The Devils & Demons MEGAPACK ®: 25 Modern and Classic Tales

by Mack Reynolds

  You are doubtless wondering why I am giving you this fine house. I give it to you because I know I can trust no other. This house must never be sold. Behind this door—the one to which I shall pin this note—lies a secret that must never be disturbed. I know I can trust you not to enter this room. After your lifetimes, the danger will no longer exist. I cannot explain this further. Just live in this house and be happy. But do not sell. I know that, as my friends, I can trust you to follow my wishes.

  L. De V.

  I thrust the note into my pocket. De Valgis didn’t know me as well as he thought he did. I’m not very curious about most things—not any more than the next fellow. I ignore things that aren’t my business.

  But this was my business. It was my house now, wasn’t it?

  I went down to my car and got a claw hammer from the tool kit. Then I yanked out the ten-penny nails De Valgis had driven into the beautiful oak door.

  Those nails were proof to me he didn’t trust me as much as he claimed.

  While I was yanking nails, believe me, I did plenty of thinking. I thought all kinds of things. Maybe this was a room filled with treasure-money, stacks of bullion, stuff like that—loot. I also thought of the possibility of cold corpses—female corpses, knowing De Valgis.

  At any rate, I wondered what was in that room and I meant to find out.

  By the time I got the door open, sweat was running down into my eyes. Maybe I didn’t see so good, I don’t know. It looked like an ordinary room to me but there weren’t any windows. And the walls were yellow. It was a funny kind of yellow that came and went, sort of. Played tricks on your vision—seemed to pull your eyeballs out like a pair of golf balls and cross them over—you get what I mean?

  I stepped over the sill, and the yellow walls suddenly seemed to close in on me like clouds of swirling gas. I couldn’t see anything but that blinding, foggy yellow. I gasped and looked over my shoulder. The door was gone. I whirled around six ways at once and took a step. The yellow had vanished.

  I had stepped through that door into Heaven—I thought. I was standing on a dun-colored beach and the wind blew in cool over white-capped surf. Palm trees tossed, gaunt and lovely, against the yearning blue of the sky. It was terrific!

  And the girls—the babes—they littered the beach like driftwood. Live driftwood, carved into delectable form and substance. And not one of those living, breathing dolls was dressed in anything more than a copywriter’s imagination at five o’clock…

  I got just one good eyeful—believe me, it was good—and there was that yellow fog again, swirling and boiling, blotting out the most luscious sight I had ever seen in my life.

  I must have taken a step backward to bring it on. I lurched forward, and there was the door jamb, right in front of me, looming through the yellow fog. I went skidding out into the hall and almost plunged over the railing into the back stairwell.

  What I should have done was nail the door up again. What I wanted to do was tear back through it and get acquainted with some of the dolls I had seen. But I suddenly realized it must be getting late and Ethel would be wondering about me. There was plenty of time to go through that door again.

  I slammed the oak panel and beat it out of the house.

  I should have told Ethel all about it. But what I had seen had given me ideas—and now I didn’t want to sell the place. I didn’t want to discuss it with her, either. But there was no way I could fend off her questions. And she had plenty.

  “I want to see the house for myself,” she finally concluded, fed up with my hemming and hawing.

  “Look,” I said, “you don’t want to see it. It isn’t worth seeing…

  “Can’t I even look at it once before we sell it?”

  “Sell it?” I gaped.

  “Do you mean to say you don’t want to sell it?”

  “Yeah, sure, but—maybe it isn’t worth selling.”

  “That’s wonderful, Jack! Then maybe we can move in!”

  “No such!” I yelled in spite of my determination to remain cool.

  Ethel looked hurt and mad, both at once.

  “Then I’ll see it—and you’ll take me over—this weekend. I don’t know why you’re acting so funny, but I’ll find out. You act as if the place is full of showgirls and you don’t want me to find out about it!”

  * * * *

  Women have no intuition—banish the idea! They just have a sharp insight into the nature of Man, which comes from living with the brutes. I kept my mouth shut for the rest of the evening and, on Saturday, I took Ethel over to the house.

  I thought maybe I could stall her off about the room, once we got there. I didn’t tell her about De Valgis’ note. I should have. Maybe that would have stopped her, but I don’t think so.

  Ethel was so charmed with the place she didn’t even pause to bawl me out—though I could see she was saving it for later. But it made me feel good just to see her so tickled. I almost forgot about the room without windows and, when I did think of it, I solemnly promised myself I would not only nail the door shut, I’d build a wall over it. When Ethel’s eyes shone the way they did, I knew I didn’t give a hoot for the babes on the other side of that mysterious portal.

  I kissed Ethel once in the upper hall, but she looked around my arm and spotted the oak door with fragments ripped out of it where I had yanked out De Valgis’ nails.

  “What a shame! Somebody has ruined this beautiful door!”

  She ran to it, before I could fasten a good hold on her, and pulled it open. Then she stepped through—and vanished.

  I didn’t think of harm coming to her. It was the thought of her and those babes on the beach that made my blood run hot, then cold. I knew what Ethel would have to say to me once she got an eyeful.

  I took off after her, yelping like a turpentined hound dog. I was fully prepared to meet the cloud of swirling yellow fog but, even so, I threw up my arm as I entered, as if to fight it off.

  Naturally, I expected to land on De Valgis’ mysterious beach again, and see Ethel looking the babes over with that belligerent look I knew so well.

  But no beach—no Ethel. It was dark and there were stars in the sky. There was a piney scent in the air. Looking up, I could see tall trees cutting ragged silhouettes against the stars.

  I stood on a gravel road. Just then, a car turned off a side road about a hundred yards away. Headlights swept in an arc toward me, lighting one row after another of cars parked along the road. The flashes gave me a brief glance into each car. I knew where I was—in a lovers’ lane…

  I stepped forward—into broad daylight. I was standing on the patio of a large hotel. It was built of some kind of pink stone and there were men and women strolling in pairs on white graveled paths. Palm trees rustled in the breeze.

  I was still blinking when I took my next step—into a dim-lit hall filled with the blare of music. A number of couples danced in a languorous atmosphere of cologne, liquor fumes and cigarette smoke.

  Another step—and I was in a hotel room. It was night and, outside the window, the hotel sign blinked on and off—on and off. I didn’t dare move for fear I would bump into something in the dark.

  I heard a sound and turned my head that way. The hotel sign went plock and the room dimly lit up. I looked at the bed—and hastily took another step. I was glad it took me out of there!

  It was sunny afternoon on a hilltop. There was rolling countryside all around, brushed and forested. Where was Ethel? Where was I? Each step had taken me into a different scene. Had the same thing happened to Ethel? Was she ahead of me in some scene I had not yet glimpsed? Or was she here—somewhere on this hilltop? If I could stop and look around…

  The ground was littered with boulders. Bushes grew between grass—tall firs nodded restlessly in the wind.

  I took a step an
d this time the scene stayed put. Wishing land? Wish you’d stay put and you would? I walked around cautiously. There was something fishy here—something familiar. I thought of the scenes I had passed through. They seemed like some memories I had. Or were they memories? Anyway, all these places seemed familiar.

  I looked down the hill. I had expected to see a road winding around the bottom, and there it was. I saw a snappy convertible—like the one I’d had in mind to buy if we sold De Valgis’ house. It was parked at the edge of the road. A young fellow and his girl were climbing the hill. They had supplies for a picnic in their arms.

  I was tempted to call out to them, but I didn’t. They went behind a large rock. The young man was shaking out a blanket. I thought I had better go some place else and look for Ethel.

  I stepped into a wide, brightly lit hall that seemed to go on and on into the distance. It was lined on both sides with heavy doors.

  I looked both ways before moving, and one of the doors swung open and a young man came bounding out. He stopped short at sight of me.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked rudely.

  His attitude made me surly. “How should I know where here is?” I retorted. “I’m lost, and I’m looking for my wife.”

  The fellow grinned in a malicious way. “You won’t find her here—your wife, eh? You probably won’t find her in the whole Domain. From the looks of you, I’d say she’s had her Hell on Earth.”

  I began to get hot under the collar. I was confused and angry. I wanted Ethel—and I wanted to get out of here. This was no place for either of us. If my mind had been working, I’d have bolted back then and there—with or without Ethel.

  I said, “Enough of your comments, Mac. Just show me the way out of here.”

  The young man frowned, then began to laugh. “You’ve been wandering among the sets! Must be the ones that caught you. Say, did any of the places seem familiar to you?”

  I nodded, half of a mind to bust him one.

  He yelped. “That’s traffic! Pulled one in through the sets! Wait till the boss hears about this! Come on, you.”

  * * * *

  There was a spate of yellow fog that swirled, thinned and cleared away. I stood on the carpet in a respectable-looking office.

  There were comfortable chairs before a long, mahogany desk. I sat down in one, my eyes glued to the man behind the desk. He had a phone clamped to each ear and was yelling a stream of profanity into both. There was no sign of my erstwhile acquaintance.

  “Get the figures!” yodeled the blubbery character around his cigar. “Blankety-blank! I said figures! Yes, blankety-blank! Sales! What? Not enough! Blankety, blank…there’s no benefit in that head!”

  It all sounded weirdly reminiscent to me—like a copy chief. I looked around, trying warily to seem at ease until the fellow noticed me.

  On one wall a large sign in big red letters read: Think! Beside it, equally large and gory, another sign read: Hurry! Directly behind the cursing man was a neatly framed placard: If you’ve only written it three times, it isn’t good enough.

  On the wall to my right, a sign proclaimed: If the lead is right, the story has got to be right.

  Another sign on Two-Phones’ desk read: What’s a Head without a Body? Follow up!

  Wherever I was, I thought, it smelled like home. I was in an advertising office. I could relax. If there’s anybody who can show you the way out of anything, it’s an advertising man.

  With a growl, the ape at the desk slammed both phones into their cradles and scowled at me. “What’s your line?”

  “I—I’m lost…

  “So is everybody. What do you do?”

  “Advertising copywriter. But that isn’t…

  He waved a big hand. “Don’t talk—I’m thinking. You like advertising?”

  “I do it for a living.”

  “It isn’t the same, but it doesn’t matter.” He brooded over his cigar. He grunted. “Need a man—a good one.”

  Both phones began to ring at once. He swept them off onto the floor, where they crashed and commenced to squawk futilely. His eyes narrowed into puffy slits.

  “We can use you!” He looked bitterly at the squawking telephones. “Damned incompetents!” He lifted his glance heavily to me. “Not that you’ll be any better—just different.” He sat back. “I could check the records on you, but no time. Allatimehurryhurry—hurry!” He ran the words together and drooled. “All the damn time!” He looked at me bleakly.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’m not in the market, Mr.—uh…?”

  “Schlemiel.”

  I smiled politely and waited for the punch line. There wasn’t any, so I assumed the handle was real.

  “I came here looking for my wife. All I want it to find her and get back home.”

  Schlemiel shook his head morosely. His fat lips waggled back and forth. “No use. Didn’t you ever read Dante, son?”

  “Sure. So what?”

  “Abandon hope, son. You’re dead, see? It’s all done with—vorbei—ausgespielt. You’ve come to the Happy Hunting Grounds.” He grunted. “Happy Hunting!”

  “Dead, hell!” I flared.

  “Hell—yes—Hell,” he muttered. “Where else did you think you were? You came in through the advertising sets, somehow. They’re your own, by the way, did you know that? We’ve had ’em on tapes for years, just to get you in here. You thought they were dreams—desires of your own. Your copywriter did a good job on them. You’re here—and here to stay!”

  “Oh, no—” I began.

  Schlemiel got up, came around his desk and laid a heavy hand on my shoulder. “This is Hell’s Advertising Department, son. We’re the boys who gave you the ideas that made you sin and fall. Being an advertising man, you came right here, instead of going on down below—where it’s hotter.”

  I began to understand. No wonder those scenes had been familiar. Thoughts I had nourished… I began to get red. I had seen only a few. Were the others…?

  “Every indecent thought you ever had came directly from this department, son,” Schlemiel went on. “How do you think we get all the dead into Hell?”

  “But I’m not dead!” I blurted.

  “Son,” Schlemiel boomed hollowly, “you are faced with an irrefutable logic. Nobody but the dead get to Hell. You got to Hell. Ergo, you are dead.”

  “All I want,” I said desperately, “is to get the hell out of here!”

  “I like that!” roared Schlemiel. “Boy, how I like it! I really do. Boyohboyohboy!”

  He went off into rippling, primitive chuckles.

  What could you do with an ape like that?

  I said, “I don’t believe this is Hell. All those people I saw were having a good time.”

  Schlemiel gripped my shoulder affectionately. “You miss the props you’ve heard about all your life, son. Forget ’em—this is nineteen fifty-four. We left the red monkey suits, the horns and the tails back in the Middle Ages, where they belong. And as for those people on the sets—they ain’t real, son. They’re just thoughts-bait that brings in traffic. We broadcast a little of that stuff, and bingo! Hell’s potential population goes up fifteen per cent—amortized in another generation.”

  He cut loose with a bellow of hearty laughter. “Get the joke, son? Amortized! Haw, haw, haw!” He was a real demon, this Schlemiel.

  * * * *

  None of my protests did any good. Schlemiel signed me on without further preliminaries and turned me over to one of his flunkies. On him, a red devil suit would have looked good.

  “Copywriter, hey?” he said. “If you can do as good copy as the stuff that brought you here, you won’t be half good enough. I got a real toughie of a client for you—a nut we’ve been trying to crack for years.”

  * * * *

&nb
sp; The “client” turned out to be a settlement of recluses in the backwoods of Georgia. My job—to entice them into Hell.

  I had to think up allurements that would appeal to a recluse—if that wasn’t a hellish assignment, I sure was in the wrong place!

  I toyed with the thought of indirect advertising. In a town near the settlement of recluses, flourished a bawdy house. Now, a one-cent sale…nope—bargains in Sin are too common.

  In the office given to me was a second desk. I wondered who sat there—or if I was to have the office to myself. Between wondering how I was going to allure a bunch of freaks that didn’t want allurement, and how I was going to get out of here, I wondered where Ethel was.

  Just then the door burst open and Ethel came hopping in, Schlemiel’s flunky right behind her.

  “I’m not a copywriter!” she yelled at him over her shoulder, looking as belligerent as I had ever seen her. “I don’t belong here! I want to go home! If my husband Jack—”

  Then she saw me. Her eyes got big and round and her mouth dropped into a red, juicy O. She did a double take, primmed her lips and her eyes began to snap.

  “So—my fine-feathered husband!” she snarled to me. “I see now what I have been married to all these years. A dyed-in-the-wool demon—a devil in human form!”

  “Nothing of the sort,” I hollered, jumping up. “I came here looking for you—and they put me to work!”

  Schlemiel’s flunky snickered over Ethel’s shoulder. “We got him dead to rights. Don’t tell me you two know each other?”

  “No,” said my wife sweetly. “I thought we did, but it seems I was mistaken. Furthermore, I wouldn’t want to know this character.”

  “Stop acting silly,” I said.

  “Who’s silly? When I consorted with you, I was an innocent dupe. I didn’t know any better. I could never have guessed…