Free Night Howl by Andrew Neiderman Page A

completely gone, he felt safe enough to move to the edge of the woods. He lingered there for afew moments, studying the house. He could hear the sounds within and he could see the silhouettes of the people moving about.
    He moved farther to his right through the woods and then crossed the street to circle the house widely. He moved swiftly and determinedly through the fields until he came out behind the house. Now, moving more like a fox, he crossed the yard in slow, methodical steps until he reached the basement door. There he paused and listened for a long time. Convinced that there was no one behind it, he sat back on his haunches and rose up like a performing dog about to receive its biscuit of reward for some trick learned through repetition and reward. He took the door handle in his teeth and clamped down until he could taste the metal on his tongue. He waited a moment, listened keenly, and then turned it slowly to the right. He wasn’t disappointed; he heard the click.
    He lowered himself as quietly as possible and waited again, sniffing and listening. Satisfied, he poked the door gently and it swung inward just enough for him to slip inside and enter the darkness. He paused again, this time to listen to all the sounds above him. There was nothing threatening, so he went on with his exploration.
    The floor of the large basement playroom was carpeted and soft. It felt like trotting over a field of moss. He went between the two sets of oval tables and chairs, under the end of the pool table, to the entrance to the bar. He went around behind the bar and sniffed the bottles and dishes on the shelves. He picked up a slight leak in the piping under the sink and licked the droplets of water that escaped from the joint. Then he went back out to the center of the room and sat listening to the patter of small feet above him.
    This was so much better than the barn; it was warmer and more comfortable. He felt a sense ofpossession, a sense of ownership, as if he had been the first to claim it. After all, it was within his territory; it was worth defending. He started to settle down on the rug to sleep when he was troubled by a pang of hunger. Some scent attracted him. He went back to the bar to search for it.
    The box of bacon bits was slightly open. It was in behind a bowl and a glass. He reached for it, clamping it in his jaws and lifting it as carefully as he could, but he just grazed the glass and sent it toppling over the shelf. It smashed on the hard tiled floor behind the bar. To him the sound was like a commanding shout. He hesitated, the box still clamped in his jaw; he waited, but nothing changed in the sounds that came from upstairs.
    He brought the box around to his spot on the carpet and there he proceeded to tear it open and spill out its contents. He consumed all of it in minutes, even licking the crumbs from the carpet. Now, more content than before, he settled his head on his front legs again, closed his eyes, and welcomed the relief of sleep.
    This was good; this was the best he had felt since the escape. He had rewarded himself for doing the right things. And this was only the beginning.
    Sid Kaufman rose from his chair quickly when he first heard the ambulance going down Lake Street. Clara was in the bedroom reading and Bobby and Lisa were sitting on the floor before him, watching television. He had been going over the prospectus for his new assignment. He went to the living room window and saw the ambulance rush by. A moment later Clara joined him to find out what was happening.
    “What was that?” she asked.
    “An ambulance went by. Maybe a car accident. How are you feeling?”
    “All right. You didn’t hear anything?”
    “Not with the television going and all. Want some tea or something?”
    “No thanks.” She looked at the file of papers in his hands. “I wish you weren’t going tomorrow.”
    “This one’s supposed to take only two days. I’ll call you at night and Chief Michaels said he’d