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you?”
    “I was already up. Who screamed?”
    “Me. It was nothing. Just a nightmare.”
    “You call that nothing?”
    Jud heard the slide of a guard chain. The door was opened by a man in striped pajamas. “You sound as if you know nightmares,” the man said. Though his sleep-tangled hair was as white as the fog, he seemed to be no older than forty. “Myname’s Lawrence Maywood Usher.” He offered his hand to Jud. It was bony, and damp with sweat. The feeble grip had a weariness that seemed to sap strength from Jud’s hand.
    “I’m Jud Rucker,” he said, entering.
    The man shut the door. “Well, Judson…”
    “It’s Judgment.”
    Larry immediately perked up. “As in Judgment Day?”
    “My father’s a Baptist minister.”
    “Judgment Rucker. Fascinating. Would you care for some coffee, Judgment?”
    He thought about the open can of Hamms in his apartment. What the hell, he could use it tomorrow for cooking. “Sure. Coffee’d be great.”
    “Are you a connoisseur?”
    “Hardly.”
    “Nevertheless, this should be a treat for you. Have you ever tasted Jamaican Blue Mountain?”
    “Not that I know of.”
    “Well, opportunity has knocked. Your ship has come in.”
    Jud grinned, astonished at the new liveliness of the man who’d screamed.
    “Will you join me in the kitchen?”
    “Sure.”
    In the kitchen, Larry opened a small brown bag. He tilted its opening toward Jud’s face. Jud sniffed the sharp coffee aroma. “Smells good,” he said.
    “It ought to be. It’s the best. What line of work are you in, Judgment?”
    “Engineering,” he said, using his usual cover.
    “Oh?”
    “I’m with Brecht Brothers.”
    “Sounds like a German cough drop.”
    “We build bridges, power plants. How about you?”
    “I teach.”
    “High school?”
    “God forbid! I had my fill of those rude, insolent, foul-mouthed bastards ten years ago. Never again! God forbid!”
    “What do you teach now?”
    “The elite.” He cranked, grinding down the coffee beans. “Upper division, mostly, at USF. American Lit.”
    “And they’re not foul-mouthed?”
    “The oaths are not directed at me .”
    “That would make a difference,” Jud said. He watched the man spoon coffee grounds into the basket of a drip machine and turn it on.
    “ All the difference. Shall we sit down?”
    They went into the living room. Larry took the sofa. Jud lowered himself into a recliner, but didn’t recline.
    “I’m certainly glad you dropped by, Judgment.”
    “How about Jud?”
    “How about Judge?”
    “I’m not even a lawyer.”
    “From your looks, however, you are a good judge. Of character, of situations, of right and wrong.”
    “You can tell all that from my looks?”
    “Certainly. So I’ll call you Judge.”
    “All right.”
    “Tell me, Judge, what possessed you to come knocking at my door?”
    “I heard the scream.”
    “Did you realize it was inspired by a nightmare?”
    “No.”
    “Perhaps I was being murdered.”
    “That occurred to me.”
    “But you came, nonetheless. And unarmed. You must be a fearless man, Judge.”
    “Hardly.”
    “Or perhaps you’ve known such fear that the possibility of being confronted by a mere murderer seemed trifling.”
    Jud laughed. “Sure.”
    “Nonetheless, I’m certainly glad you came. For terrors of the night, there’s no antidote like a friendly face.”
    “Do you have your terrors often?”
    “Every night for the past three weeks. Not quite three weeks—that would be twenty-one nights, and I’ve only had the nightmares for the past nineteen. Only! I must tell you, it seems like years.”
    “I know.”
    “Sometimes, I wonder if there ever was a time before the nightmares. Of course, there was. I’m not loony, you realize, just upset. Nervous, very very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad?”
    “I didn’t.”
    “No, of course not.” He grinned with one side ofhis mouth. “That’s Poe. ‘The Tell-Tale Heart.’ About