Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (105 page)

Trimmer
was
generally
in
bed
before
eleven
and
asleep
very
shortly afterwards,
but
about
ten
days
later
he
sat
up
late
in
the
closed
shop, working
at
his
accounts.
He
was
almost
done
when
he
glanced
up
at the
little
striking
clock
which
he
kept
on
the
shelf
behind
the counter.
It
wanted
just
two
minutes
to
the
hour
of
midnight.

Trimmer
was
not
nervous
by
temperament,
but
a
man
sitting
up late
alone
and
at
work
may
be
excused
if
he
finds
himself
the
victim of
strange
fancies.
In
another
minute
it
would
be
what
the
old
woman had
called
his
time,
and
once
again
he
asked
himself
what
she
had meant
by
that.
Had
she
meant
that
he
would
die
at
that
hour?

He
rose
and
went
to
the
door
of
the
shop,
his
gaze
still
on
the clock.
The
upper
panels
of
the
door
were
glass
and
screened
by
a green
linen
blind.
Outside
he
could
hear
a
late
tram,
moaning
on
its way
to
the
depot.
He
was
grateful
for
this
friendly
sound
from
the familiar
workaday
world.

He
lifted
the
curtain
and
peered
through
the
glass,
and
then, before
his
eyes
were
accustomed
to
the
darkness
outside
and
he
could see
anything
save
his
own
wan
reflection,
something
happened
which sent
a
sudden
rush
of
blood
to
his
heart.
The
noise
of
the
tram
had ceased,
and
ceased
in
such
a
way
that
the
crack
of
a
pistol
would
have been
less
startling
than
this
sudden
silence.
It
was
not
that
the
tram had
suddenly
stopped.
Afterwards,
fumbling
for
phrases,
he
recorded that
the
sound
"disappeared."
This
is
a
contradiction
in
terms,
but it
is
sufficiently
graphic
to
serve
for
what
he
intended
to
express.

A
moment
later,
and
he
was
looking
out
upon
an
altered
world. There
were
no
tram-lines,
no
pavement,
no
houses
opposite.
He
saw coarse,
greyish
grasses
stirring
in
a
wind
which
cried
out
in
an
unfamiliar
voice.
Trembling
violently,
he
unlocked
the
door
and
looked out.

A
slim
crescent
of
moon
and
a
few
stars
dimly
illumined
a
landscape
without
houses,
a
place
grown
suddenly
strange
and
dreadful.. Where
the
opposite
villas
should
have
been
was
the
edge
of
a
forest, thick
and
black
and
menacing.
He
stepped
out,
and
his
foot
slid through
spongy
grass,
ankle-deep
in
mud
and
slime.
He
looked
back fearfully,
and
there
was
his
shop
with
its
open
door,
standing
alone. The
other
jerry-built
shops
which
linked
up
with
it
had
vanished.
It seemed
forlorn
and
ridiculous
and
out
of
place,
a
toy
shop
standing alone
in
a
wilderness.

Something
cold
fell
on
to
his
hand
and
made
him
start.
Instantly he
knew
that
it
was
a
drop
of
sweat.
His
hair
was
saturated,
his
face running.
Then
he
told
himself
that
this
was
nightmare,
that
if
he could
but
cry
out
aloud
he
would
wake
up.
He
cried
out
and
heard his
voice
ring
out
hoarsely
over
the
surrounding
desolation.
From the
forest,
the
cry
of
some
wild
animal
answered
him.