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

before the cabin. Everything--trees, grass, stones--was bathed in a heavy, amber
light. The beauty of it made tears come to her eyes.

She unloaded the groceries, fed Tray, and fixed a hearty meal for herself. For
some reason she felt unaccountably hungry.

After her meal, drowsy from the food and the warmth of the fire, she could not
keep her mind on the book in her lap. Half-sleeping, her mind pondered the
puzzle of Goatman. Was he simply a woodsy version of the bogeyman--as Mrs.
Fairchild seemed to think -- a local variation of Bigfoot, frightening people on
lonely farms, or something much, much older?

Her book dropped to the floor, temporarily rousing her, and early though it was,
she crawled into her bed, beneath the cozy, brightly colored quilts, into the
soft arms of the old feather mattress, and was soon deeply asleep, Tray lying in
his usual place beside the bed.

Sometime during the night, she felt herself being drawn from the warm arms of
sleep by a sound. Lip her consciousness came, borne on the thread of melody, a
strange tune, but not unpleasant; and then sleep would claim her, and snatches
of dreams, until the sound would call her up again. She felt herself rise and
fall as if she was being home on a large, warm wave, until she was jolted into
full wakefulness by Tray's echoing bark, and the sounds of his claws on the
wooden floor.

She sat up abruptly, her hair falling over her eyes, to find her heart pounding.
She could see the outline of Tray's body as he strained against the door,
barking furiously.

Feeling out of focus and confused, Moira moved to Tray's side. In the moonlight,
she could see him looking up at her, beseeching her to let him out to take care
of this intruder on their nighttime quiet.

Moira put a hand on his bristling neck. "Shh, boy. Shh." Apprehensively, she
crept to the window, and peered out onto the meadow, gilded by the light of the
full moon, rising just above the trees. Was that a shadow, there, toward the
front of the cabin? She shivered, her feet chilled by the cold boards of the
floor. Should she let Tray out? Let him chase away whatever was out there, or
should she keep him here, by her side?

Tray was growing frantic. She could feel his eagerness to be out there, his need
to confront what he considered his enemy. Almost unwillingly, Moira reached for
the bolt, and drew it back. The door was hardly open when Tray squeezed through,
and burst into the yard.

As soon as he was out of the door, she regretted her decision. Barring the door
behind him, she leaned against it, listening to the sound of his voice growling
and barking, expecting to hear the sound dwindle as he and quarry fled for the
trees at the edge of the meadow. But the sound did not dwindle, it stayed close
to the cabin.