She could, at this stage of things, recognize signals like that (*), as the epileptic is said to -- anodor, a color, pure piercing grace note announcing his seizure. Afterward it is only this signal, really dross, this secular announcement, and never what is revealed during the attack, that he remembers.

He walks cautiously to the basement. He is afraid, and a spider falls from the light. He steps back, into the air of the house. Suddenly he balks, a sudden lurch like a horse, deep inside of him. The air of the basement is bad. Something from a long time ago. He shuts the door, and steps away, but the light is still on. The phone is ringing, the television is on, the war is over. He must turn off the light. The spider is still there. The darkness will be there. The light switch is at the bottom of the stairs, in the dark, under the cobwebs. The crucifix is on the table but it will not help him; only the eye of God can help. He opens the door, and steps down each step carefully, swinging to see spiders or ghosts. There is nothing. The switch is old and he puts his finger on it. He feels the fear in his chest swell like a chill, like the sound of night when someone dies. He puts a wall of that is all a lie against it, and turns off the light. Total blackness. When he gets to the top of the stairs he feels a pain at the base of his spine, and swats it in panic. Parts of spider come with his hand, and he feels the venom, a warmth, a pure philly, clear and white, clear and stonrg, come up his spine, buzzing his skull with its power and releasing him from the grasp of his limbs, of his lungs, his heart.