"Whitley Strieber - The Night Church" - читать интересную книгу автора (Strieber Whitley)

Before he could answer she heard a sound from the basementтАФa short, bitter remark, like a curse. She
gathered her boy into her arms.
"George! I think Jerry's right. There's someone in the basement."
Her husband was beside them in an instant, his big hand covering her shoulder. "I'll go take a look.
Probably a cat."
He opened the basement door, reached into the darkness, and tightened the light bulb that hung over the
stairs. "Noth-ing down there."
"I certainly heard something."
"I'll go down." As soon as he started descending the stairs Letty was seized with foreboding. Fear battled
cau-tion; she wanted to stay with George, but she didn't want to go down those stairs. "Hey," he said, "you
two really are scared!" He held out his arms, took Jerry. "Come on, big boy, let's us check this thing out."
As he clumped down he swayed from side to side with the weight of his nine-year-old.
"Daddy, don't! Don't take me!"
Couldn't he see he was scaring the poor child even more? Letty started down after them, her heart going
out to Jerry.
"George, honey, let himтАФ"
"I know what I'm doing!"
George was only a month back from Viet Nam. He felt Letty had pampered their son during his absence,
that the boy was growing up soft. Easygoing George had come home to her with deep hurts, dark and
violent things inside him that Letty was learning to fear. The war had wounded him, and his pain was
leaking out all over his wife and son.
He put the boy down beside the old black furnace. "You see, son, nobody here, not even behind it. The
room's empty."
Jerry did not answer; instead he simply looked up. Letty followed his eyes. All three of them fell silent.
One after another the floorboards above their heads were giving under weight. Someone was walking, very
softly, from the kitchen into the living room. The footsteps stopped in front of the TV.
"George, listen!"
"Shut up!"
Garry was just starting the "That Wonderful Year" seg-ment of the show. His voice stopped. The TV
had been turned off.
"What in hellтАФ" Leaving Letty and Jerry behind, George mounted the steps three at a time. Letty was
terrified now. She grabbed her son by the arm and rushed up right behind George.
The living room was empty. George stood in front of the couch, staring at the old DuMont.
It was off.
"What the hell's going on here, some kind of a prank?"
"Shouldn't we call the police?"
"What's the complaint? Somebody turned off our TV? Big deal." He flipped it back on.
 It took a moment to warm up. When it did, though, it just hissed and showed snow. George twisted the
dial. Nothing, no stations. "Broke the damn thing," he muttered. "Big sonofabitching joke!" She could tell
when he was really angry; the army always re-entered his vocabulary.
He turned the switch off and on a few times. Then, abruptly, there came a sound out of the machine that
was so big, so utterly shattering in its intensity, that it struck them all like a great pounding fist. Letty felt
herself falling, saw the room turn upside down, floated as if by magic to the floor.
Then the sound was gone. She was sitting on the couch. "WhatтАФw-what?"
"DarlingтАФ"
What was she trying to remember? "I. . . maybe I dozed off. I dreamed we were in the basement. . . ."
George drew her to him. "Put the boy to bed." He started fondling her breasts.
"Not in front of Jerry!" She pushed at him and he stopped.
"Put the boy to bed."
She shook her head. "Gosh, I feel funny. I had this dream while I was still awake. We went to the