so he walked down the four steps to the cellar shelf , his heart a warm , beating hammer in his throat , the hair on the nape of his neck standing at attention , his eyes hot , his hands cold , sure that at any moment the cellar door would swing shut on its own , closing off the white light falling through the kitchen windows , and then he would hear it , something worse than all the commies and murderers in the world , worse than the japs , worse than attila the hun , worse than the somethings in a hundred horror movies .