The Golden Age of Weird Fiction Megapack, Volume 5

by David H. Keller

  His eyes closed, his head drooped forward as he fell into a deep, painless rest; and in that sleep, no dreams tormented him.

  The next morning, when the nurse came to rouse James Fordyce, he was on the floor. On the bureau, the mirror was broken, and Fordyce held a jagged sliver of the glass in his rigid hand. He had, indeed, won the victory; now he could finish the poem.

  THE GOLDEN KEY

  Originally published in Destiny VIII, Spring 1953.

  No one knew what the tower was for. No one knew when the tower was built, or by whom it had been constructed.

  Everyone just seemed to realize it was there, all realizing it at once, and all at the same time.

  They saw it rising from the hot burning sands one morning in early March. From further away than fifteen miles it stood sharply defined, reaching clear and clean against the horizon. It puzzled everyone, yet they did not try to explain its sudden appearance. They just took it for granted as a definite fact, much as they accepted the blizzards, or the Mormon crickets, or the fossil turtles which they often uncovered, half buried in the sand.

  It was a good two miles in diameter at the base, of fine structural steel; it rose skyward till its peak was lost in the sky. Even on absolutely clear days no one could be sure where or how it ended, or if it ended at all for that matter; the top was simply out of sight. From a distance the steel tower looked like a peculiar web, woven by a gigantic spider. Between the heavy bracing girders were smaller iron rods, forming gigantic ladders, constantly decreasing in size as the perspective of the tower rose higher and higher, out of sight.

  In the next few months articles concerning the tower appeared in various magazines and newspapers. It was the general opinion of the Sunday Magazine Editors that in some way the tower was connected with radio or television, or the dispersal of atomic energy. Many thousands of words and hundreds of conjectures all ended in the general statement, “No one knows who built the tower or why! The government still refuses to commit itself by stating whether the tower is a military project or not.”

  During the first year of its existence many tourist braved the rugged Utah desert to visit it. Some of them even climbed a few of the countless thousands of rungs on the ladders. Many of them took pictures of the tower, mailing then back home to their friends with the worn phrase, “Having a wonderful time; wish you were here,” scrawled over the back of the prints.

  Then one day gossip started circulating about the tower. The casual gossip rapidly spread into rumor and the rumor to actuality. The information was passed along, very confidentially, in whispers, and each person told was pledged to absolute secrecy.

  The information spread through the various states like a hurricane. The story was out. On April first, anyone who wanted to do so could climb the tower. At the very top was a fabulous GOLDEN KEY—a key that would unlock all the riches of the world. No object or power was beyond the possession of he who held the golden key.

  When the news broke at Salt Lake City, the Bantam Brothers Combined Circus was playing at the Fair Grounds. Jim, John and Jenny were elated at the prospects of claiming the key for themselves. They knew it was futile for anyone to think that they could beat the incomparable “Three Flying J’s” in securing the key. They were not known as “The Aerial Wonders” for nothing. For years they had stunted in one dinky carnival after the other. Finally they arrived at the peak of their ambition, a solitary act, highly spotlighted, is the center ring of the three ring circus. Each night, at a height of one hundred feet, without a net, Jim would throw Jenny through the air to John, who would catch her by the wrists and send her streaking back across the big top to Jim.

  Jim and John were tall, with the slim matchless bodies of trained athletes. Jenny was the vision of Aphrodite with her machine-perfect muscular coordination. But in Jenny’s beautiful body dwelt the demon of lust. Jim and John both loved her, with the conviction that she loved each alone. In reality there was room for only Jenny in Jenny’s life.

  The “Flying J’s” arrived early on the morning of the second of April, astonished to find so many hopeful adventurers ahead of them, already swarming over the lower rungs of the ladder. Those who had come first were already several hundred feet into the air, first climbing rapidly, than more slowly. Many of them had never been on anything higher than a stepladder, and the hope in their hearts was mingled with nauseating fear in their souls. None of them knew how high above them the golden key might be. Few of them had bothered to prepare themselves adequately for the climb, but all of them held the hope that they would be the first to secure the key.

  April in Utah is desert weather—the bitterest of cold at night, coupled with burning blazing heat at noon. Almost all of the seekers for the key had come unprepared for either temperature. Those who had started to climb the tower could not stop even if they wanted to, the pressure of the hopefuls climbing below them made retreat impossible. The first night they could only cling to the rungs of the ladders or tie themselves securely with their belts. When daylight came they had to move on upward, forced ahead by the less tired climbers at the bottom. By noon all of them were tired and hungry, and most of them were very frightened. Here and there along the ladders someone would stop for a moment to rest, and gaze at the panorama of Utah, stretched out endlessly all about them, shudder for a moment and be pushed on with the climbing tide.

  The “J’s” had made definite, coldblooded preparations for their climb, heartless in their magnitude, to insure their progress upward. Jim prided himself on his ability with the switchblade. John was an expert with his close-range target revolver. Jenny needed no weapons to compliment her hands—hands with the sure grip of steel, hands on which her life literally depended each night in their act. Each of the “J’s” carried a canteen of water; each had filled their pockets with chocolate bars and concentrated energy tablets.

  On the morning of the second day, when they started to climb, they were determined to force their way through the hundreds that stood ahead of them, blocking their way. They shouted. They gritted and snarled their battle cry, “Make way! Let me pass!” Three against hundreds! But the three moving as one.

  A coordinated, determined ruthless force, fearless of height, indifferent to danger. Jenny headed the triple wedge. Deliberately she would squeeze between two men, whispering to each, “Let me get by you; then follow me, I will make a way for you.”

  Foolishly the men believed her, allowing her to pass, regretting their actions only when it was too late. Behind her came Jim and John. Acrobat shoes had been replaced with heavy leather boots shod with sharp, steel spikes. Anyone refusing to give way had their hands torn by the spikes, a trail of blood was slowly forming behind the climbing wedge.

  Not all took the brutal assault without resistance. Among the climbers were experienced structural steel men, ruthless lumber men. In a few hours the acrobats depended less on persuasion, or diplomacy or Jenny’s allure, Jim, knife at hand, hamstrung the obstinate, or waved his knife wildly about at those who tried to block him. John threatened others with his pistol, Jenny, if honey words gave no result, took the man with the bulldog grip of her fingers, tore him loose and threw him into the air or wrapped her hand around his throat till he dropped lifeless on the masses below.

  By noon they had penetrated halfway through the mass of early climbers. Those above them were moving slowly, determined, yet dreading to climb further, but unable to return to the earth. Many simply clung helpless, or tied themselves to a rung and tried to rest, and at the same time hold their place. For five hundred feet the tower was black, encrusted with crazed, greedy, evil, crawling humanity.

  The “J’s” paused only for a drink of water, or a few nibbles of chocolate, then were again on their way. The struggle was now more intense. There were fewer climbers, but proportionally fewer and narrower ladders. A thousand feet above the ground the tower was shrinking rapidly in diameter. When darkness came, as though by common consent, all stopped climbing, either to hang tenaciously
to the rungs or tie themselves fast with rope or belts. There they waited, shivering, through the dark night, hungry and cold, only to spring into new life again, with the approach of false dawn, and climb once more upward.

  Above the “J’s” were determined, desperate and dangerous men. They refused to obey the command and give way. The well-coordinated trio with their accessories made short work of these stubborn ones. Body after body of the greedy ones, less well-equipped as the “J’s”, hurtled down, crushing into the swarming, struggling mass below, bouncing occasionally from some of the climbing people, only to fall again, against more of them.

  Now the “J’s” were laughing, for few were higher than they. The going was such faster now. They were two thousand feet, now three thousand feet high. Below them, what had been the roar of the equally greedy climbers diminished to a whisper. Only about ten climbers were yet to be passed. Another thousand feet lessened the number to less than five.

  At this point it became noticeable that the tower was swaying, gently but persistently, in the wind. Another thousand feet and only one lone man was yet above them, and he only by a few rungs of the ladder. He turned, crazed with the height, dizzy from the swaying of the tower. He laughed down at the “J’s”, letting go with one hand to wave a cheery greeting to them.

  Jim threw his knife and the man stopped laughing. Clasping his side with his other hand, he floated gently away from the ladder, blood trickled from between his clasped hands. He tumbled, over and over, over and over, a lust-crazed devil, falling to the earth a mile below. Now nothing remained between the three and ultimate victory. They had arrived so near the top of the tower that they could see the upper three ladders. Two of these separated at their base by about six feet, faced each other. At the top, a third, single ladder raised upward, its top lost in the clouds that drifted hazily over the tower.

  They paused a moment to make their final plans. Far below them came the murmur of discouraged thousands, climbing like swarming bees on the lower rungs. Frequently an exhausted man, losing his grip, dropped shrieking, slithering against other weakened men, knocking them loose, or dragging them with him till they met a merciful death on the hard, parched earth. The nearest climber was three hundred feet below them, his face twisted with hopeless hatred, unable to climb higher, too exhausted to even try to descend.

  There were now only two ladders, and three climbers. John offered a suggestion, “I will stay here, guarding the rear. You go on. When you get to the single ladder, let Jenny go first. She has the best sense of balance of all of us. When you get the key, when you get it, we will share the wealth of the world. Only a few minutes more!”

  Jenny looked at Jim. Between the two of them flashed the truth behind John’s suggestion. He would stay behind. After they left him he would shoot them and then there would be no need to share. Jenny had to protect her part of the profits. She began to cry.

  “First let me kiss you, John.” She sobbed, “This may be the last time I can hold you, what if I should fall?”

  She worked her way along the rungs of the ladder to John. For a moment their bodies met in a wild abandoned embrace. She whispered into his ear, “Stay here, my own one, and wait for me, I will take care of Jim. He threw his knife away, he’ll be easy to handle without it. I’ll get the key and bring it back to you. We’ll get married, John, together we’ll share the wealth of the world.”

  Jenny kissed him again, running her fingers in gentle caresses through his hair, tenderly down the side of John’s face, to his throat. She grasped it in the grip of death. Tortured, gasping sobs wracked him as he tried to break her hold. Fiercely she dug her fingernails into his flesh. She took his revolver, stuck it into her belt, loosened John’s belt and let his body fall away from the rung, bouncing off the ladders below. Jenny climbed around the double ladder and faced Jim.

  “I had to do it, Jim, it was his life or ours. He was going to double-cross us. Now we’re safe. When we get the key, we’ll be married, Jim, Just the two of us. No more circus work! No more anything but you and I, Jim—and all the power in the world!”

  Holding to rungs of the ladder, she kissed him, and together, one on each ladder, facing each other, they started the Journey upwards, toward the final single ladder, and the key. At last they came to the joining of the two ladders and the beginning of the single one. The clouds were below them now. They were standing in a world of their own, flooded by brilliant sunlight, stronger than any spot that had ever been focused on them in the big top. A private world of their own, that whipped them unmercifully with a sharp cold wind; that threw them about wildly with the swaying of the tower that had now grown to furious proportions. A world that ate into their ears with a ringing noise that made them almost want to scream with pain. They looked up. At the top, instead of the key resting on the top rung, as they had expected, they saw a large curved iron rod, fashioned in the shape of a question mark, from the top of which, suspended on a tiny gold chain, the golden key swung gently to and fro, propelled by the swaying of the tower.

  Jim surveyed the situation. He bent over the top rung, hands and feet hanging dangerously loose for a minute. Then he locked them together, rocked himself for a moment to gain the best balance. Carefully Jenny crept up over him, teetering precariously for a moment, then slowly she straightened, inching her feet apart until she felt herself firmly placed on his upturned haunches. Grasping the stem of the iron question mark, slowly and delicately she balanced herself in perfect timing with the swaying of the tower. Carefully testing the strength of her frail support, she slowly lengthened her lovely body and reached upward with her right hand for the key. She missed. Again she balanced, stretched and reached. This time she grasped the key. Quickly closing her fingers, she tore it from it’s retaining chain. Methodically she eased herself down to a kneeling position.

  “Did you get it?” Jim was excited.

  “Yes, my darling, it’s in hand.”

  “Then we have everything that it is possible to possess.”

  “Yes, Jim, we have everything. But let’s not start down right now, after that I must rest for a moment.”

  Jim looked away, at the clouds gently floating by below them, Jenny cautiously took the revolver from her belt. She held the muzzle close to Jim’s neck, pulled the trigger. With a convulsive jerk, Jim threw his body off the rung. He instinctively grabbed for something—anything to save himself. His fingers closed over Jenny’s ankle with the trap-tight grip of the acrobat. Caught off balance, she fell with him, the two plummeting through space to die on the lower rungs, hundreds of feet below the question mark.

  Simultaneously with their fall, the tower began to melt, throwing globules of molten steel in wild, pyrotechnic convulsions. Breaking the chain that supported the key was a signal to make the metal turn liquid and rain on the helpless, greedy, evil climbers. They fell like autumn leaves in a gale.

  The few able to reach the ground ran in a wild hysterical panic, fear and horror in their soul, nursing their burned flesh.

  In an hour it was all over. The surviving evil searchers-for-wealth now sought only life in the hot, burning desert sand. Two days later the little area of solid ground that had once held the tower was ones again a quiet place, basking in the heat of the desert hell. There was nothing left but the scorched earth, the pieces of molten steel, now hardened again, and the many vultures feeding on the unburned bodies. For miles around the crazed treasure seekers still wandered aimlessly over the moonlit desert, leaving the area that had once held the tower much as it had always been.

  Many months later as the moon flooded the scorched desert with light the Responsible One searched slowly among the masses of fused metal and sand. At last he paused, and rising to a terrifying height held high above his massive head a key and watched its golden surface glisten in the moonlight. He cried, “Now, who shall I next tempt? What manner of destruction shall I bring to my foolish, greedy little ones who search in vain for a powerless key hoping it will bring them all they d
esire?”

  STENOGRAPHER’S HANDS

  Originally published in Amazing Stories Quarterly, Fall 1928.

  “They make too many errors!” cried the great man in intense irritation, as he turned restlessly in his chair. “We keep a chart of the errors—we keep a chart of everything we do—and the number of errors a day per stenographer is constantly increasing. These errors are annoying, and they are costly. No matter how hard our office force try, they do not correct all of them. We were awarded a bid last month—one of the typists put a period in the wrong place and it cost our firm over a quarter of a million. In another instance the omission of a comma caused us to lose a law suit.

  “Constant inefficiency—causing continual irritation and a lessened production of business! Our experts tell us that if the stenographic force were one hundred percent perfect we could nearly double our business. I doubt that, but we could do much more than we are doing. I want you to devise some plan to stop the errors!”

  Dr. Billings, eminent biologist and sociologist, looked curiously at the speaker. He had worked for Jerome Smith, President of Universal Utilities, for several years and had always found him an interesting personality and his problems vitally important. After a moment’s pause he asked:

  “How many stenographers do you employ, Mr. Smith?”

  “Ten thousand in our New York offices. As you know, we decided to centralize all of our offices some years ago. We need ten thousand—but usually we have only about nine thousand and have to replace them constantly. We handle millions of letters, a year, personal, individual letters—our business life depends upon the character of these letters—and we cannot secure the right kind of stenographers.”

  “Why not raise their pay?”

  “That has been tried. The more pay, the more pleasure; the more pleasure, the more fatigue and the greater number of errors.”