"Richard Matheson - Hell House" - читать интересную книгу автора (Matheson Richard)

She turned and gazed at her photograph tacked to the wall, the printed words above it:
_The Reverend Florence Tanner_. For several moments she was pleased to be reminded of her beauty.
Forty-three, she still retained it unimpaired, her long red hair untouched by grayness, her tall,
Junoesque figure almost as trim as it had been in her twenties. She smiled in self-depreciation
then. Vanity of vanities, she thought.
She went into the church, walked along the carpeted aisle, and stepped onto the platform,
taking a familiar pose behind the lectern. She looked at the rows of chairs, the hymnals set on
every third one. She visualized her congregation sitting before her. "My dears," she murmured.
She had told them at the morning and evening services. Told them of the need for her to be
away from them for the next week. Told them of the answer to their prayers--the means to build a
true church on their own property. Asked them to pray for her while she was gone.
Florence clasped her hands on the lectern and closed her eyes. Her lips moved slightly as
she prayed for the strength to cleanse the Belasco house. It had such a dreadful history of death
and suicide and madness. It was a house most horribly defiled. She prayed to end its curse.
The prayer completed, Florence lifted her head and gazed at her church. She loved it
deeply. Still, to be able to build a real church for her congregation was truly a gift from
heaven. And at Christmastime . . . She smiled, eyes glistening with tears.
God was good.




11:17 P.M.




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Edith finished brushing her teeth and gazed at her reflection in the mirror--at her short-
cut auburn hair, her strong, almost masculine features. Her expression was a worried one.
Disturbed by the sight of it, she switched off the bathroom light and returned to the bedroom.
Lionel was asleep. She sat on her bed and looked at him, listening to the sound of his
heavy breathing. Poor dear, she thought. There had been so much to do. By ten o'clock he'd been
exhausted, and she'd made him go to bed.
Edith lay on her side and continued looking at him. She'd never seen him so concerned
before. He'd made her promise that she'd never leave his side once they'd entered the Belasco
house. Could it be that bad? She'd been to haunted houses with Lionel and never been frightened.
He was always so calm, so confident; it was impossible to be afraid when he was near.
Yet, he was disturbed enough about the Belasco house to make an issue of her staying by
his side at all times. Edith shivered. Would her presence harm him? Would looking after her use up
so much of his limited energy that his work would suffer? She didn't want that. She knew how much
his work meant to him.
Still, she had to go. She'd face anything rather than be alone. She'd never told Lionel
how close she'd come to a mental breakdown during those three weeks he'd been gone in 1962. It
would only have distressed him, and he'd needed all his concentration for the work he was doing.
So she'd lied and sounded cheerful on the telephone the three times he'd called--and, alone, she'd