The Horror Megapack_ 25 Classic and Modern Horror Stories ( PDFDrive )

disarrayed dark hair, and extending alluring arms. “When we leave.…”
“I’ll take you away from here, forever and always,” he promised.
For a long time their murmurings mocked the horrors that marched blindly
across the spreading fields of the moon flooded Delta. Finally Madeline slipped
from Connell’s arms, and gestured toward the moon blot on the floor.
“It’s getting late, sweetheart,” she whispered. “We’ll go to New Orleans as
soon as I can pack up.”
Connell followed her, and watched her hastily bundle together odds and ends
selected from her wardrobe. A strange, mad night. Going in search of a man and
finding this incredible armful of loveliness. It was all fantasy, but Connell’s lips
still tingled from the fire of her kisses. Let Pierre Ducoin keep the secret of the
uncanny walking dead men. Plato would eventually appear with some wild story
accounting for his absence. It was utterly incredible that he would have lingered
long enough to have left any clues. Amelia’s African guile had fairly bludgeoned
Connell into this mad search.
He watched Madeline dressing in the moon glamour. Once he reached New
Orleans with that delicious loveliness, he would pension Plato for life.
They stole through the shadows of the orange grove to Connell’s coupé. He
took Madeline’s suitcase and raised the turtle back. Something was stirring in
the baggage compartment.
“Mon Dieu!” gasped Madeline.
“Is that you, Mr. Walt?” whispered a familiar woman’s voice. Amelia Jones
emerged. “Did you get Plato?”
Then she saw Madeline, and her voice trailed into reproachful indefiniteness.
Connell was betraying his colored folks.
“What the devil are you doing here?” he demanded.
“I just followed,” said Amelia. “In case that no good man didn’t want to come
home.”
Her plump, comely face was agleam with perspiration. It was a wonder she had
not suffocated in the stuffy baggage compartment during that long search down
the Delta. Connell helplessly glanced at Madeline who was nervously fingering
his arm. Amelia painfully clambered out of the turtle back.
“Get back in there, Amelia,” Connell abruptly ordered. “I’ll fix the top.”
But the woman shook her head.
“No, sir, Mr. Walt. I’m goin’ to find him myself. I knows you’re too busy, and
I’m much obliged for the ride.” Her glance shifted, and she saw the familiar
model T. “That’s Plato’s Ford. I’ll get him. Don’t you wait here no longer, Mr.