The mark of a true professional is consistency and few sf short story writershave been as consistent for as long a time as Robert F. Young who is alwayspolished and entertaining and surprising as in this new chiller . . . Down The Ladder by ROBERT F. YOUNG Summer was when Jeff used to go down to the House the most. quotWellquot hed say to his mother quotIguess Ill go down to the Housequot and shed know right away what house he meant because he went thereso many times. His mother never had much use for the House and she seldom went there herself. Even in those daysit was old and run-down. People used to say it hadnt been painted since the Civil War but of coursethey were exaggerating. It was badly in need of paint though. The clapboards were almost bare some ofthem were warped and the lower ones were starting to mildew. In the beginning the House had consisted of a squarish two-story structure with a gable roof. Then aone-story wing with a porch running its entire length had been added. Over the years the secondarydoor that provided direct access to the wing superseded the front door an eventuality that promoted theside yard to the rank of front yard. Completely carpeted with bluebells and shaded by a profusion of lilactrees it was the most unusual front yard on Main Street. There were several chairs on the porch one of them a comfortable rocking chair. It was in this chairthat Jeffs uncle used to sit and rock. He liked to sit and rock Uncle George did. People used to say thatthat was all he ever did. More exaggeration. Nevertheless Jeff seldom went down to the House insummer that he didnt find his uncle sitting on the porch rocking. And sending at evenly spaced intervalsa thin brown stream of tobacco juice arcing over the porch railing. Inside the House was spotless and as neat as a pin — if you discounted the boxes of obsoletehousehold items piled in the corners. Jeffs grandmother when she was alive had never thrown anythingaway. The front hallway the door to which was kept closed winter and summer and which like theupstairs was off-limits to visitors had so many old newspapers piled