the last person out there just forgot to
shut the door tight. She opened it wider, stepped out on the stair
landing. No one was there.

The chute was wide, almost three feet around. Ellen opened the top and
started to throw the bag down. Something was stuck in there. Her eyes
saw it, but her brain refused to believe.

What was there, blocking the chute, looked like--looked like--a
chicken's foot, gnarled, clawed, but as large as a human foot--and an
ugly, sickly green!

Automatically, she reached in and clutched it. Her stomach turned at the
cold feel of the thing, but still she tugged at it, trying to work it
loose. It was heavy. She pulled with all her strength, felt it start to
slide back up the chute. Then it was free!

She gaped in sick horror at the thing she held. Her hand opened weakly
and she sat down on the floor, her head swimming and her throat muscles
retching. Dimly, she heard the thing rattle and bump down to the
incinerator in the basement.

The full horror of it gradually hit home. Ellen stood up, swaying, and
ran blindly down the hall. Her feet thudded on the carpeted floor. As
she passed 404, she was vaguely conscious of Mrs. Moffatt's concerned
face poking around the door.

"Is there something wrong, Miss Tighe?"

"No," Ellen managed to gasp "It's all right--really--all right."

She kept on running, burst through the apartment door, slammed it behind
her, fell on her knees in the bathroom and became thoroughly, violently
ill.

She continued to kneel, unable to think, her head against the cool
porcelain bowl. Finally, she stood up weakly, ran cold water, washed her
face and streaming eyes. Thank God the wall bed was still down! She fell
on it, shaking.

* * * * *

What was that unbelievable ghastly, impossible thing? It was the size of
a man, but thin, skeleton thin, and the color of brackish water. It had
two legs, two arms, like a man ... but ending with those huge, birdlike
claws. Heaven alone knew what its face was like. She had let go before
it was that far clear of the chute.

She thought of the story in the paper. So that was what the bartender
saw! He wasn't drunk at all, and what happened when he told the police?
They laughed at him. They'd laugh at me, too, she thought. The proof is
gone, burned up in the incinerator. Why did this happen to me? Dead cats
on the fire escape, dead monsters in the incinerator chute ... it's this
terrible neighborho