From the chair an apparently disembodied hand swung downward and grasped the bottle on the floor. Then, even as they watched it, it raised the bottle rakishly over the center of the chair and poured a portion of its contents into ... into nothing! This done, the hand and bottle moved downward again, and a resounding burp rumbled messily through the room. "Holy gee!" Toffee repeated breathlessly. "What ... what's...." The words died in Marc's throat. The floating hand, now at rest on the arm of the chair, had suddenly been matched by another on the opposite arm. Marc and Toffee, struck dumb by this spectacle, remained rigid, staring with wide-eyed amazement. And as they watched, two feet, as though to add balance to the already gruesome picture, slowly appeared on the floor in front of the chair. After that things seemed to really get under way, and it was only a matter of seconds until, a section at a time, a whole body had come into view, complete with everything ... except a head. "Ulp!" The sound came from Marc. "You said it," Toffee murmured. "I think I'm going to be hysterical." With a shudder she turned away and gazed intently out the window. "You ... you see it too?" Marc asked wretchedly. "I'm doing my level best not to," Toffee replied. "It's the most horrible thing I've ever set eyes on. It's positively haunting. I'd be just as pleased if you wouldn't remind me of it." "What do you suppose it is?" "I don't know," Toffee returned miserably. "And I don't care. I just want to forget all about it. Maybe if we simply ignore it, it will go away and leave us alone. Let's just look out the window and engage in casual conversation. Maybe it'll get the idea it's not wanted." "I wonder if it _can_ go away?" Marc said. Shakily he rose from the lounge, and with one last tormented glance at the headless figure, moved rapidly to Toffee's side. "Suppose it ... it can't move ... any more?" "It can move all right," Toffee said gloomily. "The way it was whipping that bottle around I wouldn't be surprised to see it get up and start doing an Irish jig, though the mere thought of it makes my flesh fairly scamper." "That's right," Marc mused. "Whatever it is, it seems to be in splendid working order." "Too damn splendid," Toffee agreed. "Maybe we should assert ourselves," Marc suggested. "Maybe we could throw it out." "I, personally," Toffee replied firmly, "would rather slash my wrists than lay a finger to the clammy thing." "As I recall," a voice said hollowly from across the room, "you didn't mind in the least laying a finger to me a while ago. And a shockingly intimate finger it was too. In fact I was quite embarrassed by it. And if you two mental cases really want something to do, I suggest you open up that window and throw yourselves out into the street. Your feeble-minded gibbering is keeping me awake."