Like the cheeky baboon, Miss Rama could tear a man’s head off. Teena practises karate. She likes to kick holes in concrete. Miss Rama makes measurements of her every experience, and records it. Miss Rama kicks holes in concrete. Miss Rama kicks holes in concrete. Miss Rama kicks holes in concrete, then measures them. Miss Rama tears men’s heads off then measures them. Miss Rama. Miss Rama. Miss Rama.
Maybe he should put his clothes on and leave.
Danny lay in bed. By his bedside lamp stood the Bonk can. By the can ticked the alarm clock. Twelve minutes to go. Was there time for a third shower of the evening? And these tests of Teena’s? He’d never passed a test in his life.
Proton and Neutron crouched on opposing sides of the bed, conducting a tug-of-war over his discarded T-shirt.
Pat, pat, pat, pat, pat.
He sat up, ears open in a mix of anticipation and dread.
Pat, pat, pat, pat, pat. Footsteps approached from the landing outside.
Pat, pat, pat. Each step raised his pulse rate a notch.
Pat, pat, Thoom.
Thoom? He frowned, unable to remember Teena ever having thoomed before.
THOOM, THOOM, THOOM, THOOM, THOOM.
The vibration knocked a framed photo of Teena from the wall, its glass smashing on impact with the floor. Another joined it. Then another. Then another. With a bump, the dressing table toppled. The light fitting above him swung wildly, as though in an earthquake. But this was no earthquake, just the pounding feet of whatever was drawing closer on the landing. And Danny knew what that thing must be.
THOOM. THOOM. THOOM. THOOM. THOOM. THOOM. THOOM.
The bed bounced, creaked and rattled across the room then back again, tossing him helplessly; there, here, anywhere; now on his back, now on his backside; a pancake tossed by an angry god. And each approaching step made things worse.
THOOM! THOOM! THOOM! THOOM! THOO …
Silence.
Tense silence.
The Silence between a time bomb’s last tick and its ultimate explosion. A solitary bead of sweat formed on his forehead, trickling down his cheek.
The thooms had stopped directly outside his door.
He listened intently, hearing only his breathing, and his pounding heart.
Scratch. Scrape. Clack. Rattle rattle rattle. The door handle half turned one way then the other, as whatever was outside tried to find a way in. And soon, a primeval horror would discover how that handle worked.
Danny’s heart tried to escape through his mouth.
It changed its mind, instead seeking refuge in his feet as the handle performed its first …
… complete …
… turn …