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- Нил Гейман
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- Стр. 53/82
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If
you
were
to
walk
down
the
hospital
steps
,
as
far
down
as
you
could
go
,
through
the
abandoned
shower
rooms
,
past
the
staff
toilets
,
past
a
room
filled
with
broken
glass
,
where
the
ceiling
had
collapsed
entirely
,
leaving
it
open
to
the
stairwell
above
,
you
would
reach
a
small
,
rusting
iron
staircase
,
from
which
the
once
-
white
paint
was
peeling
in
long
,
damp
strips
.
And
if
you
went
down
the
staircase
,
and
traversed
the
marshy
place
at
the
bottom
of
the
steps
,
and
pushed
your
way
through
a
half
-
decayed
wooden
door
,
you
would
find
yourself
in
the
sub
-
cellar
,
a
huge
room
in
which
a
hundred
and
twenty
years
of
hospital
waste
had
accumulated
,
been
abandoned
,
and
,
eventually
,
forgotten
;
and
it
was
here
that
Mr
.
Croup
and
Mr
.
Vandemar
had
,
for
the
present
,
made
their
home
.
The
walls
were
damp
,
and
water
dripped
from
the
ceiling
.
Odd
things
moldered
in
corners
:
some
of
them
had
once
been
alive
.
Mr
.
Croup
and
Mr
.
Vandemar
were
killing
time
.
Mr
.
Vandemar
had
obtained
from
somewhere
a
centipede
—
a
reddish
orange
creature
,
almost
eight
inches
long
,
with
vicious
,
poisonous
fangs
—
and
was
letting
it
run
over
his
hands
,
watching
it
as
it
twined
between
his
fingers
,
vanished
up
one
sleeve
,
appeared
a
minute
later
out
of
the
other
.
Mr
.
Croup
was
playing
with
razor
blades
.
He
had
found
,
in
a
corner
,
a
whole
box
of
fifty
-
year
-
old
razor
blades
,
wrapped
in
wax
paper
,
and
he
had
been
trying
to
think
of
things
to
do
with
them
.
"
If
I
might
have
your
attention
,
Mister
Vandemar
,
"
he
said
,
at
length
.
"
Pipe
your
beady
eyes
on
this
.
"
Mr
.
Vandemar
held
the
centipede
’
s
head
delicately
between
a
huge
thumb
and
a
massive
forefinger
to
stop
it
wriggling
.
He
looked
at
Mr
.
Croup
.
Mr
.
Croup
put
his
left
hand
against
a
wall
,
fingers
spread
.
He
took
five
razor
blades
in
his
right
hand
,
took
careful
aim
,
and
threw
them
at
the
wall
.
Each
blade
stuck
into
the
wall
,
between
Mr
.
Croup
’
s
fingers
;
it
was
like
a
top
knife
-
thrower
’
s
act
in
miniature
.
Mr
.
Croup
took
his
hand
away
,
leaving
the
blades
in
the
wall
,
outlining
the
place
his
fingers
had
been
,
and
he
turned
to
his
partner
for
approval
.
Mr
.
Vandemar
was
unimpressed
.
"
What
’
s
so
clever
about
that
,
then
?
"
he
asked
.
"
You
didn
’
t
even
hit
one
finger
.
"
Mr
.
Croup
sighed
.
"
I
didn
’
t
?
"
he
said
.
"
Well
,
slit
my
gullet
,
you
’
re
right
.
How
could
I
have
been
such
a
ninny
?
"
He
pulled
the
razor
blades
out
of
the
wall
,
one
by
one
,
and
dropped
them
onto
the
wooden
table
.
"
Why
don
’
t
you
show
me
how
it
should
have
been
done
?
"
Mr
.
Vandemar
nodded
.
He
put
his
centipede
back
into
its
empty
marmalade
jar
.
Then
he
put
his
left
hand
against
the
wall
.
He
raised
his
right
arm
:
his
knife
,
wicked
and
sharp
and
perfectly
weighted
,
was
in
his
right
hand
.
He
narrowed
his
eyes
,
and
he
threw
.
The
knife
flew
through
the
air
and
thudded
into
the
damp
plaster
wall
blade
-
first
,
the
blade
having
first
hit
and
penetrated
the
back
of
Mr
.
Vandemar
’
s
hand
on
its
way
.
