Her breath came out in a sudden hiss and she dropped her hold on the doorknob at the same moment as she tore her gaze away from the animal. She had forgotten the most dangerous thing about it—those eyes, and the power they had when she looked into them. It would hypnotize her if she wasn’t careful; it would leap through her eyes into her brain.
Because it was her mind, far more than her body, that was in danger. Physically, the thing was only a cat, and Sarah knew that she was much bigger and stronger than a cat. Unless it had rabies, it couldn’t do her much harm—not if she was quick and careful, and ran like hell for the safety of her car.
The idea of going outside, past the cat that waited for her, was still frightening, but it was far preferable to the idea of staying here, trapped in the house, waiting for whatever new horrors the darkness would bring.
She drew a long, deep breath. Then, slipping her purse over one shoulder, she took the broom from the corner and gripped it firmly. Then she opened the door.
At the first click of the knob the cat sprang forward. Sarah slammed the door immediately, and the cat backed away, shaking its head as if its whiskers had been pinched. Giving it no time to recover, Sarah opened the door again, and this time she slipped through and pulled it firmly shut behind her. She took the broom in both hands and held it warningly as the cat glared. The animal did not move, and it blocked her way to the outer door. Sarah shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, finding it a struggle to keep the cat in sight without being trapped into looking into those glaring yellow eyes. But although she kept expecting the cat to spring at her physically, it did not. It was not attacking, it was playing with her, daring her to make the first move. That idea annoyed Sarah, and stirred her to action. She lifted the broom up and brought it down in an arc, swatting the cat flatly against one side.
The cat let out a screech that set Sarah’s teeth on edge, but the force of the blow swept the animal through the doorway and out onto the steps. Before it could regain its footing, Sarah had rushed through the door herself, slamming it behind her.
She stared down at the cat, only inches away from her now. Its back was arched and the tail swollen up like a balloon. It hissed, revealing dagger-sharp teeth and a pink-white tongue, and for one paralyzing moment Sarah was certain it would leap for her face. She closed her eyes, hands tightening on the broom, and said a mental prayer.
Nothing happened.
Sarah opened her eyes just in time to see the cat leap off the steps and bound around the side of the house, out of sight.
Setting the broom crossways against the door, Sarah walked to her car, feeling the fear and tension leave her body, swirling away like water down a drain.
Now, what was all
She looked back at the house and found that she still felt a strong aversion to going inside, although she couldn’t remember exactly why. Bad dreams? An evil spirit? A cat? Images flickered through her mind but would not be pinned down for examination.
Finally, with an effort, Sarah pushed the whole problem out of her mind. She would think about it later—right now, she had things to do. She felt weak and shaky, and decided that a touch of flu might explain everything.
Sarah drove first to Dobie Mall, a shopping center in the base of a high-rise dormitory on the southwest edge of campus. There was a telephone office there, and she could save money by picking up a telephone and installing it herself.
Once she had done that—holding fast to her request for a standard telephone, refusing the charms of telephones hidden inside boxes or shaped like Mickey Mouse—Sarah crossed the street and wandered down that part of Guadalupe Street known as The Drag.
