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“Another fine ot us in, Stanley!”

Still yelling with laughter, ent to work

I wrote ten pages, leaving room for monsters Roy slapped thirty pounds of wet clay on a table and danced around it, hitting and shaping, hoping for the monster to rise up like a bubble in a prehistoric pool to collapse in a hiss of sulfurous steam and let the true horror out

Roy read es

“Where’s your Beast?” he cried

I glanced at his hands, empty but covered with blood-red clay

“Where’s yours?” I said

And now here it was, three weeks later

“Hey,” said Roy, “how corab a doughnut, sit, speak” I went up, took the doughnut he offeredalternately forward into the future and back into the past Forward—rockets and Mars Backward—dinosaurs and tarpits

And faceless Beasts all around

“For someone who usually talks ninety miles a minute,” said Roy Holdstrom, “you are extraordinarily quiet”

“I’m scared,” I said, at last

“Well, heck” Roy stopped our tihty one”

I spoke

I built the wall and carried the ladder and lifted the body and brought on the cold rain and then struck with the lightning to make the body fall When I finished and the rain had dried on my forehead, I handed Roy the typed All Hallows invitation