Beyond This

by Francis Q

  Watchful Uncle

  “CYNTHIA! WHOM ARE YOU TALKING TO UP THERE? Come down here this very minute!” Cynthia Amberley stepped timidly out of her room, clutching her doll tight against her heart, and stood at the head of the stairs, looking fearfully down at her cousin Roger. “I… I was just talking to Uncle Jack,” she stammered out. “He was telling me ghost stories.”

  Roger glared up at her impatiently. “That’s nonsense,” he almost shouted. “How many times must I tell you that Uncle Jack has been dead a whole week? Now stop your fairy tales and come down here… hurry! Run!” Galvanized into action by the shouted command, Cynthia began scrambling down the steep stairs as fast as she could, without even holding onto the bannisters. As she neared the step across which Roger had tied the thin but strong length of piano wire, his eyes took on an avid gleam. He could already see, in his mind’s eye, Cynthia’s ankle catching the wire, the hurtling little body crashing down the steep stairwell, the prone figure lying at the bottom in the unmistakable position of those who have died of a broken neck. At last he would be revenged on the uncle who had thwarted him out of an enormous inheritance, who had left all his wealth to this despicable little snip of a girl. Yes, he… Roger Amberley… would fall heir to the family wealth as soon as Cynthia tripped on the…

  “WAIT! It… it can’t be,” Roger thought in desperation. “I… I’m seeing things… that white wisp of vapor didn’t suddenly appear and lift Cynthia’s foot over the wire!”

  But it must have been, for here was Cynthia skipping safely down the rest of the stairs and stopping docilely in front of him. Roger Amberley passed a shaking hand over his forehead, and knew that his nerves were shot… he’d have to get rid of the girl before he really went batty! And he knew the best, most foolproof way! Willingly, Cynthia accompanied him to the attic, where he stopped in front of the huge trunk with the massive iron top. It took all his strength to pull the lid creakingly up, and then he said, in his most amiable voice. “Look inside, Cynthia. There’s a surprise in there for you!” Eagerly, Cynthia stooped over the dim interior of the trunk, and just as Roger was about to push her, he was halted by her cry of delight. “Oh, UNCLE JACK… this is a wonderful surprise! But what are you doing in here?”

  Stunned for a moment, Roger recovered his wits and roughly pushed the girl aside. “Uncle Jack?… You’re out of your mind, Cynthia! Here… let me see what’s inside!”

  The interior of the trunk was shadowy and dark, and Roger had to thrust his head further into it before he could make out what that vague, amorphous white shape really was. But when he did find out, it was too late… for the grinning, wraith had reached up suddenly and slammed the massive lid down upon him forever.

  Time to die

  HE’D DONE IT… his experiment had worked! Clutching the next day’s newspaper in trembling hands, Professor Peter Halvorsen staggered to his armchair and lay back, panting heavily, trying to ignore the growing pain around his heart.

  Yes, it had worked… but the experiment had exacted an awful toll on his body. The professor leaned back, trying to quiet the heart that pounded against his chest. There was one sure way to relax, he knew… all he had to do was think back over the years that led to today’s tremendous triumph, the most stupendous achievement of the age. He’d let his memories soothe and calm him… the memories of all those years since he had discovered the Third Book of Thoth in a secret vault in the Pyramid of Thebe’s. Twelve years ago it was… and twelve years of laborious, heartbreaking deciphering had followed. He’d given up his position as Professor of Egyptology and Occultology to devote all his time to translating the ancient symbols of occult wisdom.

  He’d kept his discovery of the Book of Thoth a secret, afraid that the public would laugh at his attempts to solve the mystery of time! But they wouldn’t laugh now, when he told them that he had actually carried out the magical rites, the uncanny invocations to unknown spirits… and had actually projected himself a day ahead into the future! The professor turned his head and glanced fondly at the incredibly ancient Third Book of Thoth, lying in its silver box on the table at his side. Yes, it had taught him the occult secret of traveling in time… even though the anguished wrench from one time dimension to another had almost killed him. But he was beginning to feel better now, strong enough to light a cigarette before he looked at the proof of his success… the newspaper he held clutched in one hand.

  Tomorrow’s newspaper… carrying news that had not yet even happened! He leafed through it now, thinking of how he had staggered down the street tomorrow to the corner news-stand so that he would know he hadn’t been dreaming.

  The professor idly turned another page, stared in horror… and leaped to his feet with a cry of anguish. Suddenly he staggered, clutched his heart, and pitched to the floor, his cigarette falling near the newspaper. A thin curl of smoke arose, and then the greedy flames began eating away at the column that read: “NOTED EGYPTOLOGIST DIES. Professor Peter Halvorsen died yesterday in a fire that utterly consumed his home. The renowned scholar is believed to have suffered a heart attack before the blaze occurred, and there is no hint of the cause of the fire. Police are investigating a strange silver box full of ashes, found near the body…”

  Stone Cold

  ALL EVENING LONG, Rod Foster had been fingering the gun in his pocket - and casing the joint - and he knew he’d soon be making his biggest haul of the month. “Cripes!” he thought, “there must be at least a couple o’ thousand in that old professor’s safe in back! His show’s the biggest attraction on the midway… the crowds ain’t stopped pourin’ in fer a minute all night… an’ at a buck a head… WHEW! I’ll be able to go on a binge fer a month!” Finally, when all the lights of the midway began to be turned down, Rod pulled the collar of his coat up to cover part of his face, took a fresh grip on his gun, and pushed open the door of Professor Marxwell’s Wax Museum…. The little old man inside paused in the act of covering up a dummy with a white shroud as Rod stalked in.

  “Sorry,” the old man said. “Closed for the night… the next show will be tomorrow morn…” The professor broke off suddenly and gasped as he saw the gun in Rod’s hand. “Cut the gab,” Rod snarled. “Just take me to your safe an’ open it… if you know what’s good fer you!”

  “N… no,” stammered the professor, his face pale with fear, “you must not go to my safe… OWWW!” Rod grinned maliciously as the little old man went down under the force of his blow, and grinned even more as the professor gasped out, “D… don’t … I… I’ll show you the safe!” Following closely behind the professor as he stumbled down the long corridor of ghostly statues, Rod repressed an involuntary shudder. “Those statues gimme the creeps,” he muttered. “They all look so alive, so…. OOOPS!”

  Rod went sprawling as he tripped over the outstretched foot of a statuesque figure, and he hastily put out his hands to regain his balance. “Hey!” he called to the professor. “These statues ain’t made of wax! They’re hard, and cold… stone cold!” The professor paused and looked back. “Yes, I must admit that my sign outside is a bit fraudulent… because these statues are made of stone. But I had to say it’s a wax museum… because no one would come to a stone museum.

  Nor would anyone believe me if I were to tell them that all these figures were once actually human beings… who were turned to stone by looking at the head of Medusa, which I found in a secret cave in the ancient Greek city of Argos! Of course, you remember the ancient Greek myth that all those who gazed upon Medusa’s horrible head were instantly turned to stone… luckily, I first saw its reflection in a mirror in the cave, so…”

  “Shut up… SHUT UP!” shouted Rod. “Your gabbin’ is gettin’ on my nerves… this whole place gives me the willies! Show me where that safe is fast, or I’ll…”

  “It’s right over there,” Prof. Marxwell said coldly. “The safe door isn’t locked… and everything you’re looking for is inside.” In two strides, Rod was at the safe. He yanked the door open… and a small, stifled
gasp escaped him. Carefully keeping his eyes averted from the safe’s interior, Prof. Marxwell shut the door of the safe… and began tugging and straining at the new stone statue, finally managing to move it into the row of other remarkably lifelike, but stone-cold figures on exhibition.

  Fountain of Death

  “I FOUND IT… I FOUND IT!” Andre Vinson fairly hopped about with exultation and triumph on the shores of the little pond, acting like a youth of twenty instead of the tired, sickly man of sixty-odd years that he actually was. Kneeling down, he quickly scooped up a handful of the cool waters at his feet and drank greedily, feeling the strange fiery warmth spread gradually through his body… the body that had been given only one more year of life by the most eminent physicians of France and America. Ever since that day when the old French explorer had been solemnly warned that his body, worn out by years of arduous explorations in all parts of the globe, ravaged by strange tropical diseases, would soon give out, Andre Visson had vowed that he would prove them wrong.

  Night and day for three months he had pored over the ancient Indian, Spanish and French maps of the Florida Everglades; for months afterwards he had wandered through the Seminole Indian villages of the dense swamps, listening to all the ancient legends of Bimini… the land of the Fountain of Youth! Yes, Ponce de Leon and countless explorers after him had sought in vain for the legendary waters that were said to cure all ills and restore the bather to strength and youth… but their failures hadn’t discouraged France’s greatest modern explorer, who had all the resources of modern science to help him. And now, after three more months of backbreaking, spirit-killing explorations in the heart of impenetrable Cypress swamps, treacherous bogs and mangrove thickets where no man had stepped for countless centuries… he’d found it! The moment he’d laid eyes on the little pond with the sparkling fountain in the center, he’d known this was it! But he’d been cautious, coldly scientific at first… until he’d seen the birds he’d caught and flung into the pond suddenly become younger and smaller… until they’d even reverted back to eggs! But of course, he wouldn’t let himself revert back to infancy, Andre thought as he hastily and impatiently stripped and waded out into the cool waters of the Fountain of Youth. No, he’d get out at around the age of twenty-five… and then … OOPS! Andre suddenly lost his footing on the smooth, slippery stones at the bottom of the pond and toppled headlong into the still, shallow water. Crack!

  The sound of the old French explorer’s head striking against a stone that protruded from the surface was drowned out by the screeching of a tropical bird that flew by with cries of almost mocking laughter. And there were none but the birds and insects to witness the remarkably quick changes the unconscious explorer’s body was undergoing… changes which seemed to strip the years away like layers of skin, revealing successively a roan in the prime of life, a youth in full vigor of manhood, an adolescent whose beard was just beginning to sprout, a child with a rich, full life ahead of it, an infant, utterly helpless and puny! And when the body that had once been Andre Vision, illustrious explorer of the unknown, suddenly regained consciousness, there were none but the insects and birds to watch the mad thrashing of the infant’s arms in the water, nor to hear its piteous wailing.

  Then the waters covered the infant’s face and stilled its movements and voice… and once more the only sound in the wilderness of the Everglades was the screeching laughter of the birds… and the faint, echoing laughter of the all-seeing Fates.

  Devil’s Masquerade

  JUDY WAS RAPTUROUSLY HAPPY as she entered the ballroom and began looking among the gaily-costumed figures on the dance floor for David. He’d told her that he’d come to the masquerade party dressed as the Devil… and would be wearing the realistic Devil’s costume that his fraternity used in all its initiations… but she couldn’t seem to find him in that huge crowd of masked dancers. “Where the devil could he be?” she laughed to herself. “Oh… there he is!” Silently, she stole up behind a figure unmistakably dressed as the Devil, tapped him on the shoulder, and cried, “Hi, Mr. Devil!” The figure whirled around swiftly, and Judy couldn’t repress the sudden gasp of fright that escaped her lips. “Oh, David… you… you scared me for a moment! I… I didn’t think that you’d be entirely covered by that costume… or that you’d look so… so frightening!”

  Then, as the Devil’s scowl deepened, Judy began to laugh.

  “Oh, David, you needn’t look so hurt… now that I’m used to you, I think you look positively funny! You’ll probably win the award for the most amusing costume at the ball… and now, let’s dance!”

  “Good idea,” the Devil said. “Let’s dance out onto the terrace.” Judy laughed merrily as she put her arms around him and let him lead her towards the French doors.

  “Oh, David … I love your sense of humor! No one else I know would even think of making his voice huskier so that he could act out the part of the Devil better. You should have been an actor!”

  “Now stop calling me David,” the Devil said. “As long as the masquerade party is on, we’ve got to live up to our parts.

  And to make the whole thing even more realistic you’ve got to sell me your soul!” Judy’s silver laughter tinkled out into the soft night air of the secluded terrace. “Oh, that will be fun… can I even sign my name in blood?”

  The Devil looked annoyed. “Of course… it just isn’t legal unless you do! Here… give me your finger…"

  “OWWW!” Judy looked up at the Devil with an air of surprise and pain. “You… you hurt me! And what on earth did you prick my finger with? Look … it’s beginning to bleed!”

  “Don’t talk so loud… someone might hear you and… interfere! Here, take this piece of paper and start writing with your finger… I, Judith Morrisey, do hereby…’

  “Where on earth did you get this strange, ancient-looking piece of papyrus, David?” Judy said, holding the yellowed parchment up. “You certainly use the most authentic props!”

  With a grunt of impatience, the Devil seized Judy’s hand and forced the finger down hard on the parchment. “Now just…WRITE!”

  “David!” Judy said, thoroughly angry now. “This is going too far… let go of my hand! I’ve never known you to be this rough before, DAVID!”

  “Judy… is that you calling me?” came a voice from the French doors.

  With a gasp of astonishment, Judy recognized the voice… and turned to see the figure of a Devil, not so frightening as the first one, coming towards her and taking off its mask… revealing DAVID! “Ohhh, no… NO!” shrieked Judy, tearing her hand away from the Devil’s in a paroxysm of horror and revulsion. And as she ran weepingly towards him, David couldn’t believe his eyes as he saw the Devil, with a look of impotent rage on his face, disappear in a cloud of greenish smoke!

  Inhuman Humans

  “IT…IT’S FANTASTIC…UNBELIEVABLE!” Charles Waverly muttered, wiping the cold sweat away from his forehead.

  But it’s all here, in black and white… in Dr. Jorgensen’s secret files!

  “And it all fits in, now I’m beginning to understand it!”

  Yes, the pieces were beginning to fit together in Charles Waverly’s mind.

  All of a sudden, he knew the reason why Dr. Jorgensen’s biological laboratory was deep in the Michigan Northwoods… why Jorgie never allowed anyone but himself to enter the vaulted, inner labs…why Charles and all the other chemists, physiologists and geneticists all had hazy memories of their past.

  Jorgie had told them that when he first hired them fresh from their universities, they had willingly subject themselves to a special injection that stepped up their intelligence more than tenfold… but that had the unfortunate effect of blotting out all non-scientific memories from infancy on. It had all seemed plausible to them, and Jorgie had gotten them all to admit that their memories were but a minor sacrifice for the great scientific cause they were working on. No one had ever complained… they had all worked ten and twelve hours a day in the labs, aiding Jorgie’s great res
earches into the causes and origins of life itself. But yesterday had brought the first real change in their routinized lives in years… for their beloved Jorgie had died suddenly of a heart attack. With his dying words, he had told Charles Waverly to take charge of all the results of his work carried on until his dying effort. He had given him the keys to all the secret files and vaults.

  Charles had known that Jorgie would have wanted him to plunge into his new duties immediately, without wasting any time in mourning… and so only an hour ago, Charles had started going through the files which no eyes but Jorgie’s had ever seen before. And what he had found was fantastic… unbelievable…

  Thirty years ago, the files revealed, Dr. Jorgensen had discovered the secret of creating protoplasm… of creating life! With his vast knowledge, he had started electronic breeders and incubators for the production of artificial humans; and had been successful! But Jorgie had been afraid to inform the world of his discoveries until he could be sure his humans would not grow into freaks and monstrosities. And then, when his specimens had matured normally in the incubators, he had subjected their unconscious minds to almost all the scientific lore at his command… and had removed them from the machines to see if they would act and think as humans. After subjecting them to hundreds of psychological tests, he had found that they were normal in all aspects… except that they had a strange pathological need to feel that they were all average normal humans, born of human parents.

  And because Jorgie feared his creations would go insane if he told them they weren’t really human, he had never revealed his secret to them or to the world.

  With mounting horror, Charles Waverly glanced down the list of names of artificial humans… Harold Arlen… John Crawford…. Jules Hyatt… Leonard Marx… all of them his colleagues and friends… and all of them horribly inhuman! A sudden catastrophic thought hit Charles… what if he…? But no … he, Charles Waverly, had to be human… or else Jorgie would never have put him in charge of the labs! Realizing that he could never bear being an… an artificial, inhuman thing; Charles breathed a sigh of relief and went on reading the names of the specimens. Donald Robinson… Leo Thomas… Charles Waverly!