Now she felt a kind of calm despair. Rounding a huge bank of calcified waste, she stopped, frozen. She was
feverish, she concluded, dying maybe, for there scant yards away was a
group of people, a shack of some sort, a cleared area which was like
a little island of orderliness in an ocean of congealed chaos. She
stared, unbelieving. Someone saw her, exclaimed, and the whole group turned to stare at her. "_Lucy!_"

It was Ralph. He broke from the group, bolted toward her. "Lucy! Lucy! How did you--What on earth--" She was in his arms then and he was
laughing and she was crying. She was too exhausted and too thirsty
to talk. She simply fell into his arms and he carried her toward the
shack. The others crowded around, murmuring sympathetically. Ralph settled her into a big broken-down armchair under the tin roof. Someone else held out a dipper of cool water, the sweetest water she
had ever tasted in her life. Mrs. Morgee appeared with a wet cloth and
began bathing her forehead and face. Someone took off her shoes. In a few minutes she felt so much better, she sat up and looked around
at them. Ralph hovered at her side, grinning idiotically. The rest of
them only smiled at her, understanding that she did not yet wish to
answer questions. As darkness closed in, someone lit a fire. In a few minutes the
aroma of mulligan stew spiced the air. Lucy's mouth watered; she was
ravenous, she now realized. After she had finished a huge bowl of stew, she could scarcely keep her
eyes open. Mrs. Morgee led her inside to a cot, helped her undress and
got her into bed. Ralph remained outside with the others, around the
fire. Explanations could wait until morning. She had the sensation of melting without effort into a deep, dreamless
sleep. She had made up her mind. She would never return to the plastic
prefab, the trugrass lawn, the simulated maple tree and the food
capsules. She wouldn't be carried away, all alone some morning, in a
plastic bag. She'd never get used to the rats and she didn't like the smoke and the
sea gulls, but now she knew there were worse things. At least she felt alive. THE TENANTS


That January Madge and I were in desperate need of a rent. Two days
before we were due to be evicted--for owner occupancy--we heard about
the house in suburban Clarisville. We got out there as fast as we could, made inquiries and located the
woman who owned the house, a Mrs. Dallis, who agreed to show us the
property. The house was an ordinary-looking, white frame, two-story structure
located at the far end of a rather sparsely settled street. It needed
paint, new wallpaper and several new window panes. A porch step was
dangerously cracked and the entire grounds surrounding the house needed
a thorough going-over. Also, we would have to sign a two-year lease. But of course we took it. It was much better than a tent in somebody's
back lot. When we mentioned the eviction hanging over our heads, Mrs. Dallis
permitted us to move in immediately. And so it happened that our
furniture was already in the house before we actually signed the lease. A few days later we drove over to Mrs. Dallis' place in Clarisville
Center to affix our signatures. She invited us in and was most cordial,
but after some preliminary pleasantries there came a slight pause and
Mrs. Dallis said, "There is just one thing--"

Our hearts skipped a beat. All along, while rejoicing at our good luck,
we had both wondered if there might be some hidden "catch" to the
business. After mentioning the "one thing", Mrs. Dallis sat rather nervously
twiddling her fingers. To Madge and I, already on edge, this was
anything but reassuring. Finally our new landlady found her tongue. "Well," she said, "I won't conceal anything. Some years ago a certain
Mrs. Molleman lived in the house you've taken. She was, ah--eccentric. There were conflicting reports concerning her. Some people said she was
merely a harmless old lady grown a little bit queer in solitude. Others
pictured her as a vindictive, even a cruel, woman. For instance, she
kept as pets over a dozen assorted cats and dogs. There were rumors
that she did not treat them well. So far as I know those rumors were
founded on hearsay." Mrs. Dallis inspected us closely to see what effect her revelations
were having and went on. "Well, one night, neighbors living at the other end of the street heard
a terrific commotion proceeding from Mrs. Molleman's house. The dogs
were barking and howling furiously and the cats were screeching. The
neighbors were of a mind to investigate, but finally the racket died
down, and so they went to sleep instead. "Two days later however, after no further sound had emanated from the
house, the police broke in and discovered a ghastly spectacle. The
dozen or so cats and dogs, their throats cut, were found lying dead in
pools of their own blood. There was at least one of them in every room
in the house. Mrs. Molleman herself was found hanging in the garret. The entire house was a shambles. It looked as if the remaining cats and
dogs had gone berserk with the smell of blood after Mrs. Molleman had
cut the throats of one or two of them. Apparently she had had to chase
them all over the house. Blood was splattered everywhere." Mrs. Dallis sighed deeply. "Mrs. Molleman, it was said, killed herself because she learned that
she was in the advanced stages of an incurable disease. Certain of the
neighbors said she destroyed her pets out of vindictiveness and an evil
heart, but the more charitable view is that she did away with them in
order that they would not suffer abuse and neglect after she was gone." Her gruesome revelations apparently at an end, Mrs. Dallis sat back and
surveyed us. Madge, surprisingly, was the first to speak. "It's certainly a terrible
little story," she admitted, frowning, "but I don't quite see what it
has to do with signing the lease. Neither Jim nor I are superstitious." Mrs. Dallis nodded. "Good," she said. "Neither am I. But nevertheless
it is pertinent to the lease. There has been some strong evidence
that on October 20th of each year--the anniversary of that horrible
night--certain, ah, manifestations have been observed. Therefore the
lease you will sign specifies that from six p.m. to six a.m. on each
October 20th, you will remove yourselves from the premises, lock the
house securely and remain away." Madge and I glanced at each other. It was certainly a bizarre
requirement, yet I think we were both relieved to learn the details. To remain away from home one night a year was actually no great
inconvenience. We agreed to obey the weird clause and signed the lease at once. After we left, we made light of the matter. We concluded that the
"manifestations" existed only in Mrs. Dallis' mind. October was a long
way off--and we did have a rent. That year was a hectic albeit prosperous and happy one and the
months flew past. Madge and I were too busy to worry about ghosts of
old ladies.