Joseph Quigley was not an ordinary man. People seldom realized it upon meeting him. Alma Quigley, his spouse of 17 years, still wasn't aware of it. His quiet manner, soft speech, and submissive attitude made him seem placid and unobtrusive.

But what plans fermented in his weak brain!

He had managed to secure a room in their apartment for himself and his "experiments."

Alama had yelled long and loud about this. (She had been planning to use it for a sewing corner.) The Indistinguishable glint in Quigley's eye, however, sent her retreating to the kitchen, mumbling and shaking here white curls.

Some men read the newspaper or watch football games, but Joseph simply went to his room, locked the door, and stayed there till bedtime.

Many a day had gone by since Alma had last tried to get in there. It was a tight as a tomb! She had to content herself with putting her ear to the door and questioning Joseph.

One day when Joseph was in a particular rush to get to the bank he forgot to lock the room up. This was Alma's chance! She summoned her courage, pushed the heavy door open, and stepped in. She blinked a few times. All was dark. All was silent. She switched on the light and gasped. It was empty! She heard a scuffle, whirled, and faced Joseph. He smiled an odd, insane smile and softly shut the bolt.

Alma realized now why she had never heard a sound from in here. Somehow he had lined the room with iron. His intent dawned on her terrifyingly. All the years of belittling and nagging had driven him to this. She screamed till she was hoarse, clawed at the inside lock till her fingers bled, but to no avail...

Many years later a timid little bank clerk was seen carrying a shopping bag down to the basement incinerator. "Whatcha got there Quigley?" drawled the landlord. Joseph Quigley squinted softly at the landlord gave a small ghost of a smile and said, "Bones. Just Bones."

Tammie Bee