od!

She tried to think coherently. Maybe the cat had something to do with
it. The bartender said the thing ate a mouse--maybe it had tried to eat
the cat, too. A monster like that might eat anything. Her stomach
started churning again at the thought.

But what was it doing in the incinerator chute? Someone in the building
must have put it there, thinking it would slide all the way down and be
burned up. Who? One of _them_, probably. But there couldn't be any more
green monsters around. They can't live in an apartment house, walk the
streets like anyone else, not even in this neighborhood.

She remembered something else in the bartender's story. He said it
looked perfectly normal at first. That meant they could look like humans
if they wanted to. Hypnotism? Then any man could be....

Suddenly another thought struck her. Supposing they find out I saw--what
will they do to me?

She jumped up from the bed, white with fear, her faintness forgotten in
the urge to escape. She snatched her bag from the dresser, threw on her
brown coat.

At the door, she hesitated, afraid to venture into the hall, yet afraid
to stay inside. Finally, she eased open the door, peered out into the
corridor. It was deserted. She ran to the elevator, punched the bell,
heard the car begin its creaky, protesting ascent.

The elevator door had an automatic spring closing. The first time she
tried it, her hands shook and the door sprang closed before she got in.
She tried it again. This time she managed to hold it open long enough to
get inside. She pushed the button, felt the elevator shake and grind and
move slowly down.

Out into the lobby.

Out into the street.

* * * * *

The fog was completely gone now. The sun shone on the still-damp street.
There were very few people around--The Tenderloin sleeps late. She went
into the restaurant next door, sat down at the white-tiled counter. She
was the only customer. A sleepy-eyed waitress, her black hair untidily
caught into a net, waited, pad in hand.

"Just coffee," Ellen mumbled.

She drank it black and it scalded her throat going down. The waitress
put a nickel in the juke box and then Bing Crosby was singing "Easter
Parade." Everything was so normal. Listening to Bing Crosby, how could
you believe in things like green monsters? In this sane, prosaic
atmosphere, Ellen thought, I must be batty.

She said to herself, "I'm Ellen Tighe, bookkeeper, and I just