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Swelling appetites for evil. It’s all around.” His eyes rested briefly on the Santa flickering across the street.
    I fidgeted. The cold cement step was freezing my behind. There was no point in arguing with him. “Thanks, Charlie. I’ll be real careful.” Again, I started to stand; again, Charlie put his hand on my arm.
    “Miss, wait. Don’t look alarmed or run away. Somebody may be watching us, even now. Listen, I know things. I’m taking a big risk, telling you.”
    Oh dear. Maybe it was worse than I’d thought. Charlie thought people were watching him? poor Charlie. He might be losing it. How old was he, I wondered. Seventy-five? Older?
    “You don’t want to listen to me, but you must.” His whisper was urgent. “I’m just a handyman. But I see things. In the alleys, the basements. I have the tools to work under the floorboards, inside closets. In old houses or new. In basements of every house on this street. people don’t think much about me, but I know things. Houses have secrets. There’s evil here, miss. Close by. Serious evil. And it’s gone too far—into the bricks, the dry-wall, the wood.”
    Apparently, Charlie had gone too far, too. He’d crossed a line, entered a place where perceptions got twisted and played trickson the mind. Where truth became fragmented and jumbled, patched with imaginings. Still, with all his ramblings, he wasn’t scary. Old Charlie seemed damaged, not dangerous. Like a worn-out teddy bear.
    “. . . so you can’t tell,” he went on. “Anybody can wear anything. Disguise themselves as police or doctors, judges. Businessmen. It’s their clothes, their costumes that tell you who they are. If you see somebody driving a fire engine, you assume he’s okay, right? He’s a fireman. You trust him. Or the mailman. Certainly you can trust the mailman! But how do you know that the mailman’s really a mailman? That the fireman’s really a fireman? Because of the uniform, right? But how do you know that he’s not really a madman—a murderer dressed in a uniform? With a disguise, could somebody fool you? Sure they could.”
    I leaned away, wondering how long he’d go on, how long I’d have to stay there. Charlie tilted toward me, whispering dank words. “Somebody might wear a uniform. Like a policeman. Or a dentist. Or he might dress normal, in a business suit, so you wouldn’t even notice him. That would be the best disguise of all. He’d blend in and trap you—miss, please, just smile, act as if we’re shooting the breeze here. please. In case we’re being watched.”
    He looked straight ahead again, watching cars drive by, smiling casually and nodding his head. I wondered how long he’d had these thoughts, whether he’d forgotten to take some kind of medication.
    “. . . that you and your child are in danger.”
    Wait. What was that? “Oh, come on, Charlie—what are you saying? That the mailman’s a murderer? Or some fireman’s planning to hurt me? Because that’s what it sounds like.”
    Charlie folded his massive, calloused hands, nodding, relieved. “Not necessarily the mailman. Or a fireman. Evil can take on any form. Any disguise. A taxi driver. A cop. So trust noone. Be on guard. Hear me, miss. Evil is nearby. Watching, lurking, planning. Listen to what I’m saying.”
    Charlie’s face was an inch away. His eyes bulged, and a cloud of fermenting breath engulfed my face. It was all I could take. I got to my feet. “Charlie, I’ve got to go in.” I started up the steps.
    “Don’t be afraid, miss,” Charlie spoke over his shoulder without moving. “I’ve been protecting you, and I’ll keep on. I’ll protect you both. You can count on me. You and your little one can count on old Charlie. That’s all I have to say.”
    “I’ve got to go in.”
    When I opened the door, I looked back. Charlie was watching, frowning with concern. The man was disturbed, but he couldn’t be dangerous, not with a face so sincere and troubled. Shutting the door