Free The Animal Hour by Andrew Klavan

relaxed her hold on her purse. Brought it up, still unzipped, under her arm. She stood where she was another second, waiting for her heart to slow. Waiting for the panic to subside.
    It was just a beggar, Nance. Just a beggar in the park.
    She watched him going. A smaller figure now. His head hung, his hair dangling. Shuffling slowly past one garbage can after another. Shuffling under the trees, through the intermittent falling of their leaves. He went between the rows of benches that lined the path. Between the homeless men on the benches, their bowed heads, their slumped dark bodies on either side of him. He shuffled away from her, toward City Hall.
    Nancy felt her heart wind down as he receded. Felt her breathing ease. Her panic was shrinking. It shrank down to a low burn of fear in the pit of her stomach. She did not think it was going to get much better than that. She couldn’t just shrug this off anymore. She was afraid, and she was probably going to stay afraid until she had it all figured out. Something was definitely going screwy here. There was no doubt about it. It wasn’t just a question of the people in her office. Or of her driver’s license. Or of her elementary school. There was the gun in her purse. The voice she had heard. And this bum, this thing he said about … What was it? The Animal Hour.
    She had to go home. She had to make an appointment with Dr. Bloom. Get a checkup. Ask some questions. Find out what was happening to her.
    After all, she thought, maybe it was something simple. Like a brain tumor. Or a flashback from a previous existence. Or maybe she had just died in her sleep and would be forced to live her worst nightmare over and over throughout eternity. There had to be some kind of reasonable explanation.
    Nancy smiled a little to herself, watching the beggar go. She nodded. Sure. Stay cool. It’s going to be all right.
    On a bench not far from her just then, one of the other beggars lifted his head. He was a black man with moldy dreadlocks. He had an eerie, distant smile and those same glaring white eyes as the other. He turned those eyes, that smile, directly on her. He winked.
    â€œYou won’t forget now. Will you?” he said.
    Nancy made a noise in her throat. It was a small, horrible noise. Like a frightened animal. Like a snake’s prey. She stood frozen like that—like a mouse in the stare of a snake. Staring at the black man on the bench. Staring into his weird smile, his bright eyes. Her heart had sped right up again. Her pulse was drumming between her ears. She shook her head: no.
    But the black man kept smiling from the nearby bench. “Eight o’clock,” he said. “He’s gonna die then, girl. You’ve got to be there. That’s the Animal Hour.”
    She shook and shook her head: No. No. She backed away from the laughter in his eyes, from the twisting grin. She clutched her purse against her side. She put the heel of her palm against her forehead. Gritting her teeth. Thinking: Stop. Stop. Stop.
    Another head popped up. Another beggar looking at her from a bench farther down the line. Another sudden pair of eyes. Another gray face grinning at her.
    â€œDon’t forget now. Don’t forget the Animal Hour.”
    â€œJesus Christ,” Nancy said. Her vision blurred as her eyes filled with tears, as she thudded her forehead with her palm’s heel. “Jesus Christ.”
    â€œThat’s when he dies. That’s when he’s going to die.” It was a fourth beggar, one on the other side of the path now. A hulking gray creature with a face of running wet clay. “He’s going to die at eight o’clock,” he said. “You have to be there.”
    â€œJesus Christ.”
    And another one lifted his eyes as Nancy backed away. As she shook her head at them, thinking: Stop. Stop. Another beggar on the benches by the path raised his grin, his glare. And then another did. And then, one by one, all