t upright. The
alarm clock on the floor by the bed clacked in the stillness. The tap in
the kitchen cubicle dripped. Timbers, contracting in the cool of early
morning, popped faintly.

"I need to marry you," the face said. "I was wrong tonight. Forgive me."

"Fred?" Miss Tapp gasped in sudden joy.

"Open the portal," Fred said.

Wrenching metal curlers from her permanently waved hair, Miss Tapp
bounded to the door. She released the catch and threw herself at the
figure on the landing. Fred purred, "I want to marry you. I was wrong
tonight. Forgive me."

"Oh, Fred," Miss Tapp sighed. "I knew you'd come back! You just had too
much to drink! I forgive you, Fred! We'll--"

"Yes. Bring your rayon crepe with tall tucking."

"What, Fred?"

"Bring your garb, your clothing. Hurry."

Miss Tapp skillfully fought a blush. "Oh, Fred! I'm sorry. I'll be
dressed in a minute!"

Fred slowly stated, "I want to marry you. I was wrong tonight. Forgive
me." He walked into the apartment and rapidly gathered and rolled
together the dress and undergarments scattered on and about the chair.
He stuffed the spike-heeled shoes into pockets of his black fur suit and
lifted Miss Tapp in his arms.

"We're eloping!" Miss Tapp sighed as Fred carried her down the outside
stairs. A _Honeychile Bakery_ truck, with rear doors open, waited in the
driveway. Fred tossed the roll of clothing and the slippers into the
truck, and swiftly sprayed Miss Tapp.

* * * * *

An unearthly glow permeated the bedroom and cast the black shadows of
heavy furniture against the faded papered walls. Within the glow, two
dots of green flickered. The Reverend Enos Shackelford dropped on
creaking knees and bowed his grizzled head.

A voice said, "Well done, good and faithful servant. Arise and follow
me."

"Lord," said Reverend Shackelford, "I have served thee faithfully all
the days of my life. Remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom.
Remember also--"

"Yes. Well done, good and faithful servant. Arise and follow me."

Shackelford stood on tottering old legs. His nightshirt hung below his
knees. Horrified shock blanched his lined face. "Blasphemer!" he cried.
"False prophet! Get thee behind me, Satan!"

The glow danced and faded. A towering black shape pointed a bent rod.
The rod hissed. The Reverend Shackelford staggered against a small
table, dragging it with him to the floor. He lay still with one gnarled
old hand o