He was a bum, one of the crumpled horde that had splattered out over New York City when the Bowery elevated was torn down and light penetrated that clogged street of human refuse. Photophobes to a man, they stumbled away seeking dimmer illumination. For many of them the gloomed caverns of the subways offered refuge, heated cars in the winter, toilet facilities, panhandling prospects, quiet corners for collapsing. This one wore the uniform of his trade: shapeless, filthy pants with most of the fly buttons missing; crumpled jacket tied close with string, with a number of unusual undergarments visible at the open neck; shoes cracked, split, and flapping; darkened skin as wrinkled as a mummy's with a pencil line of dirt in every crack. His mouth was a black orifice, the few remaining teeth standing like stained tombstones in memory of their vanished brothers. Examined in detail the man was a revolting sight, but so commonplace to this city that he was as much a part of it as the wire trash basket and the steaming manholes.
"What kind of things?" Chester asked while he groped in his pocket for a dime to buy their freedom. Adriann turned her back on them both.
"Things that live in the earth," the bum said and smiled blearily, pressing a grimy finger to his lips. "People who know never talk about it. Don't want to frighten the tourists away, no they don't. Scales, claws, down here, in the subway darkness."
"Give him some money — get rid of him — this is terrible!" Adriann said shrilly.
Chester dropped two nickels into the cupped hand, carefully, from a few inches above so he wouldn't have to touch the stained skin.
"What do these things do?" he asked, not because he really cared what the man had to say, but to annoy Adriann, a touch of the old sadist nudging him on.
The bum rubbed the nickels together in his palm. "They live here, hiding, looking out, that's what they do. You should give them something when you're alone, late at night like this, staying near the end of the platform. Pennies are good, just put them down there, at the edge where they can reach up and get them. Dimes good too, but no nickels like you gave me."
"You're hearing a very fancy panhandle story," Adriann said, angry now that her first fright had gone. "Now get away from that old tramp."
"Why only pennies and dimes?" Chester asked, interested in spite of himself. It was very black over the edge of the platform: anything could be hiding there.
"Pennies because they like peanuts, they work the machines with pennies when no one is around. And dimes for the Coke machines, they drink that sometimes instead of water. I've seen them…"
"I'm going for a policeman," Adriann snorted and click-clacked away, but stopped after she had gone about ten yards. Both men ignored her.
"Come on now," Chester smiled at the bum, who was running trembling fingers through his matted hair, "you can't expect me to believe that. If these things eat only peanuts, there is no reason to buy them off—"
"I didn't say that was all they ate!" The grimy hand locked on Chester's sleeve before he could move away, and he recoiled from the man's Breath as he leaned close to whisper.
"What they really like to eat is people, but they won't bother you as long as you leave them a little something. Would you like to see one?"
"After this buildup I certainly would."
The bum tottered over to the wastepaper receptacle, big as a truck on end, olive drab metal with two flap doors in the hatlike cover.
"Now you just gotta take a quick look, because they don't like to be looked at.” the man said and gave one of the flaps a push in and let go.
Chester stepped back, startled. He had had only a glimpse, had he really seen two glowing red spots in there, a foot apart, monstrous eyes? Could there be — no the whole thing was just too damn silly. There was the distant rumble of a train.
"Great show, Dad," he said, and dropped some pennies near the edge of the platform. "That'll keep them in peanuts for a while." He walked quickly down to Adriann. "The spiel got better after you left; the old buzzard swears that one of the things is hiding there in the trash can. So I left a bribe — just in case."
"How can you be so stupid—"
"You're tired, dear — and your claws are showing. And you're being repetitive as well."
The train rattled closer, sweeping a cloud of dead air before it. Musty air, almost like the smell of an animal… he had never noticed that before.
"You are stupid — and superstitious." She had to raise her voice above the roar of the approaching train. "You're the kind of person who knocks on wood and won't step on cracks and worries about black cats."
"I sure am, because it doesn't hurt. There's enough bad luck around as it is without looking for any more. There probably isn't a thing in that trash can — but I'm not going to put my arm in there to find out."
"You're a simple-minded child."
