The Missing Girl (Penguin Modern) by Shirley Jackson

Author:Shirley Jackson [Jackson, Shirley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780241339299
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2018-02-22T00:00:00+00:00

Nightmare

It was one of those spring mornings in March; the sky between the buildings was bright and blue and the city air, warmed by motors and a million breaths, had a freshness and a sense of excitement that can come only from a breeze starting somewhere in the country, far away, and moving into the city while everyone is asleep, to freshen the air for morning. Miss Toni Morgan, going from the subway to her office, settled a soft, sweet smile on her face and let it stay there while her sharp tapping feet went swiftly along the pavement. She was wearing a royal blue hat with a waggish red feather in it, and her suit was blue and her topcoat a red and gray tweed, and her shoes were thin and pointed and ungraceful when she walked; they were dark blue, with the faintest line of red edging the sole. She carried a blue pocketbook with her initials in gold, and she wore dark blue gloves with red buttons. Her topcoat swirled around her as she turned in through the door of the tall office building, and when she entered her office sixty floors above, she took her topcoat off lovingly and hung it precisely in the closet, with her hat and gloves on the shelf above; she was precise about everything, so that it was exactly nine o’clock when she sat down at her desk, consulted her memorandum pad, tore the top leaf from the calendar, straightened her shoulders, and adjusted her smile. When her employer arrived at nine-thirty, he found her typing busily, so that she was able to look up and smile and say, ‘Good morning, Mr Lang,’ and smile again.

At nine-forty Miss Fishman, the young lady who worked at the desk corresponding to Miss Morgan’s, on the other side of the room, phoned in to say that she was ill and would not be in to work that day. At twelve-thirty Miss Morgan went out to lunch alone, because Miss Fishman was not there. She had a bacon, tomato, and lettuce sandwich and a cup of tea in the drugstore downstairs, and came back early because there was a letter she wanted to finish. During her lunch hour she noticed nothing unusual, nothing that had not happened every day of the six years she had been working for Mr Lang.

At two-twenty by the office clock Mr Lang came back from lunch; he said, ‘Any calls, Miss Morgan?’ as he came through the door, and Miss Morgan smiled at him and said, ‘No calls, Mr Lang.’ Mr Lang went into his private office, and there were no calls until three-oh-five, when Mr Lang came out of his office carrying a large package wrapped in brown paper and tied with an ordinary strong cord.

‘Miss Fishman here?’ he asked.

‘She’s ill,’ Miss Morgan said, smiling. ‘She won’t be in today.’

‘Damn,’ Mr Lang said. He looked around hopefully. Miss Fishman’s desk was neatly empty; everything was in perfect order and Miss Morgan sat smiling at him.

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