The COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works, page 5
TO WHAT extent the great American public followed the academic discussions of Indian scientists will never be known, but Jevsky's cry from the heart met with immediate response. The Daily Searchlight printed a round twenty confirmatory letters from agricultural gentlemen who were not afraid to call a spade a ruddy shovel. The editorial told readers that these letters were merely a selection from two thousand received that week. Other papers followed suit.
The Grand Dragon, arrived suddenly in Birmingham, sent round the message of the Fiery Cross and mobilized overnight the Alabama Legion of the Ku Klux Klan. It was the first time they had got together in fifteen years, and they made up for lost moments. They swept through the streets of Birmingham like the hordes of Jenghiz Khan, picked up N.B.C.'s "Sweet Singer of the South" and sprinkled it around the outskirts of the city. With a thunder of hoofs they crashed into Tuskegee, played with dynamite and bounced its little relay station against the glowering clouds.
Next day the Ku Klux Klan put over a special tri-State demonstration. Under the personal leadership of the Supreme Kleagle, an army of forty thousand swept like bats out of hell through Florida, Georgia and South Carolina, demolishing every radio station, professional or amateur. Hooded figures in billowing gowns, fronted with the sign of the knobbed X, outpaced sweating detachments of United States cavalry, landed a shattering side kick on the nearest transmitter and vanished like wraiths into the safe sanctuary of agricultural areas.
Newspapers noted a sudden resuscitation of the ancient Molly Maguires in the mid-West. Perspiring farmers, masked, wearing Irish bonnets obtained from heaven alone knows where, passed their jackknives through copper wires, used tubes as targets for their shotguns. Official Washington ran round in circles when eight special investigators got back their pants by parcel post, collect.
As antiradio sentiment gathered strength, every nation ran true to form in the manner of its reaction. Sturdy independents of Ireland and Spain emulated America, took the law into their own hands and pushed over transmitters with enthusiasm permitting no argument.
The British Government ignored a petition signed by seven million suffering taxpayers, who "humbly prayed" that it "might please" the government to curtail the activity of radio. Neither did the British Government worry itself unduly when a deputation from the Federation of Radio Receiver Manufacturers said that the radio industry would cease to exist within three months unless something was done to induce people to buy their products.
Bankers remembered they had very large sums invested in the radio, agriculture and foodstuffs industries. It was foolish to permit one interest to strangle another. A deputation of financial bigwigs waited upon the stubborn ones at Westminster, and pointed out that though Britannia may rule a few odd waves here and there, "Old Man Gold" bosses everything else. Responsible politicians saw the point without difficulty; they were not going to be bulldozed by a moronic electorate, but were quite prepared to accede to the just demands of sound and sane finance.
The Voice Of Albion closed down forthwith; sixteen lesser stations closed with it; the remaining eight had their power reduced by half. Twelve thousand amateurs came under a ban, prohibiting their transmitters using power in excess of one hundred watts.
OCTOBER arrived, and with it news from the United States that plant life was reviving and winter citrous crops showing signs of coming up to normal. That settled the few doubters still left. By governmental decree Soviet Russia reduced its radio power to one tenth that of yore. A grand total of fifty-two transmitters in Japan and Germany went up like sparked gasometers, when drilled and uniformed antiradio organizations in both countries struck simultaneously. Every nation in the world had taken, or was about to take, action to wipe out the airy menace—some voluntarily, some under the threat of violence.
Spring of '60 saw a world born anew. Stunted plants again commenced to climb skyward, prematurely aged trees took on fresh youth. Every religion and denomination thereof knew that its own prayers alone had been answered, and offered more prayers of gratitude. Decimated flocks of birds settled and built nests with reasonable hope of rearing the families to come. City sparrows felt the influence of prosperity just around the corner, perched in the roof gutters, fluffed their tummies and nagged at lean cats below.
The year crawled along. All creatures waxed fat upon the earth and the fullness thereof. Blakoe and the editor of the Daily Searchlight were soon forgotten by a stomach-filled world. The Hop Sing Tong opened many new branches outside the Land of the Lotus; the halfhearted remnants of the Ku Klux Klan turned their attention to plowing.
News of the day revealed a world buried in its characteristically peaceful slumbers. Fourteen gangsters in the United States were plugged in one week; a South American republic had its regular Saturday afternoon revolution; the dictator of another celebrated his fatherhood for the seventy-second time. Britain blessed and launched an unsinkable battleship; Germany launched, without blessing, a submarine powerful enough to sink it. Another French Cabinet was formed to save the franc; Japan demanded an abject apology from China, or what was left of it; a Soviet scientist dumfounded biological circles by successfully crossing a dog with a goat.
An obscure author tore up his thirtieth rejection, started afresh and wrote a story telling how Martians resembling pink spiders wiped out the world with a giant transmitter directing its beam through interplanetary space. The story was kicked out—without regrets. The world had had quite enough of radio.
The End
The Prr-r-eet
Tales of Wonder #1 – 1937
Chapter One
WHAT THE TRAVELLER SAW
BEWHISKERED Dan Steadmer, the oldest inhabitant, was leaning against the counter, a glass of beer clenched in his gnarled fingers. His rheumy eyes rested upon a couple of dozen matches left over from Jimmy Rogers' impromptu demonstration of ingenious tricks. He continued to argue stubbornly.
"I sez there's twenty-three," said Old Dan.
Jimmy Rogers counted them for the third time, and said, "Twenty-four! You need your spectacles, Dan!"
"Stand drinks all round if I'm wrong?"
"Certainly," said Rogers, without hesitation.
"Okay, I'm wrong—mine's a bitter!" said Dan, chuckling gleefully.
A burst of laughter resounded through the room, drowning the noise of an opening door. A draught of cool air flowed over the old oak seats, sending wreaths of tobacco smoke swirling into disintegration. The laughter ceased abruptly when, at its loudest, somebody said, "Gawd!"
I turned, followed the direction of the others' stares. There in the doorway swayed a figure, at the top of which was a bloody mask in which a pair of eyes glowed feverishly.
The object tottered forward, the group at the bar drew back. A glass of beer fell with a liquid swish, followed by a harsh splintering sound. Nobody took any notice; eyes remained fixed on the doorway. A burly labourer standing next to me muttered under his breath, a limp cigarette hanging from his lips.
"It's all right," said the object, weakly. "Had an accident ... motor accident ... nasty cut on the forehead. Mile up the road it was ... this is the nearest place ... wan' a wash 'n' drink ... feel rotten!"
He collapsed as he uttered the last word. Willing hands lifted his limp form, carried him to the parlour, and laid him on a sofa. Mrs. Ankers, the landlady, bustled around collecting bandages, lint, iodine and hot water. The crimson face was bathed, revealing the clean-shaven features of a man about thirty-five years of age. On his brow he had a deep gash, two inches long, just below the hair level.
Brandy trickled between his teeth and brought him upright spluttering. He sat patiently while Mrs. Ankers deftly rolled a bandage round his head and pinned it at the back. He accepted a cup of tea in preference to spirits, rested on the sofa and stirred vigorously while he told us his story.
"I'm a commercial," he said. "Name's Lawson. I left Hereford about eight, making for Clinton, where I intended to stay the night. About a mile on the Hereford side of here something went wrong. I was doing forty-five, mounted the grass verge and went smack into a big tree. Steering-gear trouble, perhaps.
"The crash threw me upward and forward. I hit the mirror, smashing it completely, and received this wound from the mirror-bracket. The car is an absolute wreck; when you see it you'll wonder how I escaped alive. The whole engine has been pushed back, the radiator is a foot from the windscreen and the near-side front wheel is on the other side of the hedge. I'll have to find a garage and get the mess towed in. Is there a garage near here?"
"There's none in this village," I told him. "The nearest is at Ross-on-Wye, seven miles away."
"I'll have to phone them." He looked at his watch. "Five to ten, h'm! What a fix to be in! No use moving the car at this time of night; it's off the road and should be safe until morning. I'll have to get my bags and put up somewhere."
He transferred his gaze to Mrs. Ankers. "May I have a room, or can you recommend any place where I can stay overnight?"
"If it suits you," I interjected, "you can stop the night with me. My house lies a mile and a quarter along the Hereford road, so it must be quite near to the scene of your accident."
"I didn't see it," he remarked. "This was the first place I came to."
"Probably that is because you passed my house before you crashed. If you care to stay with me you are quite welcome, and we could pick up your bags on the way home."
"It is very kind of you," he said, accepting the offer.
WAS IT A GHOST?
TWENTY minutes later we left the Wheatsheaf and trudged along the road, talking. A full moon shone brightly overhead revealing a landscape moulded in gleams and shadows. Owls hooted in the gloom of wooded areas, bats silently banked and dived through the cool, still air of night.
Lawson was not loquacious. He paced along buried in his thoughts, a cigarette glowing redly before his nose. Questions from me brought forth the information that he travelled in shoes, was not married, considered travelling a dog's life, and was interested in astronomy.
He grew silent and displayed increasing signs of nervousness as we came nearer and nearer to the scene of his accident. Suddenly he stopped, laid a hand on my arm.
"Do you believe in ghosts?" he asked, earnestly.
"Of course—I get my living out of them."
"You get your living ...! What d'you mean?"
"I'm a cinema operator," I told him.
"Oh, I see!" He paused for a moment, then continued: "I'm not referring to shades upon celluloid, but to real ghosts."
"How can I believe in something that doesn't exist?" I demanded.
"Well, I've been sceptical about such matters, but now ..."
"Now what?"
He lit a fresh cigarette from the stump of his last, sucked in a lungful of smoke, and stared up the road with obvious apprehension.
"Listen! I must tell you the truth before we reach the car. That accident was not caused by a mechanical defect. Here's what happened. I was driving along a straight piece of road running through a wood, and at the end of it I came to a hairpin bend with a large pond on the left-hand side."
"I know it," I put in. "It's only a couple of hundred yards this side of my house."
"Is it? Anyway, I took the bend and noticed a curious green light, or glow moving steadily up and down in the middle of the road between twenty and thirty yards ahead. As the car straightened up the headlamps planted themselves squarely on a ghost, and ..."
"A ghost!" I echoed, incredulously.
"That's what I'm calling it for lack of a better name. It was standing in the path of the car waving a green light with its right hand. The lamps gave me a momentary glimpse of a figure so fantastic that, seeing it almost under my bonnet, I whirled the steering-wheel, skidded off the road on to the verge and went into a tree—wallop!"
"And then?" I encouraged him.
"Then I got this sock on the forehead when I hit the mirror. The blow stupefied me for a short time; then I crawled out of the car and staggered along the verge, my feet hushed by the thick carpet of grass, my face smothered with blood.
"I had got a good distance from the car when I heard a metallic sound as if somebody, some thing, was meddling with it. The sound reminded me of what I had seen. I forgot my wound, my bags, everything. I ran like hell!"
"What was the ghost like?" I asked.
"All I got was one second's glimpse of a figure much bigger than any man, with a face like a bad dream, a long, skinny body and legs that weren't quite legs, somehow. Another thing I remember is that as I rushed along the road I heard another noise from the direction of the car. It was a loud chirruping sound like that of a bird, but stronger, more penetrating and different in some inexplicable way."
"If you had told that tale at the Wheatsheaf they'd have thought you mad or drunk."
"Quite! That's exactly why I didn't tell it," Lawson retorted.
"Let's get going," I suggested. "Ghost or no ghost, we will never get home while we stand and talk about it."
"Does there happen to be a fancy-dress ball in the neighbourhood?" asked Lawson as we tramped to the edge of the wood and the road became veiled in darkness. :
"No! This district is too truly rural for the making of organised whoopee. I don't think you'll find that a practical joker is to blame. There must be a perfectly natural explanation, and it's up to us to find it. All this talk of ghosts, banshees, and the like is just so much bunkum, and I for one ..."
"Hush!" he exclaimed, stopping dead and pulling me up with him.
He peered into the gloom ahead. For a dozen heart-beats we stood in silence undisturbed except by the rustling of leaves in the trees. Then out of the blackness came a noise affecting us like a physical shock.
A door slammed!
Chapter Two
THE CREATURE IN THE LIGHT
HEARING this sound had the strange effect of making us reverse our former attitudes. I, who had been scornful of supernatural happenings, became a prey to doubt. Lawson lost the vestiges of his temporary faith and jumped forward shouting, "Come on! Some tramp's after my samples."
We broke into a run, rounded a slight bend and saw a vagrant moonbeam creating a steely glitter where it struck the plating of the crumpled radiator. The outline of the wrecked automobile was faintly discernible as a patch of deeper black in the encompassing darkness.
Something moved behind the car, a greenish glow bloomed six-feet high in the air and cast an unearthly pallor ever our startled faces. Lawson faltered m his stride, hesitated and stopped.
I stopped beside him. Like rabbits hypnotised by a snake, we stared fascinated at the phenomenon before us. The light seemed to hang without wavering for an interminable time ere the spell was broken. Then a piping voice said, "Sweet-sweet! Tee-e-e-rip!"
The sound resembled the fluting of a blackbird, yet there was an alien quality about it. In some manner it reassured us; we felt fear fall away from us like a cloak. The green light trembled in mid-air, and the voice spoke again.
"Sweet-sweet! Tee-e-e-rip!"
I fumbled in my overcoat pocket and lugged out a powerful electric torch which I usually carried to light my way through the wood. I aimed it at the green glow, which did not move. Then I pressed the button and threw a circle of brilliant light that framed a picture so unexpected that I had to make a deliberate mental effort to retain my grip on the torch. At my side, Lawson gasped.
Standing in the centre of the illumination was a creature about eight feet tall. Its skin was grey, reptilian, like the hide of a chameleon; its eyes, too, were chameleonic. They were large, horny, and swivelled independently in a way that gave us the creeps. Even as we surveyed it, its right eye looked fixedly along the beam while its left moved round to the car and back again to the torch.
A beak-like protuberance jutted aggressively from the middle of its face, throwing a shadow over a small mouth, perfectly rounded as if pursed. A thin neck connected its head to a long, lean trunk encased in a garment resembling the leather jerkin favoured by Cromwell's Ironsides.
Long, skinny arms hung from its shoulders to within two feet of the ground, where they ended in bunches of eight flexible fingers. Its trunk divided into a pair of legs as far as joints which I regarded as its knees, and at the knee each leg split into eight members that curved outwards to the ground, where they finished as domed pads.
Looking at its pedal extremities, I found difficulty in comprehending its mode of locomotion. The problem was solved for me. The Creature sank slightly, its bottom members arched out, and it hopped a yard nearer to us with all the springiness of a kangaroo.
"Chee-u-er, whit!" it exclaimed, offering us the green light.
AN ATTEMPT AT TELEPATHY
WITH GREAT daring Lawson stepped forward and took the object. He held it in the light of my torch, turning it over and over.
It was a lamp, about the size of an ordinary bicycle lamp, made of metal highly polished or plated. Behind the glass lens lay a phosphorescent substance, fluid in appearance, which radiated a steady greenish glow. The light was permanent and could not be switched off, but was exposed or obscured by an iris diaphragm device operated by a lever.
Lawson pressed a palm against the fiery lens.
"The scientist's dream," he said, "Cold light! Feel it!"
"Chu-whee-e-chu!" the Creature fluted.
"Now where did he get this from?" demanded Lawson, ignoring the interruption.
