"Wayne Wightman - The Attack Of The Ignoroids" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wightman Wayne)

"Boss!' Cleetis exploded into the room in a flurry of waving arms, fast
breathing, rolling eyes, and a spew of incoherence. "...outside!
...yard!...whoof!... jesus! You gotta get out here!"

"Bye, Vera. I'll bring wine."

A dozen steps out the front door, I saw her. A petite dark-skinned woman,
standing on my lawn, holding a small bouquet of gardenias in her two hands. She
had on some kind of brightly colored wraparound sarong.

"Jesus, another one!" Cleetis screamed, grabbing his face as though it might
peel off.

"Misser Ramden?" she said in a thin and reedy voice.

"Look out, boss! Stay back! Don't let her get close to you!"

"Yeah, I'm Ramsden." I couldn't figure why Cleetis was going moron on me. The
little kid probably weighed all of ninety-five pounds.

In the slowly gathering gloom of the fall evening, I saw her grin broadly, her
teeth very white with a few gold fillings. "A flower for you, sir." She picked
out one of the gardenias and tossed it toward me.

Then little wisps of white smoke started trailing out of her hair and out of the
folds of her ankle-length wraparound skirt.

"Wait a minute! Wait a minute!" Cleetis screamed at her. "Stop! Don't do it!"

"Cleetis, what's--"

"Stay back, boss! Stay back! She's gonna whoof on us!"

"Goo'bye, Misser Ramsden, goo'bye." Small tongues of flame spurted out of her
blouse. One of her gold teeth glittered in the flames. "Goo'bye, Misser
Ramsden."

The next instant, her fire billowed out of her clothes and her hair flashburned
with a sudden whoof.

I, Derrik Ramsden, do not rattle easily, but neither have I ever seen a person
self-combust.

I lunged for the garden hose, turned the valve, and when I turned back to spray
her, she had vanished.

Dark billows of smoke rolled up into the darker sky. No ashes even. And on my
lawn was a fifth burn hole.