>>108236849At first, Bill was disgusted by the thought that had quickly flitted through his meager brain. He easily pushed it out to make way for the barren loneliness, self-loathing, obsession with Lenore, and general emptiness that were his mind's usual stock and trade. Nevertheless, the thought returned, rarely at first, but soon with increasing frequency. It was hard for him to remember time anymore, beyond whether it was morning, noon, or night. Now what he knew was a sick and disgusting thought crawled through and overpowered his feeble psyche for all three.
Quietly, remembering his basic training for the Army, Bill stalked through the Hills' lawn and slid their back patio door open. He lifted his arms above his head and turned sideways, and as he entered, the peak of his large stomach grazed the edge of the door. His fat buttocks brushed against the doorframe. As he walked in the dark through the kitchen and living room that he had insinuated himself into so many times before, but now took as his own, he briefly, in his low way, realized that his stink was noticeable in this clean home. He had not smelled himself in his own, dirty hovel. He did not think it would wake the Hills and get in the way of what he planned to do, at least not this early on. So he squatted to untie his is filthy boots, which covered fungus-infested feet, and stepped out of them. As he rubbed the top layer of the foot infection into the Hills' long, clean, shag carpet, he smiled. It felt good, but he was also thinking of the time that a charlatan had convinced Hank that the house had a mold problem. It was not a cruel smile, but a nostalgic one. Old Hank had been so worried about a little mold. Bill shook his head slightly. He lumbered, breathing heavily but very quietly, toward Bobby's room.
