Blind Alleys (Tales from the Crypt #46, Feb/March 1955)

The "home" was old and paint-starved and drafty and badly in need of repair. The roof leaked and the windows rattled and were covered with years of dust and grime. The inmates of the home walked grim-faced and silent through cracked plaster halls or sat in dingy rooms on crawling beds. They shivered in the cold when the winter came, when there was no steam to warm the rusted radiators. And they sweltered in the heat when the summer burned, when long-broken fans lay idle and unrepaired and unable to waft a breath of cooling relief.

But they could not see the paint-peelied walls, the dirt-clouded windows, the dusty and cob-webbed halls of this, their home. These inmates, they could not see the roaches and the rats scampering across the unwashed floors as this was a "home" for the blind. For the wretched should who lives in worlds of darkness, who stared with unseeing eyes at the misery around them and yet knew and hated all of it. For the loss of one sense only tends to sharpen the others, to tune them more finely, to make them more acute. The inmates knew because they could taste and touch and smell and hear. They could taste the spoiled and rotted food placed before them at mealtimes. They could touch the sticky, filmy cobwebs, the dust layers covering everything. They could smell the foul odors of mildew and faulty plumbing and poor sanitation and neglect. They could hear the rats scampering and the roaches crawling and the termites burrowing and the lice and bed bugs and flies and a thousand other creatures of filth that moved.

And they could hear other creatures too. Other creatures of filth that moved. They could hear Mr. Grunwald, the home's director, in his office-apartment downstairs, entertaining his latest lady friend with the money he'd saved on them, the inmates.

WOMAN: "Gunner, please."

GUNNER: "Come, now, honey! Don't you like Gunner?"

They could hear his almost maniacal laughter and the clinking of champagne glasses. They could smell the mouth-watering odors of the lavish supper he was enjoying and they could see, in their minds' eyes, the luxuries with which he'd selfishly surrounded himself at there expense.

GUNNER: "Here, beautiful. Have another drink."

WOMAN: Mmm! This is more like it."

Yes, Gunner Grunwald has indeed surrounded himself with luxuries, paid for with the allotments given to him for each blind inmate. Why paint and plaster dreary halls that they'd never see when he could have an air-conditioner for those blistering summer days? Why launder sheets and blankets and clothes of dirt-smears and sweat-stains that they'd never see when he could have a heater for those biting winter nights? Why give those poor miserable blind fools beauty if they could not appreciate beauty? Gunner Grunwald had felt that way. So he skimped on the inmates, cut corners here, denied there and with the surplus, he had supplied himself beauty. Fine furniture, good books, plush rugs, expensive drapes, an occasional evening of female companionship. They were all Gunner's to enjoy. He even bought a dog. A vicious dog. He had a good reason.

For Gunner had known that another sense had replaced the inmates' sense of sight. A deep-seeded sense growing each day. He had seen it in their webbed-blind eyes, in their silent grim faces. He had seen their growing hate. So he bought the dog for protection. And with the dog by his side, Gunner walked self-confidently before them, knowing that his sight and the dog's strength would keep him from harm. And so, he had been able to continue to enjoy his fiendish little amusements, like tripping helpless unsuspecting inmates as they totter blindly by him.

INMATE #1: "Oooph!"

GUNNER: "Ha!"

Or removed something that they'd come to know was there and counted on.

INMATE #2: "The bannister! Where's the ba-YAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHH!"

GUNNER: "Heh, heh, heh!"

Or adding something new.

INMATE #3: "Ow!"

GUNNER: "Ha, ha, ha!"

Or being just mean.

GUNNER: "Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!"

Yes, Gunner amused himself with his charges' inability to see. He had been sadistic with his tortures and he had grown fat on his denials. And his charges had sat in their world of darkness and waited...listening.

WOMAN: "Gunner, please! It's the dog. He makes me nervous. I'm afraid of dogs!"

GUNNER: "Oh, I'm sorry, baby. Here, boy! Here!"

...listening for their opportunity.

GUNNER: "You stay out there until Gunner is through."

And tonight, their opportunity came.

INMATES: "Hungry, doggy? Nice, doggy! Here, doggy! Here's some meat!"

So they lured the dog down into the old, musty cellar of the home with some meat-scraps they had saved from their scant meals.

INMATE #4: "In here, boy! Come on!"

INMATE #5: Quickly! Lock him up!"

And then they waited. They waited for Gunner's friend of the evening to leave.

WOMAN: "Good night, Gunner. And thanks."

GUNNER: "Thank you, my dear."

They waited for Gunner to miss his dog.

GUNNER: "Brutus? Where are you? Brutus? Bru-?"

And then they struck! Blindly, unseeing! They surrounded their hated enemy.

GUNNER: "What is it? What do you want? Go back to your rooms! All of you!"

And dragged him to the cellar, too. To another waiting cubicle.

GUNNER: No, no! Please! Brutus, help me! Where are you?! BRUTUS!"

But Gunner's only answer was the soft whine of the dog in the adjoining cubicle.

GUNNER: "Brutus! They've got you too!"

Then they began to work. They dragged out old hammers and rusty nails and long-idle saws. And they went through the home and cut and ripped and chopped the lumber they needed. Gunner listened to the hammering echoing through the cellar. He listened to their giggles and chatter and he wondered.

GUNNER: "What are they up to? What are they making?"

And he listened as the night passed and dawn came and the dog in the cubicle next door grew hungry and paced and growled and scratched as it's stomach gnawed.

GUNNER: "Feed Brutus, you fools! He'll get wild if you don't! He'll be dangerous!"

INMATE #6: "We know, Mr. Grunwald."

The day passed and the night came again. Gunner's own stomach ached with hunger. And still they hammered and sawed and laughed and talked.

GUNNER: "What are you making? What are you doing to do?"

INMATE #6: "You'll see, Mr. Grunwald."

The dog in the next cubicle howled all that night, slobbering and snarling and scratching. Gunner shuddered. The dog was a beast now. A hunger-crazed beast. And the hammering went on.

GUNNER: "Food! Give me some food, please!"

INMATE #5: You call what you've been feeding us food, Mr. Grunwald?"

Dawn came again and the second day passed. Next door, the dog was fighting with itself, throwing itself against the cubicle sides and howling madly.

GUNNER: "Brutus will kill anyone who sets foot in there now!"

Gunner himself was half-crazed with hunger as the third night came. And then, towards midnight, the hammering stopped. The cellar was suddenly flooded with light. Even Brutus stopped snarling in anticipation.

GUNNER: "They're...they're opening my cubicle."

They stood before him. Dirty, sweated, tired from long hours of labor. The inmates, the blind unseeing carpenters. Gunner blinked out at them.

INMATE #2: "Come, Mr Grunwald. You are free to go!"

INMATE #7: "Follow us, Mr. Grunwald. We built this just for you. It leads to the cellar steps and freedom!"

Gunner stood up as they darted off. He could hear their footsteps fade as they rounded corners and ran down long corridors that turned and twisted and doubled back. Gunner stared.

GUNNER: "They...they built a maze! A puzzle! I have to figure it out."

And then Gunner saw the gleaming, glittering slivers of steel embedded in the maze walls.

GUNNER: "Razor blades! The walls are lined with razor blades! They want me to cut myself!"

INMATES: "Hurry, Mr. Grunwald! Hurry!"

Gunner laughed to himself as he started out of his cubicle.

GUNNER: "The fools! If I'm careful, if I take my time, I'll never have to touch the walls. Just walk slowly like this. Careful...careful..."

A sound behind Gunner froze his blood. A snarl and a squeak of a door opening.

GUNNER: "BRUTUS! HUNGER-CRAZED BRUTUS! THE FREED HIM TOO!"

Gunner began to run. He had to reach freedom before that starved dog caught him! He ran down the twisting maze corridors, the sound of the loping snarling dog behind him.

GUNNER: "Oh, lord! Oh, lord!"

He brushed against the razor blades, slashing his flesh. He stumbled and got up, ran on, frightened, wild. Down through the twisting, doubling-back maze corridors with the razor-lined walls and the slobbering hound close behind.

And then some idiot turned out the lights.