Page:Fantastic Volume 08 Number 01.djvu/110

 hotel. He walked up to the desk.

"Jim Sadler and I are going out tonight—he's just making a phone call now—and he asked me to leave this up in his room. Would you give me his key? Room 7."

The clerk handed him the key, and Larry climbed the stairs hurriedly. Inside Sadler's room, he switched on the lights, found the mirror behind the door, then opened his parcel and took out several tubes of theatrical make-up. He applied the colors to his face—deep black under his eyes, white on his lips, luminous green on eyelids and temples—until he had made a horrible death mask of his face. He grinned at himself in the mirror—it was a ghoulish grin—then turned off the light and hid in the closet to wait.

About ten minutes later, Sadler could be heard climbing the stairs. He stopped for a moment outside his room, then pushed the unlocked door open. He walked in, switched on the light, then went to the chair and sat down. He took out a cigarette and lit it.

He sat quietly for several minutes, smoking his cigarette. Finally he stood up and, as if a thought had occurred to him, walked over to the closet. He put his hand on the knob to open it. Larry was ready.

As soon as the door came open, Larry let out a blood curdling scream and toppled forward out of the closet. He reached his hands out towards Sadler, who was falling away from him, and grasped him by the throat. Together, they fell on the bed. Before Sadler could recognize who it was, Larry pulled a sheet over his face, blinding him, and then dashed out of the room.

Sadler was lying on the bed, clawing jerkily at the sheet over his face. The sheet slid off. His face was contorted in agony. The eyes were opened very wide and staring up at the ceiling. They did not move or blink, but held rigidly still, as if paralyzed—the only movement was in the eyelids, which were fluttering slightly.

His body was lying crookedly on the bed, and his legs were kicking, knocking his feet about on the floor, as if he were trying to get up. He kept his hands clutched to his chest, just over his heart.

Finally he rolled off the bed and was on his knees on the floor. Rising to his feet was an agonizing effort; his mouth wrenched open in pain, 110