from Mr. Cassidy's pocket. I opened my cell door and I was free again.
There was no need for me to stay now, with Mr. Cassidy gone. And Enoch wouldn't be staying, either. I called to him.
"Here, Enoch!"
That was as close as I've ever come to really seeing Enoch—a sort of a white streak that came flashing out of the big red hole he had eaten in the back of Mr. Cassidy's skull.
Then I felt the soft, cold, flabby weight landing on my own head once more, and I knew Enoch had come home.
I walked through the corridor and opened the outer door of the jail.
Enoch's tiny feet began to patter on the roof of my brain.
Together we walked out into the night. The moon was shining, everything was still, and I could hear, ever so softly, Enoch's happy chuckling in my ear.
Catnip
RONNIE SHIRES STOOD BEFORE the mirror and slicked back his hair. He straightened his new sweater and stuck out his chest. Sharp! Had to watch the way he looked, with graduation only a few weeks away and that election for class president coming up. If he could get to be president then, next year in high school he'd be a real wheel. Go out for second team or something. But he had to watch the angles—
Ma came out of the kitchen, carrying his lunch. Ronnie wiped the grin off his face. She walked up behind him and put her arms around his waist.
"Hon, I only wish your father were here to see you—"
Ronnie wriggled free. "Yea, sure. Say, Ma."
"Yes?"
"How's about some loot, huh? I got to get some things today."
"Well, I suppose. But try to make it last, son. This graduation costs a lot of money, seems to me."
"I'll pay you back someday." He watched her as she fumbled in her apron pocket and prod
uced a wadded-up dollar bill.
"Thanks. See you." He picked up his lunch and ran outside. He walked along, smiling and whistling, knowing Ma was watching him from the window. She was always watching him, and it was a real drag.
Then he turned the corner, halted under a tree, and fished out a cigarette. He lit it and sauntered slowly across the street, puffing deeply. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the Ogden house just ahead.
Sure enough, the front screen door banged and Marvin Ogden came down the steps. Marvin was fifteen, one year older than Ronnie, but smaller and skinnier. He wore glasses and stuttered when he got excited, but he was valedictorian of the graduating class.
Ronnie came up behind him, walking fast.
"Hello, Snot-face!"
Marvin wheeled. He avoided Ronnie's glare, but smiled weakly at the pavement.
"I said hello, Snot-face! What's the matter, don't you know your own name, jerk?"
"Hello—Ronnie."
"How's old Snot-face today?"
"Aw, gee, Ronnie. Why do you have to talk like that? I never did anything to you, did I?"
Ronnie spit in the direction of Marvin's shoes. "I'd like to see you just try doing something to me, you four-eyed little—"
Marvin began to walk away, but Ronnie kept pace.
"Slow down, jag. I wanna talk to you."
"Wh-what is it, Ronnie? I don't want to be late."
"Shut your yap."
"But—"
"Listen, you. What was the big idea in History exam yesterday when you pulled your paper away?"
"You know, Ronnie. You aren't supposed to copy somebody else's answers."
"You trying to tell me what to do, square?"
"N-no. I mean, I only want to keep you out of trouble. What if Miss Sanders found out, and you want to be elected class president? Why, if anybody knew—"
Ronnie put his hand on Marvin's shoulder. He smiled. "You wouldn't ever tell her about it, would you, Snot-face?" he murmured.
"Of course not! Cross my heart!"
Ronnie continued to smile. He dug his fingers into Marvin's shoulder. With his other hand he swept Marvin's books to the ground. As Marvin bent forward to pick them up, he kicked Marvin as hard as he could, bringing his knee up fast. Marvin sprawled on the sidewalk. He began to cry. Ronnie watched him as he attempted to rise.
"This is just a sample of what you got coming if you squeal," he said. He stepped on the fingers of Marvin's left hand. "Creep!"
Marvin's snivelling faded from his ears as he turned the corner at the end of the block. Mary June was waiting for him under the trees. He came up behind her and slapped her, hard.
"Hello, you!" he said.
Mary June jumped about a foot, her curls bouncing on her shoulders. Then she turned and saw who it was.
"Oh, Ronnie! You oughtn't to—"
"Shut up. I'm in a hurry. Can't be late the day before election. You lining up the chicks?"
"Sure, Ronnie. You know, I promised. I had Ellen and Vicky over at the house last night and they said they'd vote for you for sure. All the girls are gonna vote for you."
"Well, they better." Ronnie threw his cigarette butt against a rosebush in the Eisners' yard.
"Ronnie—you be careful—want to start a fire?"
"Quit bossing me." He scowled.
"I'm not trying to boss you, Ronnie. Only—"
"Aw, you make me sick!" He quickened his pace, and the girl bit her lip as she endeavored to keep step with him. "Ronnie, wait for me!"
"Wait for me!" he mocked her. "What's the matter, you afraid you'll get lost or something?"
"No. You know. I don't like to pass that old Mrs. Mingle's place. She always stares at me and makes faces."
"She's nuts!"
"I'm scared of her, Ronnie. Aren't you?"
"Me scared of that old bat? She can go take a flying leap!"
"Don't talk so loud, she'll hear you."
"Who cares?"
Ronnie marched boldly pass the tree-shadowed cottage behind the rusted iron fence. He stared insolently at the girl, who made herself small against his shoulder, eyes averted from the ramshackle edifice. He deliberately slackened his pace as they passed the cottage, with its boarded-up windows, screened-in porch, and general air of withdrawal from the world.
Mrs. Mingle herself was not in evidence today. Usually she could be seen in the weed-infested garden at the side of the cottage; a tiny, dried-up old woman, bending over her vines and plants, mumbling incessantly to herself or to the raddled black tomcat which served as her constant companion.
"Old Prune-face ain't around!" Ronnie observed, loudly. "Must be off someplace on her broomstick."
"Ronnie—please!"
"Who cares?" Ronnie pulled Mary June's curls. "You dames are scared of everything, ain't you?"
"Aren't, Ronnie."
"Don't tell me how to talk!" Ronnie's gaze shifted again to the silent house, huddled in the shadows. A segment of shadow at the side of the cottage seemed to be moving. A black blur detached itself from the end of the porch. Ronnie recognized Mrs. Mingle's cat. It minced down the path towards the gate.
Quickly, Ronnie stooped and found a rock. He grasped it, rose, aimed, and hurled the missile in one continuous movement.
The cat hissed, then squawled in pain as the rock grazed its ribs.
"Oh, Ronnie!"
"Come on, let's run before she sees us!"
They flew down the street. The school bell drowned out the cat-yowl.
"Here we go," said Ronnie. "You do my homework for me? Good. Give it here once."
He snatched the papers from Mary June's hand and splinted ahead. The girl stood watching him, smiling her admiration. From behind the fence the cat watched, too, and licked its jaws.
2
It happened that afternoon, after school. Ronnie and Joe Gordon and Seymour Higgins were futzing around with a baseball and he was talking about the outfit Ma promised to buy him this summer if the dressmaking business picked up. Only he made it sound as if he was getting the outfit for sure, and that they could all use the mask and mitt. It didn't hurt to build it up a little, with election tomorrow. He had to stand in good with the whole gang.
He knew if he hung around the school yard much longer, Mary June would come out and want him to walk her home. He was sick of her. Oh, she was all right for homework and such stuff, but these guys would just laugh at him if he went off with a dame.
So he said how about going down the street to in front of the pool hall and maybe hang around to see if somebody would shoot a game? He'd pay. Besides, they could smoke.
Ronnie knew that these guys didn't smoke, but it sounded cool and that's what he wanted. They all followed him down the street, pounding their cleats on the sidewalk. It made a lot of noise, because everything was so quiet.
All Ronnie could hear was the cat. They were passing Mrs. Mingle's and there was this cat, rolling around in the garden on its back and on its stomach, playing with some kind of ball. It purred and meeowed and whined.
"Look!" yelled Joe Gordon. "Dizzy cat's havin' a fit 'r something, huh?"
"Lice," said Ronnie. "Damned mangy old thing's fulla lice and fleas and stuff. I socked it a good one this morning."
"Ya did?"
"Sure. With a rock. This big, too." He made a watermelon with his hands.
"Weren't you afraid of old lady Mingle?"
"Afraid? Why, that dried-up old—"
"Catnip," said Seymour Higgins. "That's what he's got. Ball of catnip. Old Mingle buys it for him. My old man says she buys everything for that cat; special food and sardines. Treats it like a baby. Ever see them walk down the street together?"
"Catnip, huh?" Joe peered through the fence. "Wonder why they like it so much. Gets 'em wild, doesn't it? Cats'll do anything for catnip."
The cat squealed, sniffing and clawing at the ball. Ronnie scowled at it. "I hate cats. Somebody oughta drowned that damn thing."
"Better not let Mrs. Mingle hear
you talk like that," Seymour cautioned. "She'll put the evil eye on you."
"Bull!"
"Well, she grows them herbs and stuff and my old lady says—"
"Bull!"
"All right. But I wouldn't go monkeying around her or her old cat, either."
"I'll show you."
Before he knew it, Ronnie was opening the gate. He advanced toward the black tomcat as the boys gaped.
The cat crouched over the catnip, eyes flattened against a velveteen skull. Ronnie hesitated a moment, gauging the glitter of claws, the glare of agate eyes. But the gang was watching—
"Scat!" he shouted. He advanced, waving his arms. The cat sidled backwards. Ronnie feinted with his hand and scooped up the catnip ball.
"See? I got it, you guys. I got—"
"Put that down!"
He didn't see the door open. He didn't see her walk down the steps. But suddenly she was there. Leaning on her cane, wearing a black dress that fitted tightly over her tiny frame, she seemed hardly any bigger than the cat which crouched at her side. Her hair was grey and wrinkled and dead, her face was grey and wrinkled and dead, but her eyes—
They were agate eyes, like the cat's. They glowed. And when she talked, she spit the way the cat did.
"Put that down, young man!"
Ronnie began to shake. It was only a chill, everybody gets chills now and then, and could he help it if he shook so hard the catnip just fell out of his hand?
He wasn't scared. He had to show the gang he wasn't scared of this skinny little dried-up old woman. It was hard to breathe, he was shaking so, but he managed. He filled his lungs and opened his mouth.
"You—you old witch!" he yelled.
The agate eyes widened. They were bigger than she was. All he could see were the eyes. Witch eyes. Now that he said it, he knew it was true. Witch. She was a witch.
"You insolent puppy. I've a good mind to cut out your lying tongue!"
Geez, she wasn't kidding!
Now she was coming closer, and the cat was inching up on him, and then she raised the cane in the air, she was going to hit him, the witch was after him, oh Ma, no, don't, oh—
Ronnie ran.
3
Could he help it? Geez, the guys ran too. They'd run before he did, even. He had to run, the old bat was crazy, anybody could see that. Besides, if he'd stayed she'd of tried to hit him and maybe he'd let her have it. He was only trying to keep out of trouble. That was all.