[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
face with its black frame of tangled, snapping hair.
What happened then happened in a blurring passage of seconds.
The grim-faced man came rushing across the purple-lighted stage; the thing that
had been a woman went crashing, twitching, flailing at the rail, doubling over it, the
spasmodic hitching flinging up its muscle-knotted legs.
A clawing fall.
Peggy lurched back in her chair and the scream that started in her throat was
forced back into a strangled gag as the loopy came crashing down onto the table, its
limbs a thrash of naked whiteness.
Barbara screamed, the audience gasped and Peggy saw, on the fringe of vision,
Bud jumping up, his face a twist of stunned surprise.
The loopy flopped and twisted on the table like a new-caught fish. The music
stopped, grinding into silence; a rush of agitated murmur filled the room and
blackness swept in brain-submerging waves across Peggy's mind.
Then the cold white hand slapped across her mouth, the dark eyes stared at her in
purple light and Peggy felt the darkness flooding.
The horror-smoked room went turning on its side.
Consciousness. It flickered in her brain like gauze-veiled candlelight. A murmuring
of sound, a blur of shadow before her eyes.
Breath dripped like syrup from her mouth.
"Here, Peg."
She heard Bud's voice and felt the chilly metal of a flask neck pressed against her
lips. She swallowed, twisting slightly at the trickle of fire in her throat and stomach,
then coughed and pushed away the flask with deadened fingers.
Behind her, a rustling movement. "Hey, she's back," Len said. "Ol' Olive Oyl is
back."
"You feel all right?" asked Barbara.
She felt all right. Her heart was like a drum hanging from piano wire in her chest,
slowly, slowly beaten. Her hands and feet were numb, not with cold but with a sultry
torpor. Thoughts moved with a tranquil lethargy, her brain a leisurely machine
imbedded in swaths of woolly packing.
She felt all right.
Peggy looked across the night with sleepy eyes. They were on a hilltop, the
braked convertible crouching on a jutting edge. Far below, the country slept, a
carpet of light and shadow beneath the chalky moon.
An arm snake moved around her waist. "Where are we?" she asked him in a
languid voice.
"Few miles outside school," Bud said. "How d'ya feel, honey?"
She stretched, her body a delicious strain of muscles. She sagged back, limp,
against his arm.
"Wonderful," she murmured with a dizzy smile and scratched the tiny itching
bump on her left shoulder. Warmth radiated through her flesh; the night was a sabled
glow. There seemed somewhere to be a memory, but it crouched in secret
behind folds of thick content.
"Woman, you were out," laughed Bud; and Barbara added and Len added, "Were
you!" and "Olive Oyl went plunko!"
"Out?" Her casual murmur went unheard.
The flask went around and Peggy drank again, relaxing further as the liquor
needled fire through her veins.
"Man, I never saw a loopy dance like that!" Len said.
A momentary chill across her back, then warmth again. "Oh," said Peggy, "that's
right. I forgot."
She smiled
"That was what I calls a grand finale!" Len said, dragging back his willing date,
who murmured, "Lenny boy."
"L.U.P.," Bud muttered, nuzzling at Peggy's hair. "Son of a gun." He reached out
idly for the radio knob.
L.U.P. (Lifeless Undead Phenomenon) This freak of physiological
abnormality was discovered during the war when, following certain germ-gas
attacks, many of the dead troops were found erect and performing the spasmodic
gyrations which, later, became known as the "loopy's" (L.U.P.'s) dance. The
particular germ spray responsible was later distilled and is now used in carefully
controlled experiments which are conducted only under the strictest of legal license
and supervision.
Music surrounded them, its melancholy fingers touching at their hearts. Peggy
leaned against her date and felt no need to curb exploring hands. Somewhere, deep
within the jellied layers of her mind, there was something trying to escape. It fluttered
like a frantic moth imprisoned in congealing wax, struggling wildly but only growing
weaker in attempt as the chrysalis hardened.
Four voices sang softly in the night.
"If the world is here tomorrow
I'll be waiting, dear, for you
If the stars are there tomorrow
I'll be wishing on them too."
Four young voices singing, a murmur in immensity. Four bodies, two by two,
slackly warm and drugged. A singing, an embracing a wordless accepting.
"Star light, star bright
Let there be another night."
The singing ended but the song went on.
A young girl sighed.
"Isn't it romantic?" said Olive Oyl.
The End
JACK WILLIAMSON
If your father read science fiction, he very likely counted Jack Williamson high [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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face with its black frame of tangled, snapping hair.
What happened then happened in a blurring passage of seconds.
The grim-faced man came rushing across the purple-lighted stage; the thing that
had been a woman went crashing, twitching, flailing at the rail, doubling over it, the
spasmodic hitching flinging up its muscle-knotted legs.
A clawing fall.
Peggy lurched back in her chair and the scream that started in her throat was
forced back into a strangled gag as the loopy came crashing down onto the table, its
limbs a thrash of naked whiteness.
Barbara screamed, the audience gasped and Peggy saw, on the fringe of vision,
Bud jumping up, his face a twist of stunned surprise.
The loopy flopped and twisted on the table like a new-caught fish. The music
stopped, grinding into silence; a rush of agitated murmur filled the room and
blackness swept in brain-submerging waves across Peggy's mind.
Then the cold white hand slapped across her mouth, the dark eyes stared at her in
purple light and Peggy felt the darkness flooding.
The horror-smoked room went turning on its side.
Consciousness. It flickered in her brain like gauze-veiled candlelight. A murmuring
of sound, a blur of shadow before her eyes.
Breath dripped like syrup from her mouth.
"Here, Peg."
She heard Bud's voice and felt the chilly metal of a flask neck pressed against her
lips. She swallowed, twisting slightly at the trickle of fire in her throat and stomach,
then coughed and pushed away the flask with deadened fingers.
Behind her, a rustling movement. "Hey, she's back," Len said. "Ol' Olive Oyl is
back."
"You feel all right?" asked Barbara.
She felt all right. Her heart was like a drum hanging from piano wire in her chest,
slowly, slowly beaten. Her hands and feet were numb, not with cold but with a sultry
torpor. Thoughts moved with a tranquil lethargy, her brain a leisurely machine
imbedded in swaths of woolly packing.
She felt all right.
Peggy looked across the night with sleepy eyes. They were on a hilltop, the
braked convertible crouching on a jutting edge. Far below, the country slept, a
carpet of light and shadow beneath the chalky moon.
An arm snake moved around her waist. "Where are we?" she asked him in a
languid voice.
"Few miles outside school," Bud said. "How d'ya feel, honey?"
She stretched, her body a delicious strain of muscles. She sagged back, limp,
against his arm.
"Wonderful," she murmured with a dizzy smile and scratched the tiny itching
bump on her left shoulder. Warmth radiated through her flesh; the night was a sabled
glow. There seemed somewhere to be a memory, but it crouched in secret
behind folds of thick content.
"Woman, you were out," laughed Bud; and Barbara added and Len added, "Were
you!" and "Olive Oyl went plunko!"
"Out?" Her casual murmur went unheard.
The flask went around and Peggy drank again, relaxing further as the liquor
needled fire through her veins.
"Man, I never saw a loopy dance like that!" Len said.
A momentary chill across her back, then warmth again. "Oh," said Peggy, "that's
right. I forgot."
She smiled
"That was what I calls a grand finale!" Len said, dragging back his willing date,
who murmured, "Lenny boy."
"L.U.P.," Bud muttered, nuzzling at Peggy's hair. "Son of a gun." He reached out
idly for the radio knob.
L.U.P. (Lifeless Undead Phenomenon) This freak of physiological
abnormality was discovered during the war when, following certain germ-gas
attacks, many of the dead troops were found erect and performing the spasmodic
gyrations which, later, became known as the "loopy's" (L.U.P.'s) dance. The
particular germ spray responsible was later distilled and is now used in carefully
controlled experiments which are conducted only under the strictest of legal license
and supervision.
Music surrounded them, its melancholy fingers touching at their hearts. Peggy
leaned against her date and felt no need to curb exploring hands. Somewhere, deep
within the jellied layers of her mind, there was something trying to escape. It fluttered
like a frantic moth imprisoned in congealing wax, struggling wildly but only growing
weaker in attempt as the chrysalis hardened.
Four voices sang softly in the night.
"If the world is here tomorrow
I'll be waiting, dear, for you
If the stars are there tomorrow
I'll be wishing on them too."
Four young voices singing, a murmur in immensity. Four bodies, two by two,
slackly warm and drugged. A singing, an embracing a wordless accepting.
"Star light, star bright
Let there be another night."
The singing ended but the song went on.
A young girl sighed.
"Isn't it romantic?" said Olive Oyl.
The End
JACK WILLIAMSON
If your father read science fiction, he very likely counted Jack Williamson high [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]