Nightmare At 20,000 Feet

by Richard Matheson

  Now. Wilson picked the pistol up again, his heartbeat staggering. He'd have to be sudden, accurate. If he missed, the man might jump onto the other wing-worse, onto the tail assembly where, inviolate, he could rupture wires, mangle flaps, destroy the balance of the ship. No, this was the only way. He'd fire low and try to hit the man in the chest or stomach. Wilson filled his lungs with air. Now, he thought. Now.

  The stewardess came up the aisle as Wilson started pulling at the handle. For a moment, frozen in her steps, she couldn't speak. A look of stupefied horror distended her features and she raised one hand as if imploring him. Then, suddenly, her voice was shrilling above the noise of the engines.

  "Mr. Wilson, no!"

  "Get back!" cried Wilson and he wrenched the handle up.

  The door seemed to disappear. One second it was by him, in his grip. The next, with a hissing roar, it was gone.

  In the same instant, Wilson felt himself enveloped by a monstrous suction which tried to tear him from his seat. His head and shoulders left the cabin and, suddenly, he was breathing tenuous, freezing air. For a moment, eardrums almost bursting from the thunder of the engines, eyes blinded by the arctic winds, he forgot the man. It seemed he heard a prick of screaming in the maelstrom that surrounded him, a distant shout.

  Then Wilson saw the man.

  He was walking across the wing, gnarled form leaning forward, talon twisted hands outstretched in eagerness. Wilson flung his arm up, fired. The explosion was like a popping in the roaring violence of the air. The man staggered, lashed out and Wilson felt a streak of pain across his head. He fired again at immediate range and saw the man go flailing backward-then, suddenly, disappear with no more solidity than a paper doll swept in a gale. Wilson felt a bursting numbness in his brain. He. felt the pistol torn from failing fingers.

  Then all was lost in winter darkness.

  He stirred and mumbled. There was a warmness trickling in his veins, his limbs felt wooden. In the darkness, he could hear a shuffling sound, a delicate swirl of voices. He was lying, face up, on something-moving, joggling. A cold wind sprinkled on his face, he felt the surface tilt beneath him.

  He sighed. The plane was landed and he was being carried off on a stretcher. His head wound, likely, plus an injection to quiet him.

  "Nuttiest way of tryin' to commit suicide I ever heard of," said a voice somewhere.

  Wilson felt the pleasure of amusement. Whoever spoke was wrong, of course. As would be established soon enough when the engine was examined and they checked his wound more closely. Then they'd realize that he'd saved them all.

  Wilson slept without dreams.

  2 – DRESS OF WHITE SILK

  Quiet is here and all in me.Granma locked me in my room and won’t let me out. Because it’s happened she says. I guess I was bad. Only it was the dress. Momma’s dress I mean. She is gone away forever. Granma says your momma is in heaven. I don’t know how. Can she go in heaven if she’s dead?

  Now I hear Granma. She is in momma’s room. She is putting mommas dress down the box. Why does she always? And locks it too. I wish she didn’t. It’s a pretty dress and smells sweet so. And warm. I love to touch it against my cheek. But I can’t never again. I guess that is why Granma is mad at me.

  But I amnt sure. All day it was only like every day. Mary Jane came over to my house. She lives across the street. Every day she comes to my house and play. Today she was.

  I have seven dolls and a fire truck. Today Granma said play with your dolls and it. Don’t you go inside your mommas room now she said. She always says it. She just means not mess up I think. Because she says it all the time. Don’t go in your mommas room. Like that.

  But it’s nice in mommas room. When it rains I go there. Or when Granma is doing her nap I do. I don’t make noise. I just sit on the bed and touch the white cover. Like when I was only small. The room smells like sweet.

  I make believe momma is dressing and I am allowed in. I smell her white silk dress. Her going out for night dress. She called it that I don’t remember when.

  I hear it moving if I listen hard. I make believe to see her sitting at the dressing table. Like touching on perfume or something I mean. And see her dark eyes. I can remember.

  It’s so nice if it rains and I see eyes on the window. The rain sounds like a big giant outside. He says shush shush so everyone will be quiet. I like to make believe that in mommas room.

  What I like almost best is to sit at mommas dressing table. It is like pink and big and smells sweet too. The seat in front has a pillow sewed in it. There are bottles and bottles with bumps and have collared perfume in them. And you can see almost your whole self in the mirror.

  When I sit there I make believe to be momma. I say be quiet mother I am going out and you can not stop me. It is something I say I don’t know why like I hear it in me. And oh stop your sobbing mother they will not catch me I have my magic dress.

  When I pretend I brush my hair long. But I only use my own brush from my room. I didn’t never use mommas brush. I don’t think granma is mad at me for that because I never use mommas brush. I wouldn’t never.

  Sometimes I did open the box up. Because I know where Granma puts the key. I saw her once when she wouldn’t know I saw her. She puts the key on the hook in momma’s closet. Behind the door I mean.

  I could open the box lots of times. That’s because I like to look at mommas dress. I like best to look at it. It is so pretty and feels soft and like silky. I could touch it for a million years.

  I kneel on the rug with roses on it. I hold the dress in my arms and like breathe from it. I touch it against my cheek. I wish I could take it to sleep with me and hold it. I like to. Now I can’t. Because Granma says. And she says I should burn it up but I loved her so. And she cries about the dress.

  I wasn’t never bad with it. I put it back neat like it was never touched. Granma never knew. I laughed that she never knew before. But she knows now I did it I guess. And shell punish me. What did it hurt her? Wasn’t it my mommas dress?

  What I like real best in mommas room is look at the picture of momma. It has a gold thing around it. Frame is what Granma says. It is on the wall on top the bureau.

  Momma is pretty. Your momma was pretty Granma says. Why does she? I see momma there smiling on me and she is pretty. For always.

  Her hair is black. Like mine. Her eyes are even pretty like black. Her mouth is red so red. I like the dress and it’s the white one. It is all down on her shoulders. Her skin is white almost white like the dress. And so are her hands. She is so pretty. I love her even if she is gone away forever. I love her so much.

  I guess I think that’s what made me bad. I mean to Mary Jane.

  Mary Jane came from lunch like she does. Granma went to do her nap. She said don’t forget now no going to your mommas room. I told her no Granma. And I was saying the truth but then Mary Jane and I was playing fire truck. Mary Jane said I bet you haven’t no mother I bet you made up it all she said.

  I got mad at her. I have a momma I know. She made me mad at her to say I made up it all. She said I’m a liar. I mean about the bed and the dressing table and the picture and the dress even and everything.

  I said well I'll show you smarty.

  I looked into grammas room. She was doing her nap still. I went down and said Mary Jane to come on because Granma won’t know.

  She wasn’t so smart after then. She giggled like she does. Even she made a scaredy noise when she hit into the table in the hall upstairs. I said you’re a scaredy cat to her. She said back well my house isn’t so dark like this. Like that was so much.

  We went in mommas room. It was more dark than you could see. I said this is my momma’s room I suppose I made up it all.

  She was by the door and she wasn’t smart then either. She didn’t say any word. She looked around the room. She jumped when I got her arm. Well come on I said.

  I sat on the bed and said this is my mommas bed see how soft it is. She didn’t say nothing. Scaredy cat
I said. Am not she said like she does.

  I said to sit down how can you tell if it’s soft if you don’t sit down. She sat down by me. I said feel how soft it is. Smell how sweet it is.

  I closed my eyes but funny it wasn’t like always. Because Mary Jane was there. I told her to stop feeling the cover. You said to she said. Well stop it I said.

  See I said and I pulled her up. That’s the dressing table. I took her and brought her there. She said let go. It was so quiet and like always. I started to feel bad. Because Mary Jane was there. Because it was in my momma’s room and momma wouldn’t like Mary Jane there.

  But I had to show her the things because. I showed her the mirror. We looked at each other in it. She looked white. Mary Jane is a scaredy cat I said. Am not am not she said anyway nobody’s house is so quiet and dark inside. Anyway she said it smells.

  I got mad at her. No it doesn’t smell I said. Does so she said you said it did. I got madder too. It smells like sugar she said. It smells like sick people in your momma’s room.

  Don’t say my momma’s room is like sick people I said to her.

  Well you didn’t show me no dress and you’re lying she said there isn’t no dress. I felt all warm inside so I pulled her hair. I’ll show you I said you’re going to see my mommas dress and you’ll better not call me a liar.

  I made her stand still and I got the key off the hook. I kneeled down. I opened the box with the key.

  Mary Jane said pew that smells like garbage.

  I put my nails in her and she pulled away and got mad. Don’t you pinch me she said and she was all red. I’m telling my mother on you she said. And anyway it’s not a white dress it’s dirty and ugly she said.

  Its not dirty I said. I said it so loud I wonder why Granma didn’t hear. I pulled out the dress from the box. I held it up to show her how it’s white. It fell open like the rain whispering and the bottom touched on the rug.

  It is too white I said all white and clean and silky.

  No she said she was so mad and red it has a hole in it. I got more madder. If my momma was here shed show you I said. You got no momma she said all ugly. I hate her.

  I have. I said it way loud. I pointed my finger to momma’s picture. Well who can see in this stupid dark room she said. I pushed her hard and she hit against the bureau. See then I said mean look at the picture. That’s my momma and she’s the most beautiful lady in the world.

  She’s ugly she has funny hands Mary Jane said. She hasn’t I said she’s the most beautiful lady in the world!

  Not not she said she has buck teeth.

  I don’t remember then. I think the dress moved in my arms. Mary Jane screamed. I don’t remember what. It got dark and the curtains were closed I think I couldn’t see anyway. I couldn’t hear nothing except buck teeth funny hands buck teeth funny hands even when no one was saying it.

  There was something else because I think I heard someone call don’t let her say that! I couldn’t hold to the dress. And I had it on me I can’t remember. Because I was grown up strong. But I was a little girl still I think I mean outside.

  I think I was terrible bad then.

  Granma took me away from there I guess. I don’t know. She was screaming god help us it’s happened it’s happened. Over and over. I don’t know why. She pulled me all the way here to my room and locked me in. She won’t let me out. Well I’m not so scared. Who cares if she locks me in a million billion years? She doesn't have to even give me supper. I’m not hungry anyway.

  I’m full.

  3 – BLOOD SON

  The people on the block decided definitely that Jules was crazy when they heard about his composition.There had been suspicions for a long time.

  He made people shiver with his blank stare. His coarse guttural tongue sounded unnatural in his frail body. The paleness of his skin upset many children. It seemed to hang loose around his flesh. He hated sunlight.

  And his ideas were a little out of place for the people who lived on the block.

  Jules wanted to be a vampire.

  People declared it common knowledge that he was born on a night when winds uprooted trees. They said he was born with three teeth. They said he'd used them to fasten himself on his mother's breast drawing blood with the milk.

  They said he used to cackle and bark in his crib after dark. They said he walked at two months and sat staring at the moon whenever it shone.

  Those were things that people said.

  His parents were always worried about him. An only child, they noticed his flaws quickly.

  They thought he was blind until the doctor told them it was just a vacuous stare. He told them that Jules, with his large head, might be a genius or an idiot. It turned out he was an idiot.

  He never spoke a word until he was five. Then, one night coming up to supper, he sat down at the table and said "Death."

  His parents were torn between delight and disgust. They finally settled for a place in between the two feelings. They decided that Jules couldn't have realized what the word meant.

  But Jules did.

  From that night on, he built up such a large vocabulary that everyone who knew him was astonished. He not only acquired every word spoken to him, words from signs, magazines, books; he made up his own words.

  Like-nightouch. Or-killove. They were really several words that melted into each other. They said things Jules felt but couldn't explain with other words.

  He used to sit on the porch while the other children played hopscotch, stickball and other games. He sat there and stared at the sidewalk and made up words.

  Until he was twelve Jules kept pretty much out of trouble.

  Of course there was the time they found him undressing Olive Jones in an alley. And another time he was discovered dissecting a kitten on his bed.

  But there were many years in between. Those scandals were forgotten.

  In general he went through childhood merely disgusting people.

  He went to school but never studied. He spent about two or three terms in each grade. The teachers all knew him by his first name. In some subjects like reading and writing he was almost brilliant.

  In others he was hopeless.

  One Saturday when he was twelve, Jules went to the movies. He saw Dracula.

  When the show was over he walked, a throbbing nerve mass, through the little girl and boy ranks.

  He went home and locked himself in the bathroom for two hours.

  His parents pounded on the door and threatened but he wouldn't come out.

  Finally he unlocked the door and sat down at the supper table. He had a bandage on his thumb and a satisfied look on his face.

  The morning after he went to the library. It was Sunday. He sat on the steps all day waiting for it to open. Finally he went home.

  The next morning he came back instead of going to school.

  He found Dracula on the shelves. He couldn't borrow it because he wasn't a member and to be a member he had to bring in one of his parents.

  So he stuck the book down his pants and left the library and never brought it back.

  He went to the park and sat down and read the book through. It was late evening before he finished.

  He started at the beginning again, reading as he ran from street light to street light, all the way home.

  He didn't hear a word of the scolding he got for missing lunch and supper. He ate, went in his room and read the book to the finish. They asked him where he got the book. He said he found it.

  As the days passed Jules read the story over and over. He never went to school.

  Late at night, when he had fallen into an exhausted slumber, his mother used to take the book into the living room and show it to her husband.

  One night they noticed that Jules had underlined certain sentences with dark shaky pencil lines.

  Like: "The lips were crimson with fresh blood and the stream had trickled over her chin and stained the purity of her lawn death robe."

  Or: "When the blood be
gan to spurt out, he took my hands in one of his, holding them tight and, with the other seized my neck and pressed my mouth to the wound…"

  When his mother saw this, she threw the book down the garbage chute.

  In the next morning when Jules found the book missing he screamed and twisted his mother's arm until she told him where the book was.

  Then he ran down to the cellar and dug in the piles of garbage until he found the book.

  Coffee grounds and egg yolk on his hands and wrists, he went to the park and read it again.

  For a month he read the book avidly. Then he knew it so well he threw it away and just thought about it.

  Absence notes were coming from school. His mother yelled. Jules decided to go back for a while.

  He wanted to write a composition.

  One day he wrote it in class. When everyone was finished writing, the teacher asked if anyone wanted to read their composition to the class.

  Jules raised his hand.

  The teacher was surprised. But she felt charity. She wanted to encourage him. She drew in her tiny jab of a chin and smiled.

  "All right," she said. "Pay attention children. Jules is going to read us his composition."

  Jules stood up. He was excited. The paper shook in his hands.

  "My Ambition by…"

  "Come to the front of the class, Jules, dear."

  Jules went to the front of the class. The teacher smiled lovingly. Jules started again.

  "My Ambition by Jules Dracula."

  The smile sagged.

  "When I grow up I want to be a vampire."

  The teacher's smiling lips jerked down and out. Her eyes popped wide.

  "I want to live forever and get even with everybody and make all the girls vampires. I want to smell of death."