Nightmares & Geezenstacks Read online

  Then I noticed Flapjack. He was standin’ right near ’em and didn’t look afraid at all. Just curious, like any burro is.

  Well, I got up my courage and meandered over that way and took a look at the thing they was workin’ on, but I couldn’t make nothing of it. I said, “Hullo,” and they didn’t answer me and didn’t pay no more attention to me than if 1 was a prairie dog.

  So I went around ’em, keepin’ my distance, and went up to the side of this ball and reached up and touched it. Holy hominy! It was made out of metal as smooth and hard as the barrel of a Colt and it was as big as a two-story house.

  One of the funny-lookin’ little critters came along and shooed me away, kinda waving a thing in his hand that looked something like a flashlight. I had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t no flashlight and I wasn’t too curious, just then, to find out what would happen if he did more than wave it at me, so I got. I went back about twenty feet or so and watched.

  Pretty soon they seemed to have finished putting together whatever it was they’d been working on. Flapjack was standing only a few feet away from it by now, and I started to wander up closer but one of ’em waved a flashlight at me again and I got back.

  Two of ’em stood there on their hind legs pullin’ levers and twistin’ knobs. There was a kind of loud-speaker on top of it, like you used to see on old-fashioned phonographs. Suddenly the loud-speaker said: “It should be correctly adjusted now, Mandu.”

  You could have knocked me down with a pebble. Here were these things looking like they’d escaped from a zoo and they had a talking machine of some kind or other. I sat down on a rock and stared at the loud-speaker.

  “It would seem so,” the loud-speaker said. “Now if this terrestrial has the type of mentality that we have deduced, we should be able to communicate.”

  All of the critters walked away from the device except one and he looked direct at Flapjack and said, “Greetings.”

  “Greetings, yourself,” I said. “Flapjack’s a burro, so how’s about talking to me?”

  “Will one of you,” said the loud-speaker, “please attempt to stop that domesticated creature over there from making his fantastic noises?”

  Flapjack hadn’t been makin’ any noise that I could hear. But a flashlight got waved at me so I shut up to see what’d happen.

  “I assume,” said the loud-speaker, “that you are the dominant intelligence of this planet. Greetings from the inhabitants of Mars.”

  A funny thing about that there loud-speaker; something makes me remember every dang word it said, just like it said ’em, even when I still don’t rightly know what all the fancier words mean.

  While I was tryin’ to figure the answer to what they’d said, danged if Flapjack didn’t beat me to the draw. He opened his mouth, showed his teeth and brayed real hearty.

  “Thank you,” said the loud-speaker. “And in answer to your question, this is a sonic telepathor, It, in a manner of thinking, broadcasts my thoughts and they are reproduced in the mind of the listener in the language which he speaks and understands. The sounds you seem to hear are not the exact sounds that come from the speaker; it emits an abstract sound pattern which your subconscious, with the aid of the carrier wave, hears as expression in your own language. It is not selective, many creatures speaking many tongues would all understand what I am thinking. Our adjustment consisted in tuning the receiver part, which is selective, to the particular pattern of your individual intelligence.”

  “You’re crazy,” I yelled. “Why don’t you fix that danged thing so it can understand what I say?”

  “Please keep that animal quiet, Yagarl,” said the loud-speaker. Flapjack looked at me over his shoulder reproachfully. That didn’t worry me. But one of the critters with flashlights waved it at me again and that did. And anyway the speaker was blaring again and I wanted to hear what it said so I listened.

  “We of Mars had the same difficulty,” it was saying. “Happily, we have been able to solve the problem by substituting robots for domesticated animals. Obviously, however, you have a different situation. Through the lack of suitable hands, or even tentacles, you have found it necessary to domesticate one of the lower orders which is so equipped.”

  Flapjack brayed briefly and the loud-speaker said, “Naturally you wish to know the purpose of our visit. We wish your advice in solving a problem that is vital to us. Mars is a dying planet. Its water, its atmosphere, its mineral resources, are all practically exhausted. If we had been able to develop interstellar travel, we might seek an unoccupied planet somewhere in the galaxy. Unfortunately we have not; our ships will take us only to other planets in the solar system and only the discovery of an entirely new principle would enable us to reach the stars. We have not found even a clue to that principle.

  “In the solar system, yours is the only planet—besides Mars—that can support Martian life. Mercury is too hot, Venus has no land surface and an atmosphere poisonous to us. The force of gravity of Jupiter would crush us and all of its moons are—like yours—airless, The outer planets are impossibly cold.

  “So we are faced with the necessity, if we wish to survive, to move to Earth—peaceably if you submit; forcibly if we must use force. And we have weapons that can destroy the population of Earth within days.”

  “Just a minute,” I yelled. “If you think for a minute that you can—”

  The critter who had been aiming a flashlight at me lowered it at my knees and, as I started toward the one who’d been operating the speaker contraption, he pushed a button. My knees suddenly went rubber and I fell down. Also I shut up.

  My legs just didn’t work at all. I had to use my arms to get to a sitting position so I could see what was going on.

  Flapjack was braying.

  “True,” the speaker said. “That would be the best solution for both of us. We do not wish to occupy—by force or otherwise—an already civilized planet. If you can really suggest another answer to our problem—”

  Flapjack brayed.

  “Thank you,” said the loud-speaker. “I am sure that will work out. Why we did not think of it ourselves I cannot imagine. We appreciate your assistance immeasurably; we offer you our heartfelt gratitude. We leave with good will in our hearts. We shall not return.”

  My knees worked again and I got up. I didn’t go anywhere, though. My knees had been out of commission for a full minute and I was thinking that if that flashlight thing had been pointed higher and had stopped my heart working for a full minute I wouldn’t be worrying about my knees.

  Flapjack brayed just once more, and not for long this time. The funny-looking critters began to take their contraption with the speaker apart and carry it a piece at a time back to the big ball they’d come in.

  It and them were all back in the balloon that wasn’t a balloon in ten minutes, about, and the door in it closed. The bottom of it began to fire up again and I ran back to where my tent was and watched from there. And all of a sudden the contraption whooshed upward and disappeared almost straight up into the sky.

  Flapjack came strolling over toward me, kind of avoiding my eyes, like.

  “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?” I asked him.

  He wouldn’t answer me.

  But I guess he did think so. Later on that same day he stole my pancakes again.

  And that’s the whole story, partner. That’s how Flapjack saved the world from the Martians. You want to know what he told ’em? Well, I’d like to know, too, but he won’t tell me. Hey, Flapjack, come over here. You had enough beer for tonight.

  All right, partner, here he is. You ask him. Maybe he’ll tell you. Or maybe he won’t. Flapjack’s a caution, Flapjack is. But go ahead and ask him.

  THE JOKE

  The big man in the flashy green suit stuck his big hand across the cigar counter. “Jim Greeley,” he said. “Ace Novelty Company.” The cigar dealer took the offered hand and then jerked convulsively as something inside it buzzed painfully against his own palm.

>   The big man’s cheerful laughter boomed. “Our Joy Buzzer,” he said, turning over his hand to expose the little metal ‘contraption in his palm. “Changes a shake to a shock; one of the best numbers we got. A dilly, ain’t it? Gimme four of those perfectos, the two-for-a-quarters. Thanks.”

  He put a half-dollar on the counter and then, concealing a grin, lighted one of the cigars while the dealer tried vainly to pick up the coin. Then, laughing, the big man put another—and an ungimmicked—coin on the counter and pried up the first one with a tricky little knife on one end of his watch chain. He put it back in a special little box that went into his vest pocket. He said, “A new number—but a pretty good one. It’s a good laugh, and—well, ‘Anything for a Gag’ is Ace’s motto and me, I’m Ace’s salesman.”

  The cigar dealer said, “I couldn’t handle—”

  “Not trying to sell you anything,” the big man said. “I just sell wholesale. But I get a kick out of showing off our merchandise. You ought to see some of it.”

  He blew a ring of cigar smoke and strolled on past the cigar counter to the hotel desk. “Double with bath,” he told the clerk. “Got a reservation-Jim Greeley. Stuff’s being sent over from the station, and my wife’ll be here later.”

  He took a fountain pen from his pocket, ignoring the one the clerk offered him, and signed the card. The ink was bright blue, but it was going to be a good joke on the clerk when, a little later, he tried to file that card and found it completely blank. And when he explained and wrote a new card it would be both a good laugh and good advertising for Ace Novelty.

  “Leave the key in the box,” he said. “I won’t go up now. Where are the phones?”

  He strolled to the row of phone booths to which the desk clerk directed him and dialed a number. A feminine voice answered.

  “This is the police,” he said gruffly. “We’ve had reports that you’ve been renting rooms to crooked boarders. Or were those only false roomers?”

  “Jim! Oh, I’m so glad you’re in town!”

  “So’m I, sweetie. Is the coast clear, your husband away? Wait, don’t tell me; you wouldn’t have said what you just said if he’d been there, would you? What time does he get home?”

  “Nine o’clock, Jim. You’ll pick me up before then? I’ll leave him a note I’m staying with my sister because she’s sick.”

  “Swell, honey. What I hoped you’d say. Let’s see; it’s half-past five. I’ll be right around.”

  “Not that soon, Jim. I’ve got things to do, and I’m not dressed. Make it—not before eight o’clock. Between then and half-past eight.”

  “Okay, honey. Eight it is. That’ll give us time for a big evening, and I’ve already registered double.”

  “How’d you know I’d be able to get away?”

  The big man laughed. “Then I’d have called one of the others in my little black book. Now don’t get mad; I was only kidding. I’m calling from the hotel, but I haven’t actually registered yet; I was only kidding. One thing I like about you, Marie, you got a sense of humor; you can take it. Anybody I like’s got to have a sense of humor like I have.”

  “Anybody you like?”

  “And anybody I love. To pieces. What’s your husband like, Marie? Has he got a sense of humor?”

  “A little. A crazy kind of one; not like yours. Got any new numbers in your line?”

  “Some dillies. I’ll show you. One of ‘em’s a trick camera that—well, I’ll show you. And don’t worry, honey. I remember you told me you got a tricky ticker and I won’t pull any scary tricks on you. Won’t scare you, honey; just the opposite.”

  “You big goof! Okay, Jim, not before eight o’clock now. But plenty before nine.”

  “With bells on, honey. Be seeing you.”

  He went out of the telephone booth singing “Tonight’s My Night with Baby,” and straightened his snazzy necktie at a mirror in front of a pillar in the lobby. He ran an exploring palm across his face. Yes, needed a shave; it felt rough even if it didn’t show. Well, plenty of time for that in two and a half hours.

  He strolled over to where a bellboy sat. “How late you on duty, son?” he asked.

  “Till two-thirty, nine hours. I just came on.”

  “Good. How are rules here on likker? Get it any time?”

  “Can’t get bottle goods after nine o’clock. That is, well, sometimes you can, but it’s taking a chance. Can’t I get it for you sooner if you’re going to want it?”

  “Might as well.” The big man took some bills out of his wallet. “Room 603. Put in a fifth of rye and two bottles of soda sometime before nine. I’ll phone down for ice cubes when we want ’em. And listen, I want you to help me with a gag. Got any bedbugs or cockroaches?”

  “Huh?”

  The big man grinned. “Maybe you have and maybe you haven’t, but look at these artificial ones. Ain’t they beauties?” He took a pillbox from his pocket and opened it.

  “Want to play a joke on my wife,” he said. “And I won’t be up in the room till she gets here. You take these and put ’em where they’ll do the most good, see? I mean, peel back the covers and fill the bed with these little beauties. Don’t they look like real ones? She’ll really squeal when she sees ’em, Do you like gags, son?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll show you some good ones when you bring up the ice cubes later. I got a sample case full. Well, do a good job with those bedbugs.”

  He winked solemnly at the bellboy and sauntered across the lobby and out to the sidewalk.

  He strolled into a tavern and ordered rye with a chaser. While the bartender was getting it he went over to the juke box and put a dime in, pushing two buttons. He came back grinning, and whistling “Got a Date with an Angel.” The juke box joined in—in the wrong key—with his whistling.

  “You look happy,” said the bartender. “Most guys come in here to tell their troubles.”

  “Haven’t any troubles,” said the big man. “Happier because I found an oldie on your juke box and it fits. Only the angel I got a date with’s got a little devil in her too, thank God. Real she devil, too.”

  He put his hand across the bar. “Shake the hand of a happy man,” he said.

  The buzzer in his palm buzzed and the bartender jumped.

  The big man laughed. “Have a drink with me, pal,” he said, “and don’t get mad. I like practical jokes. I sell ’em.”

  The bartender grinned, but not too enthusiastically. He said, “You got the build for it all right. Okay, I’ll have a drink with you. Only just a second; there’s a hair in that chaser I gave you.” He emptied the glass and put it among the dirties, coming back with another one, this one of cut glass of intricate design.

  “Nice try,” said the big man, “but I told you I sell the stuff; I know a dribble glass when I see one. Besides that’s an old model. Just one hole on a side and if you get your finger over it, it don’t dribble. See, like this. Happy days.”

  The dribble glass didn’t dribble. The big man said, “I’ll buy us both another; I like a guy who can dish a job out as well as take one.” He chuckled. “Try to dish one out, anyway. Pour us another and lemme tell you about some of the new stuff we’re gonna put out. New plastic called Skintex that—hey, I got a sample with me. Lookit.”

  He took from his pocket a rolled-up object that unrolled itself, as he put it on the bar, into a startlingly lifelike false face. The big man said, “Got it all over every kind of mask or false face. on the market, even the expensive rubber ones. Fits so close it stays on practically of its own accord. But what’s really different about it is by gosh it looks so real you have to look twice and look close to see it ain’t the real McCoy. Gonna be an all-year-round seller for costume balls and stuff, and make a fortune every Halloween.”

  “Sure looks real,” said the bartender.

  “Bet your boots it does. Comes in all kinds, it will. Got only a few actually in production now, though. This one’s the Fancy Dan model, good looking. Pour us two more, huh?” />
  He rolled up the mask and put it back into his pocket. The juke box had just ended the second number and he fed a quarter into it, again punching “Got a Date with an Angel,” but this time waiting to whistle until the record had started, so he’d be in tune with it.

  He changed it to patter when he got back to the bar. He said, “Got a date with an angel, all right. Little blonde, Marie Rhymer. A beauty. Purtiest gal in town. Here’s to ’er.”

  This time he forgot to put his finger over the hole in the dribble glass and got spots of water on his snazzy necktie. He looked down at them and roared with laughter. He ordered drinks for the house—not too expensive a procedure, as there was only one other customer and the bartender.

  The other customer bought back and the big man bought another round. He showed them two new coin tricks—in one of which he balanced a quarter on the edge of a shot glass after he’d let them examine both the glass and the coin, and he wouldn’t tell the bartender how that one was done until the bartender stood a round.

  It was after seven when he left the tavern. He wasn’t drunk, but he was feeling the drinks. He was really happy now. Ought to grab a bite to eat, he thought.

  He looked around for a restaurant, a good one, and then decided no, maybe Marie would be expecting him to take her to dinner; he’d wait to eat until he was with her.

  And so what if he got there early? He could wait, he could talk to her while she got ready.

  He looked around for a taxi and saw none; he started walking briskly, again whistling “Tonight’s My Night with Baby,” which hadn’t, unfortunately, been on the juke box.

  He walked briskly, whistling happily, into the gathering dusk. He was going to be early, but he didn’t want to stop for another drink; there’d be plenty of drinking later, and right now he felt just right.

  It wasn’t until he was a block away that he remembered the shave he’d meant to get. He stopped and felt his face, and yes, he really needed one. Luck was with him, too, because only a few doors back he’d passed a little hole-in-the-wall barber shop. He retraced his steps and found it open. There was one barber and no customers.