Acting almost instinctively, Crane reached out and grabbed a pastepot off the copy desk. He hurled it with a vicious motion and it became a white blur in the lamplight, spinning end over end. It caught the staring thing squarely, lifted it, and swept it off the desk. The pastepot hit the floor and broke, scattering broken shards and oozy gobs of half-dried paste.
The shining thing hit the floor somersaulting. Its feet made metallic sounds as it righted itself and dashed across the floor.
Crane’s hand scooped up a spike, heavily weighted with metal. He threw it with a sudden gush of hatred and revulsion. The spike hit the floor with a thud ahead of the running thing and drove its point deep into the wood.
The metal rat made splinters fly as it changed its course. Desperately it flung itself through the three-inch opening of a supply cabinet door.
Crane sprinted swiftly, hit the door with both his hands, and slammed it shut.
‘Got you,’ he said.
He thought about it, standing with his back against the door.
Scared, he thought. Scared silly by a shining thing that looked something like a rat. Maybe it was a rat, a white rat.
And, yet, it hadn’t had a tail. It didn’t have a face. Yet it had looked at him.
Crazy, he said. Crane, you’re going nuts.