“We're going to have to tell these people something,” I said.

Jim opened his mouth to protest.

“Ollie and I will leave out any part you and Myron had in sending Norm out there if you'll back up what he and I say about... well, about what got him.”

“Sure,” Jim said, pitifully lager. “Sure, if we don't tell, people might go out there .. like that woman... that woman who...” He wiped his hand across his mouth and then drank more beer quickly. “Christ, what a mess.”

“David,” Ollie said. “What—” He stopped, then made himself go on. “What if they get in? The tentacles?”

“How could they?” Jim asked. “You guys shut the door. “

“Sure,” Ollie said. “But the whole front wall of this place is plate glass.”

An elevator shot my stomach down about twenty floors. I had known that, but had somehow been successfully ignoring it. I looked over at where Billy lay asleep. I thought of those tentacles swarming over Norm. I thought about that happening to Billy. “Plate glass,” Myron LaFleur whispered. “Jesus Christ in a chariot-driven sidecar. “

I left the three of them standing by the cooler, each working a second can of beer, and went looking for Brent Norton. I found him in sober-sided conversation with Bud Brown at Register 2. The pair of them-Norton with his styled gray hair and his elderly-stud good looks, Brown with his dour New England phiz-looked like something out of a New Yorker cartoon. As many as two dozen people milled restlessly in the space between the end of the checkout lanes and the long show window. A lot of them were lined up at the glass, looking out into the mist. I was again reminded of the people that congregate at a building site.

Mrs. Carmody was seated on the stationary conveyor belt of one of the checkout lanes, smoking a Parliament in a One Step at a Time filter. Her eyes measured me, found me wanting, and passed on. She looked as if she might be dreaming awake.

“Brent,” I said.

“David! Where did you get off to?”

“That's what I'd like to talk to you about.”

“There are people back at the cooler drinking beer,” Brown said grimly. He sounded like a man announcing that X-rated movies had been shown at the deacons' party. “I can see them in the security mirror. This has simply got to stop.”

“Brent?”

“Excuse me for a minute, would you, Mr. Brown?”

“Certainly.” He folded his arms across his chest and stared grimly up into the convex mirror. “It is going to stop, I can promise you that.”

Norton and I headed toward the beer cooler in the far corner of the store, walking past the housewares and notions. I glanced back over my shoulder, noticing uneasily how the wooden beams framing the tall, rectangular sections of glass had buckled and twisted and splintered. And one of the windows wasn't even whole, I remembered. A pie-shaped chunk of glass had fallen out of the upper corner at the instant of that queer thump. Perhaps we could stuff it with cloth or something-maybe a bunch of those $3. 59 ladies' tops I had noticed near the wine

My thoughts broke off abruptly, and I had to put the back of my hand over my mouth, as if stifling a burp. What I was really stifling was the rancid flood of horrified giggles that wanted to escape me at the thought of stuffing a bunch of shirts into a hole to keep out those tentacles that had carried Norm away. I had seen one of those tentacles-a small one-squeeze a bag of dog food until it simply ruptured.

“David? Are you okay?” “Huh?” “Your face-you looked like you just had a good idea or a bloody awful one.”

Something hit me then. “Brent, what happened to that man who came in raving about something in the mist getting John Lee Frovin?” “The guy with the nosebleed?” “Yes, him.” “He passed out and Mr. Brown brought him around with some smelling salts from the first-aid kit. Why?” “Did he say anything else when he woke up?”

“He started in on that hallucination. Mr. Brown conducted him up to the office. He was frightening some of the women. He seemed happy enough to go. Something about the glass. When Mr. Brown said there was only one small window in the manager's office, and that that one was reinforced with wire, he seemed happy enough to go. I presume he's still there. “

“What he was talking about is no hallucination.”

“No, of course it isn't.”

“And that thud we felt?”

“No, but, David—”

He's scared, I kept reminding myself. Don't blow up at him, you've treated yourself to one blowup this morning and that's enough. Don't blow up at him just because this is the way he was during that stupid property-line dispute... first patronizing, then sarcastic, and finally, when it became clear he was going to lose, ugly. Don't blow up at him because you're going to need him. He may not be able to start his own chainsaw, but he looks like the father figure of the Western world, and if he tells people not to panic, they won't. So don't blow up at him.

“You see those double doors up there beyond the beer cooler?”

He looked, frowning. “Isn't one of those men drinking beer the other assistant manager? Weeks? If Brown sees that, I can promise you that man will be looking for a job very soon.” “Brent, will you listen to me?”

He glanced back at me absently. “What were you saying, Dave? I'm sorry.”

Not as sorry as he was going to be. “Do you see those doors?”

Yes, of course I do. What about them?” f “They give on the storage area that runs all the way along the west face of the building. Billy fell asleep and I went back there to see if I could find something to cover him up with...”

I told him everything, only leaving out the argument about whether or not Norm should have gone out at all. I told him what had come in... and finally, what had gone out, screaming. Brent Norton refused to believe it. No-he refused to even entertain it. I took him over to Jim, Ollie, and Myron. All three of them verified the story, although Jim and Myron the flower were well on their way to getting drunk.

Again, Norton refused to believe or even to entertain it. He simply balked. “No,” he said. “No, no, no. Forgive me, gentlemen, but it's completely ridiculous. Either you're having me on”-he patronized us with his gleaming smile to show that he could take a joke as well as the next fellow-or you're suffering from some form of group hypnosis.”

My temper rose again, and I controlled, it with difficulty. I don't think that I'm ordinarily a quick-tempered man, but

these weren't ordinary circumstances. I had Billy to think about, and what was happening-or what had already

happened-to Stephanie. Those things were constantly gnaw ing at the back of my mind. “All right,” I said. “Let's go back there. There's a chunk of tentacle on the floor. The door cut it off when it came down. And you can hear them. They're rustling all over that door. It sounds like the wind in ivy.” “No,” he said calmly.

“What?” I really did believe I had misheard him. “What did you say?” 'I said no, I'm not going back there. The joke has gone far enough.” “Brent, I swear to you it's no joke.”

“Of course it is,” he snapped. His eyes ran over Jim, Myron, rested briefly on Ollie Weeks-who held his glance with calm impassivity-and at last came back to me. “It's what you locals probably call 'a real belly-buster. ' Right, David?”

“Brent... look—”

“No, you look!” His voice began to rise toward a courtroom shout. It earned very, very well, and several of the people who were wandering around, edgy and aimless, looked over to see what was going on. Norton jabbed his finger at me as he spoke. “It's a joke. It's a banana skin and I'm the guy that's supposed to slip on it. None of you people are exactly crazy about out-of-towners, am I right? You all pretty much stick together. The way it happened when I hauled you into court to get what was rightfully mine. You won that one, all right. Why not? Your father was the famous artist, and it's your town. I only pay, my taxes and spend my money here!” He was no longer performing, hectoring us with the trained courtroom shout; he was nearly screaming and on the verge of losing all control. Ollie Weeks turned and walked away, clutching his beer. Myron and his friend Jim were staring at Norton with frank amazement.