The Neighbor Below Hears

A dull thudding pounded below Lois Lane and Blaze, unheard amid the squeaking bedsprings and howls of Lois Lane. Old man Henderson lowered the broom, scowling in anger at the ceiling.

"Disgusting, that's what it is." He said. "She sounds like she's being destroyed up there."

Mrs. Henderson, on the bed, sighed. "Yes, she does."

"That poor woman," he said. "Can you even imagine?"

"Not for years."

"Hmm?" he turned to her, holding his broom in both hands like a spear. "I really think we should call the police. She sounds as if she's in genuine pain—she might be getting ****!"

A muffled moan filtered through from above, followed by a crash that caused dust to drift down from the ceiling. Mrs. Henderson's left hand had disappeared beneath the covers, and her face was flushed.

"Oh, leave them alone dear. You remember what it was like when we were young, don't you?"

"I never treated you like that!" The old man said stiffly.

"No," she sighed, eyes closed now. "No, I guess you didn't. But let's just give it a little while. It's the first time we've ever heard her like that. Maybe they're trying for a baby."

"Babies. Hmph! Last thing we need in this building is some screaming brat..." he muttered.

Here comes your baby, cunt!

The voice, muffled as it was by the intervening wood and plaster, was followed by a voluble scream that sent shivers down both of their spines...a scream that set parts of Old Man Henderson to stand to attention that hadn't done so in years.

Then a vast silence filled the room. Mrs. Henderson gave a little sigh.

"I suppose that's the end of it."

Without another word. Old Man Henderson put the lights out and climbed into bed. The air beneath the covers was unusually warm, but he said nothing about it. Ten, perhaps fifteen minutes went by. The old couple were breathing deeply, sleep clutching at them as their minds in a last burst of activity went over the events of the day...there were muffled sounds of talking up above.

Then a little shriek. The squeal of bedsprings.

Old Man Henderson stared at the ceiling as the squeaking and pounding grew in frequency and volume once again. Beside him, he could hear his wife panting softly. The air under the covers was growing warmer.

"Martha, that's it! I'm calling the police!"