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

Ears straining, she could hear a scrabbling, a scuffling. Whatever it was, it
was not running. It was standing its ground.

Filled with misgivings, she rushed to the one window, but it was facing the
wrong way.

Still the terrible growling and scuffling; then Tray came into view, backing
away from something, a dark shape that stood upright; no, it walked on all
fours. She strained to see, but the shape seemed to change before her very eyes.
Then the figure disappeared from view, and appeared to be moving away from the
cabin, as Tray's barks and growls grew fainter. Finally, she could hear no sound
at all, except for the faint whine of the wind, which had begun to rise, during
the fight.

Suddenly, cold with a great fear, Moira rushed to the bed and burrowed beneath
the quilts. For the rest of the night, she lay curled into a numb ball, trying
to tell herself that Tray could take care of himself, and trying not to feel
like a coward for not opening the door and looking for him.

The dawn broke as pink and tender as if it was just another morning, but Moira
knew that it was not. Tray had not come back, whining at the door to be let in
after frightening away the midnight prowler. Moira watched the light fill the
window, then rose and hurriedly dressed.

Timidly, she opened the cabin door and stepped out, resenting what the night had
done to her. Her peace was shattered, her armor of apathy breached.

The flower beds showed the marks of the battle; broken flowers lay scattered on
the earth. She called for Tray, hesitantly, then louder, but received no answer
other than a bird call from the woods. Shivering, she ventured farther, then
farther, from the cabin.

It was down by the woodshed that she found him. His once intelligent eyes were
dusty and glazed, and his glossy coat splattered with blood.

Tray was a large dog, and heavy. In her present state of mind, Moira knew that
she could not bury him alone. After covering him with a tarp, she got into the
car and drove, dry-eyed and almost unthinkingly, down to Four Comers, where she
knew Mr. Thompson would be minding his one gas pump, cold drink machine, and a
small collection of groceries. Miss. Rhode's place was closer, but there would
be no one there but the old woman, and Moira needed the physical strength of a
man.

When she pulled to a stop at the Corners, she could see that there were two
other men there, besides Mr. Thompson. One of them she recognized as Old Man
Crowly, a crotchety old relic who lived up in the hills behind Thompson's place.
She did not recognize the other man.

Her legs felt unsteady, but she tried to appear calm and unemotional as she