Once again the work night drew to a close. As I was blowing out the last of the lights for the night, a scratching came at the window. I froze, glancing toward the door without turning my head. The latch was in place. Now the scratching turned to a tap, light at first, but insistent. Slowly,reluctantly, I turned toward the sound to see a white mask staring back at me. As if Venus were rising from the deep, a bloody knife rose into view.<br/>Whirling in a cloud of skirts, I grabbed the poker from the fireplace.  The man outside didn't flinch, but wiped the blood from the knife onto his finger with which he wrote WHORE on the glass. Then he pointed at the knife and pointed at me, nodding.<br/><br/>I screamed,<br/>"Gustav!"