A Large Anthology of Science Fiction

by Jerry

  Douglass felt a nauseating sensation surging through him as he peered into those dread orbs. They reminded him of a picture of Satan he had once seen. The eyes had been wide and menacing. He felt the roots of his hair tangle. He turned away with a desire to quit the place forever. When he confronted Allanna he recalled quickly that he had a hunch, a persistent premonition that something was going to happen. Seeing her again caused him to forget instantly his desire to leave. Her sunny smile again captivated him.

  She held his coat and hat in her hands. “You will not need the gown any more, Mr. Douglass,” she said. Her voice was soft and cheery. He had forgotten about the white linen gown he wore and quickly shed it. She helped him with his coat and together they went out of the ghostly laboratory, leaving Dr. Pontius alone with his skeletons and his subjects, life and death and evil shadows hovering about him.

  “Is your uncle going to work all night, Miss Allanna?” the reporter inquired as they entered a door leading off from the hallway and began mounting a pair of winding stairs that creaked under their weight. The sounds made the reporter shiver, for they sounded mysterious, spectral.

  “I do not believe so,” she said promptly. “But he has much work to do. You see, he plans to preserve the body of Joe Agar and intends to place it in the preservatives tonight.”

  “Going to pickle him?” the reporter gasped.

  The clear ring of her corresponding laugh made him turn to look at her. She flashed him a serious glance. Could nothing ruffle this girl’s cool indifference to the stark realities of the place? He wandered if anything could suspend or break her callousness even temporarily.

  “That’s it precisely,” she commented softly. “The delicate texture of artificial flesh makes preservation necessary at once. Now that Joe Agar is dead, Uncle Cliff wants the preserved body to go to Tyburn College.”

  THE house of Dr. Pontius, the reporter soon discovered, was almost as weird and spectral as his laboratory. Indirect illumination made it a place of lurking shadows that seemed to blend perfectly with the mystery of the man himself. In the living room to which Allanna guided him were many preserved specimens of life, arranged in glass containers on shelves and pedestals. The entire room shrieked silence and dark mystery. Allanna was the only bright object in the place and Douglass was glad to rest his tired eyes upon her sunny face and supple form.

  She invited him to the divan and for the first time since his arrival he regained some of his composure.

  “Did I hear you say you were busy every evening, Miss Allanna?” he inquired strategically to pave a way for future meetings. She appraised him cooly.

  “Oh, no,” she replied, suppressing a yawn. “I have several nights open.”

  “That’s excellent!” he applauded happily. “How about the others?”

  “Well,” she said mischievously, “you wouldn’t expect a girl to be without at least one boy friend, would you?”

  The reporter felt a vague feeling of jealousy surge through him. His lips tightened strangely again, but in jealous embarrassment.

  “Not a beautiful girl like you,” he said, slightly confused. “But I was hoping that I might see you more than several nights a week.”

  Allanna shrugged and was about to reply when Dr. Pontius came suddenly into the room. He was smiling oddly.

  “You are indeed a fast-working young man, Douglass,” he said. “I wish you luck!” He turned to his niece. “Hadn’t you better retire for your beauty sleep, Allie?”

  Allanna yawned and stood up. “I believe I shall, Uncle Mark,” she responded. “If Mr. Douglass will excuse me. . . .”

  “Of course,” said the reporter, his face stinging. “Good night!”

  Dr. Pontius cut him short. “Come along, young man,” he ordered. “I’ll take you to your room. The butler will call you for breakfast.”

  Side by side they followed Allanna to the second floor. The house was as silent as a tomb. Allanna flashed them a warm smile as she turned into a room from the hall above. Douglass’ blood raced at it, for it had told him much.

  As he entered his room directly across the hall from the. one taken by Allanna, Douglass felt a strange feeling come over him. Just why, he did not understand, but he seemed to sense the presence of death. Something akin to a cold current shot through his veins as he picked up a pair of silken guest pajamas. He managed to control himself as he spread them out and speculated on the size. After undressing he climbed into bed and counted sheep until he fell into a troubled, restless slumber.

  During the following hour, his subconscious mind ran the entire gamut of sensations. Wild dreams and nightmares made him toss and roll. His lips became feverish. From them escaped weird sounds that in themselves even went to further terrorize him. They appeared to him to come from the curling lips of the synthetic men. The body of Joe Agar seemed to hover over him like a dismal ghost. The wide, Satanic orbs of the living Jack stared at him, burning like twin fires and searing his soul.

  Then something happened that brought Douglass wide awake. What was it? Was his imagination running wild or had his ears detected the faint, stealthy footsteps of a bare-footed prowler? Sitting rigid in bed, he waited for the sounds to reach his ears again. The room was pitch dark. In front of his eyes danced gray, ominous shapes, the fancies of his strained vision. Suddenly he heard what he thought sounded like a dull thump, as though a body had collided with a wall or the floor. Then the silence became ominous.

  Trembling from head to foot and chilled to the marrow with a cold, clammy feeling, he softly got out of bed and glided to the door. A skylight over the hall bathed it in a pale, phosphorescent glow from a high moon. At a glance he saw that Dr. Pontius’ door was open. His room was beside Allanna’s and the scientist had closed his door on entering. Douglass had seen that, but why was it open now? Was Dr. Pontius prowling around the house? He wondered if the scientist had made the unnatural sounds.

  AS he watched the open door, Douglass thought he saw a green ghastly face appear in it for a moment. His blood ran cold and his knees banged together. Not a sound reached his ears, altho he listened with his hands cupped behind them.

  “Clang! Clang! Clang!” The great antique clock in the living room chimed suddenly. Douglass almost screamed. Then a grotesque face appeared in the scientist’s doorway. The reporter recoiled like a snake. Almost at once he heard the pad of bare feet in the hall and by sheer force of will was he able to look out again.

  The hulking form of Jack Agar was retreating slowly down the hall! From his wrists and ankles dangled the torn straps that had held him to the table in the laboratory!

  “My God!” Douglass groaned through dry, parched lips. As though hearing, Jack Agar paused abruptly and turned his fiery eyes back from whence he had come. They seemed like the orbs of a tiger flaming in the night. Then he turned suddenly and entered another room, two doors beyond the one occupied by the scientist. More silence followed, beating down upon the reporter like the blows of a triphammer.

  What had Jack Agar done in the scientist’s room? It seemed to Douglass that his hunch had materialized in the dead of a horrible night. But had the synthetic man actually, killed his creator? The reporter could wait no longer to find out. With a bound he leaped into the hall and ran silently to the opposite room. Without hesitating he entered, fumbled for a light-switch near the frame, and found it. The switch snapped.

  As part of his duty as a reporter, Douglass, had seen men hanged. But now as he crouched against the wall, he was terrified and appalled at what his eyes beheld. Dr. Pontius lay in a corner beside his bed, his head crushed like an eggshell!

  The reporter suddenly heard another dull thump and a hiss of air from a dying man’s lungs. Swiftly his mind searched for a possible meaning to this. Then it dawned upon him that the butler must have fall victim to the terror that was slinking like a mad gorilla through the house. He again heard the indistinct pad of feet. His blood throbbed at his throat and temples, sending cold, clammy chills over him. Where
would the beast of the test tubes go next? To his or Allanna’s room?

  Douglass crouched just inside the death-room door. A great shadow, ghastly and spectral, fell across the sill. He felt an urge to scream and smothered it. The murder-beast slunk past, his long arms dangling strangely at his sides, his lips curled into the same ominous leer, his nude body glistening under the light that filtered into the hall.

  The reporter was so utterly appalled that his wits seemed dull. It was fully a minute before he overcame his horror and stole a glance into the hall. The synthetic man crouched before the closed door of Allanna! He looked toward the reporter as if by instinct. Douglass dodged back out of sight and waited, expecting to see the beast tracking him down. After a few seconds he looked out again.

  Jack Agar had vanished. Douglass’ heart almost stopped. Before he could control himself, he had leaped out into the hall. Instantly there came a blood-curdling scream from Allanna’s bedroom. With terror striking at his mind, the reporter ran for her door. It was open wide and her room was filled with beastly muttering and stifled cries. Then he heard plaintive pleadings coming from the darkness. Pleadings from horrified feminine lips.

  Young Mr. Morton Douglass could stand no more. Mumbling dire things he bounded into the room, pausing to switch on the lights and take stock of the situation.

  The synthetic man was bending over Allanna as she lay in fear on her bed, her arms outstretched to ward off his deadly, murderous fingers. Douglass saw at a glance that he had her by the throat now and in a twinkling would beat her head to a pulp. The beast paid not the slightest attention to the sudden flood of illumination, but seemed bent only on murder.

  Douglass had a glimpse of pleading eyes peering at him through the beast’s arms. For the first time in her life, Allanna was in mortal fear. The expression on her features caused the reporter to go stark mad. With the roar of a beast he flung himself forward, felt his nerveless fingers touch the clammy flesh of Jack Agar, and gain a hold.

  The Secret Destroyed

  IT seemed to him then that nobody could be closer to death, but in his insane fury it mattered not whether he came out victorious or had his head smashed in, so long as he gave Allanna a chance to escape. Gaining momentary control over his reeling, infuriated senses, he yelled loudly to the girl.

  “Run Allanna!” he shouted, using precious breath that he knew would be needed to protect himself from Jack Agar. “Call the police!”

  Allanna needed no urging. Like a wood nymph she sprang from her bed and ran, terrified, into the hall. Douglass heard her calling desperately but futilely to her uncle. Her feet sounded on the hall floor and then the reporter heard her scream again. He did not doubt but that she had discovered her uncle’s gruesome form, stilled in death.

  Jack Agar’s lips became discolored with a green, ghastly foam giving him the appearance of a rabid animal, as he turned slowly to face his antagonist. From his throat came the startling snarl of a jungle brute making a kill. But his actions were sluggish because of his dull, undeveloped wits. His great arms writhed through the air like serpents and the reporter ducked under them.

  Douglass stepped nimbly aside and delivered a clean, right-handed blow on his adversary’s unwholesome chin. The synthetic man’s eyes went strangely dull and listless, losing much of their savage, murderous lust. He faltered a trifle and ambled backward. The newspaper man followed like a trained pugilist and led again with a vicious left.

  The delicate flesh of Jack Agar’s chin split in a horrible gash. A green liquid sprayed over the reporter, smelling like the damp, sour weeds of the sea. His eyes blazing furiously he lashed out with a potent savageness. Across his vision was a curtain of red and he cast caution aside to deliver another terrific right. Then Jack Agar’s waving arm caught him in the grip of a boa. He sobered in the instant and was amazed at the supernatural strength of the creature. Jack Agar seemed to have the power of steel vises in each arm and they closed around the small of his back with menace.

  The newspaperman felt an agonizing pain through his middle. His blood seemed to turn to ice and his heart appeared to have suddenly stopped. Something told him he was going to explode. Then he looked into those terrible, fiery orbs. He tried to scream, but his voice was dead. Great balls of fire danced before him and he knew he was going into unconsciousness, for a fathomless black abyss yawned under them like open space. He felt himself falling, falling with a terrific wind racing past his ears.

  Then as it seemed he was at last going to strike terra firma at the bottom of the pit, he heard a terrific explosion. Through his reeling head ran the thought that he had actually exploded and his astral body was floating over his mortal remains. Something hit his ghost and knocked it strangely aside. Then he thought that he was gloating over something.

  And that something looked very much like the still form of Jack Agar with a round hole in the center of his brow from which poured a smelly green liquid. Other forms moved about like weaving ghosts; then he felt a cold, icy something on his forehead. Gradually objects began to assume definite shape and finally out of a jumbled nothing he recognized Allanna. From her deep-blue eyes ran glistening tears.

  “Oh, Mr. Douglass!” he heard her sob tearfully. “He did not kill you! Oh . . .!” He saw her shudder violently and then a blue-uniformed man lifted her erect.

  “Take it easy, young lady,” advised the officer. “It won’t do to go into hysterics. He’s alright!”

  Eager hands lifted the reporter to his feet. His head reeled and he lurched sideways. Hands caught him. Water was forced down his parched lips. Rapidly he emerged from the cloud behind which hovered death and oblivion.

  “W-what happened?” he managed to ask as he stood, tottering. A bluecoat glanced to a heap on the floor and nodded.

  “He had you in a bad way, young fellow!” the officer said with a grin. “In another second he’d have bashed your head like an eggshell! Murphy’s slug got him right between the eyes.”

  Allanna shivered and hid her face against the police captain who supported her. She sobbed convulsively. Douglass had a sudden thought.

  “Did he kill the butler, too?” he blurted, feeling the strength returning to his trembling legs. He searched the officers’ eyes. The bluecoats nodded as one.

  “And the old man in the other room,” said one of them smoothly. “Bashed in. . . .”

  “I know all about that,” the reporter cut in quickly to save Allanna from hearing further. “The beast will never kill another man, I hope!”

  “Aye!” interjected the captain. “He’s as dead as a door-nail!”

  “I had a hunch something like this would happen,” said Douglass shaking his head sadly. “Dr. Pontius violated all the unwritten laws of nature by creating synthetic human life. Man should not try to duplicate the work of the Master Creator. I am sorry for Dr. Pontius, but glad that he will carry his secrets to the grave.”

  Douglass instinctively glanced toward his room across the hall where his coat containing his papers reclined on a chair-back. He wondered if the papers had been touched. Without hesitation he went to the room, removed the notes from his inner pocket and strode to the open fireplace near the foot of the bed. His hands trembled and he muttered softly to himself.

  “He told me he had no written formula,” he mumbled, glancing at a paragraph in his notes that revealed the secret of synthetic life. “So here goes the works. The secret will remain a secret as far as I’m concerned!”

  A match scraped along the fireplace stones. It was held to the sheaf of foolscap. A flame illuminated the drawn features of the reporter. He held the burning documents until the flame reached his shaking fingers; then dropped the twisted mass into the grate with a feeling that he was doing mankind a great favor.

  Within a year the house of horror had been transformed into one of sunniness. The pickled bodies of Jack and Joe Agar had been sent to Tyburn and with them had gone everything scientific Dr. Pontius had possessed. Allanna had fallen into the wealth her
uncle had left, but her husband, the young Mr. Morton Douglass, continues to be the right hand man of Amesbury of the Globe.

  THE END.

  [*] Radiant energy is classified according to the wavelengths of the rays. There are the visible light rays whose wavelength is between .0000206 and .0000155 inches. Wavelengths of energy longer than the longest light wave gives us the infra-red heat waves and still longer waves gives us radio. Waves shorter than the short waves of light are the ultra-violet, still shorter are the X-ray which are about .0000004 inches in length. Gamma rays of radium are still shorter being about 1/1000 the length of the X-ray while at very end of the spectrum we have so far discovered, are the cosmic rays being less than a thousandth of the length of the gamma rays. The Q-ray therefore is an extremely short wavelength lying between the gamma ray and the cosmic ray.

  1931

  THE MAN WHO ANNEXED THE MOON

  Bob Olsen

  IT is only natural that the moon, being the body closest to the earth, should be of particular interest to those writers and dreamers who believe in the possibility of interspace travel. Beyond a doubt the author of “The Man Who Annexed the Moon” is a student of higher mathematics and Einstein, but far from being pedagogic in his story, Mr. Olsen gives us a truly ingenious tale of lunar adventure and travel across the vacuum of space, presenting it all in a thoroughly plausible and easily assimilative manner.

  CHAPTER I

  Banning’s Astounding Proposal

  “BOYS! How would you like to accompany me on a voyage of exploration to the moon?”

  The speaker was Professor Archimedes Banning, and the “boys” to whom he addressed this nonchalant but startling proposal were Colonel Charles Berglin and myself.

  Judging from the expression on his face, Berglin was surprised. Not I, however. I had known the alert, though elderly scholar too long and too well to be astonished at anything he said or did.