"Matthews, Patricia - Goatman" - читать интересную книгу автора (Matthews Patricia)

walls of the cabin. She tried to immerse herself in her book, but she found the
sounds distracting.

Up until now, she had felt no fear of staying in the cabin alone. Tray was a
good watch dog, and somehow it had never occurred to her that there was any
reason to be afraid.

Tonight, however, she felt a touch of uneasiness. The sounds of the wind and
brush sounded disturbingly like someone, or something, was trying to get into
the cabin, and the words of the old woman kept coming back to her.

"Goatman." Who or what was he? Miss Rhode had seemed to assume that she would
know. He must be a piece of local legend. Something that everyone in this part
of the country knew about. Everyone but her, one of the "city-folk."

She let the book fall to her lap, bemused by the mystery of the name. The old
woman had said that she should protect herself, but against what? What kind of
danger did this Goatman represent?

She was started from her reverie by Tray's low growl, and found herself sitting
upright, grasping the arms of the rocker. Tray was still at her feet, but the
hair around his heavy neck was raised, and the low growl continued to rise in
his throat.

"What is it, boy? What is it?" she whispered.

Then she noticed the knob on the front door. Slowly, it was moving; turning back
and forth. The simple movement was singularly frightening. She felt the hair on
her own neck rise, and Tray, thrusting forward with powerful legs, threw himself
at the door, barking furiously.

Moira, in her chair, found herself powerless to move. In a few moments, Tray's
barks faded to whines, as he paced back and forth before the door, and Moira
could see that the knob was no longer moving.

She let out the breath she had not realized that she had been holding, and
called to Tray. He came to her side, whining and twisting his body. He wanted
her to open the door, to let him go after whoever or whatever had been standing
on the other side. She quieted him with words and pats, and in a little while,
he seemed to have forgotten their visitor. She wished that it was as easy to
quiet her own mind.

The morning sun shone on a world of wind-cleared beauty. The sky was dazzling,
and the air bore the crisp bite of the approaching winter.

The meadow was dotted with little piles of debris, scattered by the wind, but
Moira could not see that there had been any real damage done.

With Tray at her side, she walked around the cabin, looking in the soft, turned
earth of the flower beds for some sign of last night's visitor.