Here Comes a Candle, page 18
“Wish I could, Ray. But—well, I have other plans.”
“Okay, Joe. But look, I’m going to be there anyway; have to on account of the kid. And I probably won’t want to turn in until after twelve. So if whatever you’re doing gets itself over with by—oh, eleven or even half past, come on around.”
“Sure, Ray. But don’t look for me. I’ll probably be busy pretty late.”
“All right. If you’re not here by half past eleven I’ll not look for you. And if you do come, don’t bring a bottle. There’s stuff on hand. Come if you can, Joe.”
“Don’t look for me, Ray. I won’t be able to make it unless a wheel comes off. ’Bye.”
“So long.”
A wheel came off. There was an envelope pinned on Ellie’s door with his name on the front. The note inside it said:
Joe: I’m leaving town; I’ve quit my job with Uncle Mike. Please don’t try to find me. I’ve written you a letter explaining why and put in the mail so you’ll know tomorrow. But I guess maybe you know now. I guess we both know what would happen if I stayed in Milwaukee. If you don’t understand, the letter will explain. And tell you how sorry I am. Good-bye, Joe.
Ellie.
It made him feel hollow inside to know how right Ellie had been. She’d not only been smart enough to know what was going to happen but good enough to take what she must have known was the only safe and sensible way to avoid it.
Well, that was that.
It made him feel like a louse, but then why shouldn’t it? He’d been a louse. He’d had no business to keep on seeing Ellie, after the first date or two with her. After he’d seen that she was falling for him. After he’d learned what kind of a girl she was. Instead, he’d strung her along while he tried to make up his mind whether to drop her or have an affair with her. He had it coming all right.
He went to Ray Lorgan’s, after all.
He wished that he hadn’t when he found Ray slightly drunk already and bent on getting drunker. But Ray was almost pathetically glad that he had come and Joe figured he’d been lousy enough for one evening without walking out on Ray when Ray needed company. He stayed and tried to get a little tight himself, but the liquor didn’t seem to have any effect on him.
And he didn’t feel like talking, but that didn’t matter because Ray did enough talking for both of them. His tongue got thicker and his thoughts less coherent, but he talked until one o’clock—about every subject on earth and some quite a bit farther than that, every subject except one. Jeannie wasn’t mentioned once, by either of them.
But finally Ray’s voice ran down. He sat staring blankly, saying nothing.
Joe asked, “Hadn’t you better turn in, Ray?”
“Sure, guess so. Stay?”
“I don’t think I’d better. I—” He couldn’t think of any reason why he shouldn’t except that he didn’t want to; he didn’t want to sleep where Jeannie usually lay. But he couldn’t say that; of all things, he couldn’t say that.
“Wish you would, Joe. I—I drank pretty much. Might sleep too sound to hear Karl if he wakes up and cries. You’d hear him. You wouldn’t have to know what to do. Just shake me or slap me awake.”
“Well-”
“If you don’t, I won’t dare go to sleep. For fear I won’t wake up if Karl does. I’ll make coffee and try to sit up all night.”
Joe sighed. “Okay, Ray, you win.”
In the bedroom, by the light of the shaded lamp, Joe stalled, pretending one of his shoestrings was in a hard knot that he couldn’t open. If Ray went to sleep, as he looked as though he might do, the moment his head touched the pillow, then he wasn’t going to get in bed at all. He was tired enough himself that he could do all right in the overstuffed chair in the far corner. He managed to be only partly undressed by the time Ray got into bed. And he could tell by Ray’s breathing that Ray went to sleep instantly.
Joe tried to make himself comfortable in the chair. In the morning, if Ray woke first, he’d say that Ray had tossed around so much in his sleep that he’d decided to try the chair instead of the bed. Ray wouldn’t know whether he’d tossed or not.
Joe couldn’t get to sleep. He thought about Ellie and that hollow feeling came back. As though part of him was missing.
He tried to quit thinking. What was the use of thinking, now? It was all over, wasn’t it? She was gone and he didn’t even know where she’d gone. Back to Chicago, probably.
And a good thing. It had been Ellie, thinking about Ellie, that had messed him up. Here he was on the edge of the big money and he’d thought, almost seriously, about chucking it for a dame. Only he couldn’t have chucked it even if he’d wanted to. It had been too late to do that. And now it was too late to decide he wanted Ellie instead, and there wasn’t any choice any more. It was all simple now; all he had to do was go ahead with his plans, Mitch’s plans.
That’s what he wanted to do, wasn’t it?
It was all simple now. All he had to do was to quit thinking about Ellie. He’d never have Ellie now. He’d forget her in a day or two. When the letter from her came tomorrow he wouldn’t even read it. He knew what would be in it already. The note in the envelope pinned on her door had told him. He’d tear up the letter when it came.
He tried to forget Ellie by thinking about Francy. Someday he’d have Francy. Not right away, but someday. He tried to think about that, but Ellie kept getting in the way.
And the hollow feeling came back, worse than before.
The Video
SCREEN SOUND
1. Panel reading “Sydney Science Series, No. 8.”
MUSIC: A few bars of “Liebestraum,” full orchestra, from recording.
Fade to:
2. Close-up of program announcer, seen against background of complicated electrical panel containing many dials, switches and other apparatus.
ANNOUNCER: For number eight in our science scries, we bring you something truly unusual. Something that has never been attempted before on a television program. Ladies and gentlemen, we are going to telecast a dream. Our guest expert in charge of this program is Dr. Albert Orr, late of London and Cambridge, currently a practicing—
Glances left. I’m afraid I can’t pronounce that word, Doctor. What are you?
VOICE FROM OFF SCREEN: I am an electroencephalographist.
ANNOUNCER: Ah, yes. Currently a practicing electroencephalographist of Adelaide, South Australia. We have brought him here to Sydney especially to arrange this history-making electroencephalographistic broadcast. I shall let Dr. Orr explain to you how it works. Ladies and gentlemen, Dr. Orr.
Waves hand left and camera pans left to a close-up of Dr. Albert Orr, seen against background of another section of same complicated electrical panel. He bows slightly.
DR. ORR: Thank you. I will be as brief as possible so we can get to the demonstration itself. First, as you all know, the electroencephalograph in its original crude form, as first described by Berger in 1929, was merely a machine designed to picture in graphic form the tracings called electroencephalograms, popularly known as “brain-waves.” Originally it was necessary for the sleeping subject to wear a helmet. A more recent development has been radio-electroencephalography, which eliminates the need for the helmet; the machine can pick up and amplify the thought-waves of any brain to which it is attuned, even at a moderate distance, tuning out conflicting impulses from other brains in the same manner as a selective radio tunes out interference from unwanted stations. But radio-electroencephalography was merely an intermediate stage of the science. The next step, a great step forward, was—
Smiles deprecatingly.
—photoradioelectroencephalography, which enables us to see—or to project upon a screen, as a television screen—the actual pictures in the mind of the subject to which the machine is attuned. Recently we have taken what I believe is the final step. Through a method which I myself developed, we are able to share the actual feelings and sensations of a sleeping subject, actually to participate in his dream. This is called psychophotoradioelectroencephalography, and properly, I am called a psychophotoradioelectroencephalographist. But since that is a difficult word for the average layman readily to remember, I still call myself simply an electroencephalographist. I regret one thing; on this particular program we are unable to let our audience share in the feelings and sensations of our dreamer, except through my description of them. A special headband is required and, to date, only one of them exists.
Raises hand to show band.
I have it here; I shall wear it during this telecast and shall give you a running commentary of the feelings that accompany the pictures of the dream. And now while I make final adjustments and tunings, I shall turn you back to Mr. Worcester, your program manager, who will tell you the circumstances under which this dream is picked up and telecast. Thank you.
Cut to:
3. Medium shot of program announcer, seated at desk.
ANNOUNCER: This dream will come to you from a city in the midwest of the United States of America, a city which shall be nameless on this program. Here in Sydney, New South Wales, Australia, it is six P. M. It is, therefore, four o’clock in the morning in the American city, an excellent time to set our trap for shadows. We have chosen a point of origin almost halfway around the earth for two reasons. First, the time differential; second, to minimize to the vanishing point the possibility that any one of our audience might chance to know the dreamer and guess, from portions of the dream or characters in it, who the dreamer is. Thus we assure him the privacy that dreams deserve. The setup is simply this: The representative whom we sent to Mil—to the American city chosen at random has erected in some part of that city the very special aerial which picks up the brain waves, as Dr. Orr has called them. They are relayed here by special arrangement; the visual parts of whatever dream our representative tunes in on will appear before you on the screens of your television sets; Dr. Orr will wear the apparatus, the headband, which will enable him to share the feelings and sensations that accompany the dream, and will give you a running commentary. Arc you ready, Dr. Orr?
Cut to:
4. Long shot that takes in announcer seated at desk and Dr. Orr standing before microphone in front of panel of complicated dials and instruments. He wears the headband, from which a wire is plugged into panel.
DR. ORR: Yes, we are ready. I can see the screen from here; a camera is being adjusted in front of it and at the right moment I shall give the signal for the telecast to switch to that camera so you can see the dream; you will still hear my voice as you see it. We have been fortunate, for my colleague in America seems to be tuning in on what is indubitably the start of a beam. There are vague images roaming through the mind of the dreamer—and therefore roaming across the screen. They are becoming sharper, more focused. When they are sharp enough for identification, we shall switch to the other camera. The only sensation I share thus far is one of vague uneasiness. The dreamer is not happy; he is worried about something…. Getting sharper, but still not identifiable as pictures. Incidentally, Mr. Worcester a moment ago referred to our arrangement as a trap for shadows; I hope we shall not trap any truly unpleasant ones…. Ah, I think we’re ready now.
Turns to Announcer. Will you please tell them to cut in the other camera? Thank you.
Announcer nods. Cut to:
5. Vague, poorly defined scene, not immediately identifiable, but clarifying slowly into the windshield of a car, seen from inside car. Car is moving along dark streets.
DR. ORR: The sensation of uneasiness, even fear, is increasing. I’m inside a moving car. I’m not driving. Someone else is. I seem small. Crowded in between two big men. Going somewhere to do something horrible. I don’t like this at all. Wish we’d tuned in to some other brain wave length….
Car stopping in front of a theater. Three men coming out. One is clearly seen. Others shadowy.
I’m a child. And I feel I’m going to do something horrible. I’ve got a gun in my hand; it seems to be named Maggie. I don’t get that, why a gun should be named Maggie. I’m pulling the trigger, shooting through the windshield.
Red flashes; windshield shattering. The three men are falling like tenpins.
Now things are blurring; I feel horror-stricken at what I’ve done. God, I’ve killed my own father!
Blood is running in the gutter, gallons of it.
Because—it’s got something to do with an object—no, two objects—which are so horrible that I can’t think of them; there’s a psychic block and I can’t remember right now what they are or why I’m afraid of them, but I’m worse afraid of them than I am of death. In fact, I’m not afraid of death at all….
Screen blurs momentarily, then one of the three men gets up and walks toward the car; he holds something in his hand, something that is invisible but gives off light.
What you see now is strange; the man—he’s my father—is holding something in his hand—to light you to bed—
He holds it up and is peering through the shattered windshield. His face is the face of a corpse.
I get that phrase, but I can’t see or recognize the object. It gives light, though. He’s dead, but he’s looking at me. I’m horribly ashamed of what I’ve done, shooting him. I love him. But he’s got something in his other hand, too, that I’m horribly afraid of also. It’s something to chop off—Thought blurring.
The windshield becomes a closed door.
Ah, this is better. I thought we were heading for a nightmare. But I have a feeling of happiness now. I’m going to open that door to something I—
Door opens showing a pretty girl in a cotton dress standing inside waiting; there is love in her eyes and her arms open wide for an embrace.
Yes, her name is Ellie, and she’s my wife; I’m coming to her. She’s waiting for me to kiss her, but I can’t. There’s something….
Two men appear standing behind the girl. Each has a gun in his hand.
That’s it; that’s why I can’t put my arms around her. I daren’t, no matter how much I want to … Those men—Mitch, Dixie.
Policemen appear, two at each of two windows, with tommy-guns. They start firing into room. Neither of men even notices them although bullets thud into their bodies.
I’m shooting at the policemen. I’m horribly afraid Ellie will be killed. I’ve got to get them before they can get her….
The girl screams and suddenly changes to a different girl, a very voluptuous blonde, naked; the area of her body covered by a bathing suit, were she wearing one, is creamy white; the rest of her lightly golden tanned.
Francy; this is Francy. Oh, God, she’ll get hurt, too. And I want her. I start toward her, but now Mitch is starting to shoot at me, too. I can’t live long with five of them shooting at me, but none of the bullets seem to be hitting. God, how beautiful Francy is. Francy…
Sudden switch to inside car again, through windshield.
Ah, this is better; this is something I want; something I’m going to have. And Francy is beside me. This is a different car, and this time I’m driving.
Superimposed over the view through the windshield is a view of the exterior of the car; it is a brand-new convertible, robin’s-egg blue in color, very long, low shiny. Superimposed view fades.
It’s my car. I think the girl beside me is Francy, but it could be some other girl equally beautiful. And she’s mine, too.
Smooth lighted road unwinding into windshield.
We’re driving out into the country to a gambling house, one that I own. I’m rich, and I’m still young. But something is wrong; something is going to happen. I’m getting afraid again….
Girl standing in road, same girl as seen before in cotton dress, staring toward car, crying.
Ellie! We’ll run her down. I’m swinging the wheel trying to avoid hitting her! Can I—
Car swerves; big tree coming toward car; car crashes into tree. Blackness with red flashes. Suddenly white, resolving into white walls and ceiling, as of hospital room.
I’m in a bed; I can’t move a muscle: it’s as though I’m encased in a solid cast from head to foot. Or maybe paralyzed.
White door of room opening. Door closes.
Who’s coming? … No one
We see window and through window scene of a city; hospital is on a high hill, as entire city Can be seen.
I’m staring out the window now. Did I turn the car in time?
Suddenly the gigantic mushroom of an atomic explosion lifts itself.
There it goes; that’s the end of everything. We’ll all be killed now, or fight for bones with dogs.
Smoke fades. City is gone.
I feel a wave of utter despair that everything is gone now. And I lie here helpless; can’t move a muscle. Ellie killed. What was it all for?
Room is changing, becoming a bedroom, same bedroom we heard described in radio sequence and saw in movie sequence; the bedroom in which Joe slept as a child in Chicago.
I’m becoming smaller; I feel that I’m becoming a child again, but I’m still lying in a bed and I still can’t move. I’ve a feeling that something horrible is coming, the ultimate horror. Oh, if I could only move, only run. I’m helpless, waiting for it. Oh, Christ, here it comes!
Room grows dimmer, almost completely dark. Then what little light there is seems to be running toward one side of the room and coalescing there in a tiny flame, a candle flame, and a dim white candle shape takes form under the flame. It begins to move slowly closer, gaining in size as it comes.
Oh, Good God, now I know what they are! The two things too terrible to think of. I’m thinking of the rhyme; it’s running through my head, louder, louder. Here comes a candle to light you to bed, and here comes a chopper to chop off your head. Here comes a candle to light you to bed, and here comes a chopper to chop off your head. Here comes A CANDLE TO LIGHT YOU TO BED, AND HERE COMES A CHOPPER TO CHOP OFF YOUR HEAD.
In a far corner of the room the shadows gather; they too are coalescing. The light has become the candle; the darkness is becoming an inhuman figure, holding in its hand the horror to end all horrors—the ax.
