So much for modern science and its wonderful discoveries that just about everything can kill you. Life is only a bedtime story before a long, long sl… - Robert Bloch

The car was in the swamp. And the hamper was in the trunk. And the body was in the hamper. The twisted torso and the bloody head. But he couldn't think about that. He mustn't. There were other things to do.

The sun surrendered its splendor — why, it was like poetry; he was a poet; Norman smiled. He was many things. If they only knew — — But

She was the only one left, and she was real.
To be the only one, and to know that you are real - that's sanity, isn't it?
But just to be on the safe side, maybe it was best to keep pretending that one was a stuffed figure. Not to move. Never to move. Just to sit here in the tiny room, forever and ever.
If she sat there without moving, they wouldn't punish her.
If she sat there without moving, they'd know that she was sane, sane, sane.
She sat there for quite a long time, and then a fly came buzzing through the bars.
It lighted on her hand.
If she wanted to, she could reach out and swat the fly.
But she didn't swat it.
She didn't swat it, and she hoped they were watching, because that proved what sort of a person she really was.
Why, she wouldn't even harm a fly...