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The Death of the Curate

           Icreptbacktothecoalcellar,shutthedoor,andbegantocovermyselfupasmuchasIcould,andasnoiselesslyaspossibleinthedarkness,amongthefirewoodandcoaltherein. EverynowandthenIpaused,rigid,toheariftheMartianhadthrustitstentaclesthroughtheopeningagain. 

           Thenthefaintmetallicjinglereturned. Itraceditslowlyfeelingoverthekitchen. PresentlyIhearditnearerinthescullery,asIjudged. Ithoughtthatitslengthmightbeinsufficienttoreachme. Iprayedcopiously. Itpassed,scrapingfaintlyacrossthecellardoor. Anageofalmostintolerablesuspenseintervened; thenIhearditfumblingatthelatch! Ithadfoundthedoor! TheMartiansunderstooddoors! 

           Itworriedatthecatchforaminute,perhaps,andthenthedooropened. 

           InthedarknessIcouldjustseethethinglikeanelephant’strunkmorethananythingelsewavingtowardsmeandtouchingandexaminingthewall,coals,woodandceiling. Itwaslikeablackwormswayingitsblindheadtoandfro. 

           Once,even,ittouchedtheheelofmyboot. Iwasonthevergeofscreaming;Ibitmyhand. Foratimethetentaclewassilent. Icouldhavefanciedithadbeenwithdrawn. Presently,withanabruptclick,itgrippedsomethingIthoughtithadme! andseemedtogooutofthecellaragain. ForaminuteIwasnotsure. Apparentlyithadtakenalumpofcoaltoexamine. 

           Iseizedtheopportunityofslightlyshiftingmyposition,whichhadbecomecramped,andthenlistened. Iwhisperedpassionateprayersforsafety. 

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Roboto Lora
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