"We'll give you a report when we're ready."
A second car pulled up to the house as Stern shut the front door, and went to check the rear one. When he came back, flashes from the window showed the cameraman was trying to take pictures through the glass. Stern drew the shades.
"Well, poor Schaughtowl, so you had to come with me," Curtis was saying to the monster.
The beast wiggled again as it had on the steps of the machine. A tail to wag wasn't really necessary, Stern decided, when there was so much body to wiggle.
Schaughtowl, as Curtis addressed it, seemed to brighten in the darkened room.
"Poor, dear Schaughtowl," said Curtis gently.
It was unmistakable now—the skin actually brightened and emitted a sort of eerie, luminous glow.
Curtis leaned over and put his hand on what would have been Schaughtowl's neck. The loose skin writhed joyously, and, snakelike, the whole body responded in rippling waves of emotion.
"Gull Lup," the monster—said wasn't the right word, but it was not a bark, growl, mew, cheep, squawk or snarl. Gulp was as close as Stern could come, a dry and almost painful gulping noise that expressed devotion in some totally foreign way that Stern found revolting.