In the dim light, the thing shone. Its edges were misty.
Dorma whispered, "See, Mr. Rumpp? A ghost."
"It's no ghost," said Randal Rumpp, grabbing an original Frank Lloyd Wright chair. He lifted it up over his head and poked at the floating apparition with the chair's hard legs.
The legs went right through the floating white being.
"See? It's unreal," Dorma said.
"It's no ghost," repeated Randal Rumpp sternly. "Get a grip on yourself."
"How can it not be a ghost?"
"Because," Randal Rumpp pointed out reasonably. "It's got two cables sticking out of its shoulders. They look like coaxial cables. Coaxials mean electricity. Ghosts aren't electric."
"How . . . how do we know that?"
"Because we have a grip on ourselves," said Randal Rumpp, moving around to get a better look at the floating thing.
The thing was emitting a kind of soft shine, like a low-energy light bulb. Through it, certain details could be made out. The pulsing golden veinwork. The fact that it wore boots and gloves, and there were straps that snugged at his shoulders.
Randal Rumpp was trying to see what the straps were holding on to when he noticed the thing's belt. The buckle-it was round and white-suddenly blinked red. It was a very angry red color. It made Dorma shrink in fear. Then it turned white again. Then red. It was like something short-circuiting.
Randal Rumpp took this as further proof that the thing was electrical. Randal Rumpp feared nothing electrical. Not even the electrician's union, which could make or break a construction project.
"What does the red light mean?" Dorma wondered from the safety of the open door. She looked ready to bolt.
"It means," Randal Rumpp said, pointing to the Sears DieHard battery clearly strapped to the floating thing's back, "that its power is running low."
"I don't understand."
"That makes two of us. Where did it come from?"
"I think . . . I think it came from the telephone . . . ."
Rumpp scowled. "Telephone?"
For the first time, Rumpp noticed the phone off its hook.
He turned to his cowering assistant. "I told you not to touch the phones!" he shouted.
Without warning, the glowing thing came to life. It grabbed at its belt buckle, then went dim and fell to the floor with a thud.
Dorma screamed and fled. Randal Rumpp knelt beside the thing. He reached out to touch it and, to his surprise, he got the slick, plasticky sensation of touching something like vinyl. His fingers recoiled. He hated vinyl. Especially vinyl siding. It offended his sensibilities. His first home had had vinyl siding. The day he'd traded up to his first condo, he'd had it torched so no one could throw it back in his face when he became famous.
The thing lay supine for only a minute. Then, with a sound like a respirator, the white bubble that was the thing's face crinkled inward. It expanded. Contracted again, crinkling. The crinkling was something seen, but not heard.
"It's still breathing," Randal Rumpp muttered. "Whatever the heck it is."
He tried to shake it.
"Hey, pal. Wake up. You're on my time now."
The thing struggled into an upright position. Its featureless face swiveled in his direction. Even though there were no eyes, Randal Rumpp had the distinct feeling he was being stared at. It gave him the creeps. Worse than cost overruns.
Then, even though the thing had no discernible mouth, it spoke.
It said, "Ho ho ho."
"Hello. Do you speak English?"
"Da."
Too bad, Rumpp thought. Maybe I can communicate with it some other way.
"Me Rumpp," he said, pointing to his own chest. "Rumpp? Comprende?" He pointed to the thing's chest. "You name?"
To his surprise, the thing stabbed its own chest with its thumb and said in perfectly understandable English, "I am Grandfather Frost. Ho ho ho."
"You speak English?"
"Da. "
Scowling, Rumpp said, "Da isn't English. It's baby talk."
"Da mean 'yes.' You understand 'yes'?"
"Yeah. I've been hearing it all my life. Listen, where did you come from?"
"Telephone. "
"That so? How'd you get into the telephone in the first place?"
The creature struggled to its feet. It grabbed at its right shoulder, as if in pain. "It is long story," it said, moving about the room and examining the objects kept on display tables and open shelves. "I am thinking we do not have time for long story now."
"Yeah? Why not?"
"I must escape."
"What about the three billion we were talking about?"
"Take a check?"
"You have one on you?"
"Nyet. I mean, 'no.' "
Rumpp frowned. "Nyet. Where have I heard that word before?"
"I do not know, but I must be escaping now. Thank you for your time."
Randal Rumpp grabbed the thing's arm. Standing, the thing was shorter than he. And that was saying something, considering that its boot heels were as thick as a stack of waffles.
Randal Rumpp expected no fight. And he was right. The creature didn't struggle at all.
But Randal Rumpp was suddenly on his back, trying to get the air the floor had knocked out of his lungs back where it belonged.
"Ghosts," he gasped, "don't use judo."
Then the creature spoke another unfamiliar word. "Krahseevah, " it said. Its voice sounded very pleased.
Gasping, Rumpp got to his feet. The creature was examining a gold-filled Colibri cigarette lighter with the initials "RR" set in diamonds. Rumpp noticed it no longer shone. And its face, which was a bladder that kept expanding and contracting as if in rhythm with its measured breathing, crinkled audibly now.
Somehow, it was able to see through that featureless membrane.
While it was distracted, Rumpp leaped in front of the only exit.
"You go out over my dead body!" he warned.
"There is no need for dead bodies," said the faceless thing, retreating to the telephone receiver. He dialed directory assistance and asked, "Give me number of Soviet Embassy, please."
The operator's response came loudly enough for Randal Rumpp to hear it clearly.
"I'm sorry. There is no listing for a Soviet Embassy in this city."
"What! Then provide me number of Soviet Embassy in Washington."
"What do you want with the Soviet Embassy?" Rumpp asked suspiciously.
"I must give them present," the thing said flatly. "Grandfather Frost forgot them this year." "Christmas hasn't happened yet. In fact, it's only Halloween."
The thing started. "Excuse, please. What month this?"
"October."
"What year this?"
Before Randal Rumpp could answer the insane question, the operator was saying, "I'm sorry. There is no listing for a Soviet Embassy in Washington, D.C. Would you like me to try Washington state?"
"No Soviet Embassy? What happened to Soviet Union?"
"It dissolved," Randal Rumpp said flatly, just to see what response he'd get.
A dramatic one, as it turned out.
The blank-faced white creature dropped the telephone and began to moan.
"Soviet Union dissolve in nuclear fire! What about Georgia?"
"It's still down there between South Carolina and Alabama," Randal Rumpp said.
"I am not meaning U.S. Georgia. I am meaning Georgia in Soviet Union."
"Search me. I can't keep track of what's left of Russia."
The thing's bladder-like face regarded him. "It is gone completely?"
"Yeah. Yeah. Completely. And good riddance."
"I am homeless expatriate," it said, cabled shoulders falling. "Without family."
"Look," Rumpp said sharply, "we have some business to conduct here. Let's leave sentiment out of it."
"I am man without country, and you are without human feelings," the thing blubbered. "After all I have done for you."