The thing spoke, though I could not say that I actually heard the words: it was as if I simply became, through my entire body, conscious of the words:
“Down, enemy of the Lord God; down on your knees.”
I stirred then, to lick my lips with a tongue drier than they were.
“Down, accursed of the Lord God, before the blow falls.”
An argument was something I understood. I moved my handkerchief sufficiently to say: “Go to hell.” It had a silly sound, especially in the creaking voice I had used.
The thing’s body twisted convulsively, swayed, and bent towards me.
I dropped my handkerchief and reached for the thing with both hands. I got hold of the thing, and I didn’t. My hands were on it, in it to the wrists, into the center of it, and shut on it. And there was nothing in my hands but dampness without temperature, neither warm nor cold.
That same dampness came into my face when the thing’s face floated into mine. I bit at its face–yes–and my teeth closed on nothing, though I could see and feel that my face was in its face. And in my hands, on my arms, against my body, the thing squirmed and writhed, shuddered and shivered, swirling wildly now, breaking apart, reuniting madly in the black air.
Through the thing’s transparent flesh I could see my hands clenched in the center of its damp body. I opened them, struck up and down inside it with stiff crooked fingers, trying to gouge it open; and I could see it being torn apart, could see it flowing together after my clawing fingers had passed; but all I could feel was its dampness.
Now another feeling came to me, growing quickly once it had started–of an immense suffocating weight bearing me down. This thing that had no solidity had weight, weight that was pressing me down, smothering me. My knees were going soft. I spit its face out of my mouth, tore my right hand free from its body and struck up at its face, and felt nothing but its dampness brushing my fist.
I clawed at its insides again with my left hand, tearing at this substance that was so plainly seen, so faintly felt. And then on my left hand I saw something else–blood. Blood that was dark and thick and real covered my hand, dripped from it, running out between my fingers.
I laughed and got strength to straighten my back against the monstrous weight on me, wrenching at the thing’s insides again, croaking: “I’ll gut you plenty.” More blood came through my fingers. I tried to laugh again, triumphantly, and couldn’t, choking instead. The thing’s weight on me was twice what it had been. I staggered back, sagging against the wall, flattening myself against it to keep from sliding down it.
Air from the broken window, cold, pure, bitter, came over my shoulder to sting my nostrils, to tell me–by its difference from the air I had been breathing–that not the thing’s weight, but the poisonous flower-smelling stuff, had been bearing me down.
The thing’s greenish pale dampness squirmed over my face and body. Coughing, I stumbled through the thing, to the door, got the door open, and sprawled out in the corridor that was now as dark as the room I had just left.
As I fell, somebody fell over me. But this was no indescribable thing. It was human. The knees that hit my back were human, sharp. The grunt that blew hot breath in my ear was human, surprised. The arm my fingers caught was human, thin. I thanked God for its thinness. The corridor air was doing me a lot of good, but I was in no shape to do battle with an athlete.
I put what strength I had into my grip on the thin arm, dragging it under me as I rolled over on as much of the rest of its owner as I could cover. My other hand, flung out across the man’s thin body as I rolled, struck something that was hard and metallic on the floor. Bending my wrist, I got my fingers on it, and recognized its feel: it was the over-size dagger with which Riese had been killed. The man I was lolling on had, I guessed, stood beside the door of Minnie’s room. waiting to carve me when I came out; and my fall had saved me, making him miss me with the blade, tripping him. Now he was kicking, jabbing, and butting up at me from his face-down position on the floor, with my hundred and ninety pounds anchoring him there.