Free Charnel House by Graham Masterton

glanced down at Bryan’s body, then back at Seymour Wallis. “That, Mr. Wallis, is exactly what we have to find out.”
    Wallis thought about this for a while, then he rubbed his face in his hands. “It makes no sense, any of this. First breathing and now this. You realize I’ll have to sell this place.”
    â€œYou shouldn’t lose your money,” I said, trying to be helpful. “These old mansions are pretty much top-of-the-market these days.”
    He shook his head tiredly. “It’s not the money I’m worried about. I just want someplace to live where things like this don’t happen. I want some peace, for Christ’s sake. That poor man.”
    â€œWell, as long as the ghost doesn’t follow you, I guess that moving away might turn out to be the best solution,” I told him.
    Wallis stared at me in shock and annoyance. “It’s up the damned chimney!” he snapped. “It just killed your colleague, and you’re trying to talk about it like it isn’t even important. It’s up there, and it’s hiding, and who are you to say that it won’t come out at night and strangle me when I’m lying in bed?”
    â€œMr. Wallis,” I said, “I’m not Rod Serling.”
    â€œI suppose you called the police,” retorted Mr. Wallis, without even looking at me.
    Dr. Jarvis nodded. “They should be here soon.”
    At that moment, Jane came back upstairs and said, “Two or three minutes. They had a car in the neighborhood. I called the hospital, too, and they’re sending an ambulance right down.”
    â€œThanks, Jane,” I told her.
    â€œI have a gun, you know,” Wallis said. “It’s only my old wartime Colt. We could fire it up the chimney, and then whatever it was wouldn’t stand a chance.”
    Dr. Jarvis came over. “Do you mind if I borrow a pillow slip?” he asked. “I just want something to cover Mr. Corder’s head.”
    â€œSure. Take it off that pillow right there. It’s a pretty gruesome sight. Can you think what the hell did it? Is there any kind of bird that does that? Maybe some kind of raven got trapped down the chimney, or maybe a chimpanzee.”
    â€œA chimpanzee?” I queried.
    Dr. Jarvis said, “It’s not so farfetched. There’s an Edgar. Allen Poe story about an ape who murders a girl and stuffs her up the chimney.”
    â€œSure, but whatever did this is real fierce. It looks more like a cat or a rat to me. Maybe it’s starved from being trapped up the chimney stack so long.”
    Wallis got up off the bed. “I’m getting my gun,” he said. “If that thing comes out, I’m not standing here unprotected.”
    Outside in the street, a siren wailed. Jane squeezed my arm. “They’re here. Thank God for that.”
    There was a heavy knocking at the front door, and Wallis went down to answer it. We heard feet clattering up the stairs and two cops in rain-speckled shirts and caps came into the small bedroom. They knelt down by the body of Bryan without looking at any of the rest of us, as if Bryan was their habitually drunken brother they were coming to take home.
    â€œWhat’s this pillow slip over his head?” asked one of the cops, a gum-chewing Italian with a drooping moustache. He didn’t make any attempt to touch the pillow slip or move the body. Like most West Coast cops, he had a sense of suspicion that was highly attuned, and one of the first rules he’d ever had to learn was don’t touch anything until you know what it is .
    I said, “We were surveying the house. There were some noises here that Mr. Wallis found a nuisance. My name’s John Hyatt and I work for the sanitation department. This is Jane Torresino and this is Dr. Jarvis from Elmwood.”
    The cop glanced over at his buddy, a young Irishman with pale gray eyes and a freckly face that was almost more