Роберт Артур: Alfred Hitchcock’s A Hangman’s Dozen

That was when the dog yelped. Claude had begun to drift off, and the noise woke him. Cursing, he sat up and looked toward the corner where he’d last seen Momo. The dog was still there, but not cringing any longer. Instead, Momo was standing up shakily on her hind legs, her tail wagging, her eyes shining. In fact, she was the very picture of canine ecstasy.

“Hello, Claude.”

The voice was a familiar one. Alvina’s voice. At first he was sure that he was either dreaming or imagining. He blinked his eyes, striving to come fully awake. But then he knew somehow that he was already awake, and he looked in the direction the dog was looking.

Alvina was standing there!

Not all wet and dripping, her hair tangled with seaweed. Not even in the bathing suit and bandana she’d last worn. This Alvina was quite dry, lipsticked and powdered, and in a gay little flowered frock he’d never even seen before. Her blue eyes were bright; her blond hair was shining; and she stood just inside the door of the cottage, although Claude was quite sure that the door had neither opened nor closed.

“Claude, I said hello, and you haven’t even answered me.” Then she smiled, as if she’d suddenly remembered something. “Oh, of course. You’re dreadfully surprised. You hadn’t expected to see me ever again.”

Claude stated the incredible. “You’re alive!”

“Oh no, Claude, I’m a ghost.”

Instinctively he looked to Momo for confirmation. She wasn’t, however, howling with fear as dogs are supposed to do in the presence of the supernatural. Instead, she was still wagging her tail, quite as if she too saw and recognized Alvina. But the strangest fact of all was that, although Momo obviously was aware of the presence of her mistress, and would normally have run to Alvina to be picked up and petted, now she seemed to realize that this visitor was not the sort who could pick up and pet even the smallest dog. In other words, Claude reflected as he tried to sort out his thoughts — Momo knew it was Alvina and yet wasn’t Alvina, a friendly spirit but a spirit nevertheless.

But Claude still found this hard to believe. “Are you sure you’re a real ghost? I mean...”

“Of course I’m a real ghost. I’d have to be, wouldn’t I? I’m certainly not alive. Because you killed me. Remember, Claude?”

“It was an accident,” he started to say automatically.

“Oh, for pity’s sake, Claude,” she interrupted him. “I should know, shouldn’t I? I was there. It was murder. You pushed me in, dear, and then you held my head under water.”

It wasn’t till then that Claude began to wonder, not whether this was really Alvina’s ghost, but more as to what Alvina’s ghost was doing here. And with the curiosity came just a little tingle of fear.

“I swear to you, Alvina,” he began again.

“Darling, I know it was murder, and everybody where I came from knows it was murder. Only people who’ve been murdered get to come back as ghosts. Or didn’t you know that?”

“No, I didn’t know that,” he admitted.

She threw back her head and laughed. It was Alvina’s old laugh, tinkling and silvery. Momo barked in happy accompaniment to it. “Maybe you wouldn’t have murdered me if you’d known that, eh, Claude?”

He decided he’d better be frank and honest. There wasn’t much choice. “You are rather frightening,” he said.

She crossed the room and sat down on the corner of the bed. Appropriately enough, he noticed, she seemed utterly weightless, and the corner didn’t sag at all under her.

“Poor Claude,” she said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. But as I said, murdered people do have the privilege of coming back, and I just couldn’t resist the opportunity.”

He was beginning to take a little courage now from her mild manner. “Why did you come back, Alvina?”

“We parted so suddenly, dear. There wasn’t time to discuss anything.”

“What is there to discuss?”

“Well, Momo, for instance.” At the mention of her name, the Pekingese wagged her tail. “Claude darling, I know you had reason to hate me, but I hope that feeling of yours doesn’t extend to that innocent little dog.”

Remembering his conversation with Momo of just a few minutes past, Claude felt himself blushing guiltily. “Momo really will never be happy with you gone, Alvina,” he evaded.

“She can be happy if you’ll try to make her happy. I know how you two have always been enemies, but it was your fault, Claude, not Momo’s. Promise me you’ll try to make friends with her. Promise me you’ll take good care of her. She’s an orphan now, you know, thanks to you. Will you promise me, Claude?”

Claude grabbed at the chance of getting off so easy. “I promise, I solemnly promise,” he said.

“Thank you, Claude,” she answered, and she seemed very sincere.

They sat in silence for a moment then. Alvina’s ghostly eyes gazed on Claude almost affectionately. He tried to reciprocate, but found the situation a bit strained.

“Well, was that all you wanted?” he asked finally. “I mean, now that we’ve agreed about the dog, I suppose that puts your spirit at rest, Alvina, and now you’ll be content to...”

He stopped fumbling. What he wanted to say, of course, was that ghosts — even apparently friendly ones — made him nervous, and he’d prefer that she return to her watery grave and stay there. Saying it would have been impolite, however, and perhaps — he still wasn’t sure of her attitude — a trifle dangerous.

“You’ve been very sweet, Claude,” she said. “And I do feel a lot better now that I know Momo will be well taken care of. I’m so grateful to you.”

If she was going to become so polite and sentimental and easy to get along with, he could afford to be decent himself. “Look, Alvina, I’m sorry...”

She leaned a little closer to him, and a little ghostly frown creased her brow. “Oh, no, don’t say that, darling. You have no reason to be sorry. I deserved what I got.”

“You think so?” Surprise was building on surprise.

“I know so. I deserved to be murdered. I was simply an awful wife to you.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, Alvina.”

“But it’s true. I’d become quite a witch. I didn’t realize it when I was alive, but I see it all clearly now. I was selfish and headstrong and quarrelsome. I always wanted my own way, and I made a scene if I didn’t get it. And worst of all I wasn’t loving enough. Don’t you completely agree on my little catalogue, dear?”

“Well, yes...”

“So you were quite justified in doing what you did, Claude. Isn’t that so?”

“Alvina!”

“I mean it, Claude. I mean it absolutely. I deserved to get murdered.”

“Well now, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.”

“It’s the truth. So I want to tell you this, darling. And I mean it from the bottom of my heart. I forgive you completely.”

He stared at her incredulously. There was a little tingling in him again. Not from incipient fear as before. From what then? He wasn’t quite sure. But when someone is so generous and tolerant... well, it just gives one a funny feeling, that’s all.

“Gee, Alvina...” he started to say.

But she was gone. Momo was whining piteously, and frantically running about the room from wall to wall, searching for something that was surely no longer there.

“Don’t bring that dog in my apartment,” Elise said. She was in purple toreador trousers today and stood with her hands on her hips barring the passage. Her dark hair waved behind her as she shook her head.

“But, angel,” Claude Crispin said, “it’s my wife’s dog.”

“I know that,” Elise snapped. “But I don’t like dogs, and I liked your former wife even less.”