Free Puzzle for Fiends by Patrick Quentin

unquestionable. It was a female figure, short and dumpily shapeless in some black trailing garment.
    Its face was less than a foot from mine. Lines splayed over cheeks dry as parchment. Eyes, round and luminous, in puckered sockets stared straight into mine. There was an odor of old age and lavender.
    It had happened too quickly. I wasn’t ready for it. My skin started to crawl.
    “Gordy. “The name was whispered in a subdued, croaking whine. “Gordy. My Gordy.”
    “I’m Gordy,” I said.
    “You!’ The peering eyes looked closer. The voice trembled with ancient, impotent rage. “You’re not Gordy. They said my Gordy’d come back. They lied to me. They always lie to me. You’re not Gordy. You’re just another of Selena’s...”
    She broke off with a whimper.
    I sat up, quivering. “What d’you mean? Who are you? Tell me.”
    Something white—a handkerchief—fluttered across the face. The smell of lavender flew from it like moths.
    “Gordy,” she moaned. “Where’s my Gordy?”
    She turned from the bed.
    “Come back,” I breathed.
    She didn’t seem to notice. She started away. I could hear the shamble of her bedroom slippers across the carpet.
    “Hey,” I called in an urgent whisper. “Come back. Please come back.”
    But the bedroom slippers shambled on. I heard the faint squeak of the door opening and closing.
    She was gone.
    For a moment I lay back against the pillows, my heart racing.
    You're not Gordy Friend. They lied to me.
    Now that she was gone, I could hardly believe in that unknown old hag. She seemed like the materialization of my own amorphous suspicions.
    They said my Gordy’d come back. They lied to me. You’re just one of Selena’s...
    I turned to the other bed. Selena’s hair gleamed motionless in the moonlight.
    “Selena,” I called. “Selena.”
    She stirred slightly.
    “Selena.”
    “Yes, darling.” The words were slurred, reluctant, coming from half sleep.
    “Selena.”
    “Yes, yes, I hear you, baby.”
    “Selena, wake up.”
    She started into a sitting position, rubbing her eyes, tossing back her hair.
    “What... Who... Oh, Gordy, Gordy, baby, yes. What is it?”
    “That woman,” I said. “That old, old woman. Who is she?”
    “Old woman?” She yawned. “What old woman, dear?”
    “The old woman. She just came in here. I woke up. I found her bending over me. Who is she?”
    Selena sat for a moment saying nothing. Then she murmured: “Baby, I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”
    “An old woman,” I persisted. “Who’s the old woman who lives in this house?”
    “Mimsey? Really, I don’t think anyone would call her an old woman.”
    “I don’t mean her. Of course I don’t.”
    “Then you don’t mean anyone, baby. There’s no old woman in this house.”
    “But there must be. She was wearing bedroom slippers. She…”
    Selena suddenly burst out laughing. It was a deep, pulsing laugh. “You poor baby, you’ve been dreaming. Dreaming of old hags in bedroom slippers. What a depressing mind you must have.”
    “I wasn’t dreaming,” I said. “I saw her as plainly as I see you.”
    “Baby. Don’t worry your poor head. It’s only the drugs and things. You’re simply stuffed full of drugs, darling. Probably, if you tried, you could see a moose.”
    She pushed back the covers and slipped out of her bed, coming to mine. She sat close to me, warm from sleep. She slid her arms around me and kissed my forehead, drawing my head down to her breast.
    “There, baby. Selena will protect you from predatory old women in bedroom slippers.”
    Nothing could have been more restful, more to be trusted than those smooth arms and the soft hair brushing my cheek. But the hair seemed like the hair in my dreams, suffocating me.
    “Over?” she asked at length. “Is the old woman over and done with, baby?”
    “I guess so,” I lied. “Thanks, Selena. Sorry I woke you up.”
    “Darling.”
    She patted my hand and slipped