“Yes, they can. Because I remember my father talking about some stuff like that to my mother when he didn’t know I was in the room. He was talking about visitors who could talk with the mind. Telepathery or something. I thought he was making it up.”
“Well, Holy Smokes. I mean—Holy Smokes.” Red looked up. “I tell you. My Dad said to get rid of them. Let’s sort of bury them somewhere or throw them in the creek.”
“He told you to do that.”
“He made me say I had animals and then he said, ‘Get rid of them.’ I got to do what he says. Holy Smokes, he’s my Dad.”
Some of the panic left Slim’s heart. It was a thoroughly legalistic way out. “Well, let’s do it right now, then, before they find out. Oh, golly, if they find out, will we be in trouble!”
They broke into a run toward the barn, unspeakable visions in their minds.
IX
It was different, looking at them as though they were “people.” As animals, they had been interesting; as “people,” horrible. Their eyes, which were neutral little objects before, now seemed to watch them with active malevolence.
“They’re making noises,” said Slim, in a whisper which was barely audible.
“I guess they’re talking or something,” said Red. Funny that those noises which they had heard before had not had significance earlier. He was making no move toward them. Neither was Slim.