Fear Read online

“Yes, Mother.”

  “Go on down the stairs and you’ll meet a man. If you are bound to die, then ask him where you lost your hat.”

  “He’ll tell me?”

  “Maybe he will and maybe he won’t. Bats are hats are rats are cats are hats and there is no soup deep enough to drown.”

  “Drown what, Mother?”

  “Why, to drown, that’s all! You have a kind face, James Lowry.”

  “Thank you, Mother.”

  “And then you’ll meet another man after you meet the first man. But they aren’t men, either of them. They’re ideas. And the first man will tell you that you are about to meet the second man, and then the second man will tell you that you have to go on down to the foot of the stairs. All the way to the bottom. Down, down, down—”

  “Where is the bottom, Mother?”

  “At the top, of course. Hats lead to bats, lead to cats, lead to rats. Rats are hungry, James Lowry. Rats will eat you, James Lowry. Hats, you came here to bats, you go on to cats, you get eaten by the rats. Do you still want to find your hat?”

  “Please, Mother.”

  “Oh, what a contrary, stubborn, bullheaded, witless, rotten, thoughtless, bestial, wicked, heartless, contrary, stubborn, bullheaded, witless, rotten— Do you still want to find your hat, James Lowry?”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “You don’t believe in demons and devils?”

  “No, Mother.”

  “You still don’t believe in demons or devils?”

  “No, Mother.”

  “Then look behind you, James Lowry.”

  He whirled.

  But there was only darkness.

  There was the sound of a slamming door. Far away a voice cried, “Jim! Jim Lowry!”

  When he felt of the place where the door had been, for it was inky dark once more, he could find nothing but the wall. He groped upward, but the steps were gone. He groped downward and the voice, clearer now, was calling, “Jim! Jim Lowry!”

  Step by step, sometimes an inch and sometimes a yard, sometimes slanting to the right, sometimes level and sometimes to the left, but always the opposite direction from what they first appeared. Another stratum of mist, white this time, curling smokily about him; it was full of something that stung his throat, but something, too, which made him walk with less fear and a straighter back.

  “Jim! Jim Lowry!”

  It was quite close now; it sounded hollow, as though it was being brayed by a town crier into an echo-box. There wasn’t much interest in it any more than there is interest in the voice of a train caller bidding the commuters to pack into the 5:15.

  “Oh, Jim! Jim Lowry!”

  Paging Mr. Lowry. Paging Mr. Lowry.

  The white mist was clearing as he came down into its lower levels, and he could see the stairs now. They had changed; they were clean and dry and made of polished marble, and they had an elaborately carved railing which, after the stone, was very soothing to his touch. It seemed that this case was winding a little, and that just below there was a great hall hung in banners with half a hundred guests about a board—but he did not feel that he should go near the guests. A big Great Dane came bounding up to him and almost knocked him down, and then, as though it had made a mistake, gave a sniff and walked, stiff-legged, away. Lowry kept on going down the steps.

  “Jim! Jim Lowry!”

  He was on a landing stage, and something had happened to the guests in the great hall, though he knew they were quite near. To his right hung a gold-and-white tapestry depicting combat in the lists, and to his left stood a stand full of lances, above which hung a sword plaque and a shield with three rampant lions upon it.

  A hand tapped him on the shoulder and he snapped around to find a tall knight in full armor, made taller by the waving white plume of his visored helmet, the visor of which was down.

  “James Lowry?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you sure you are Jim Lowry?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why answer to the name of James? Never mind, we won’t quibble. You know me?”

  “I am sorry that I can’t seem to place you. Your helmet visor is down, you know, and you are all cased in steel—”

  “Well, well, old fellow, we won’t equivocate about a visor now, will we? We are both gentlemen, and so there is no reason to quarrel, is there? Especially about a little thing like a visor. You think you are dreaming, don’t you?”

  “Why, no. I didn’t exactly—”

  “That’s it. You are not dreaming. See, I’ll pinch you.” And he did, and nodded sagely when Lowry jerked away. “You are not dreaming, and this is all perfectly real. If you don’t believe it yet, then look at the mark these steel fingers made.”

  Lowry glanced at the back of his hand and saw that it was bruised and bleeding.

  “Now about this hat,” said the knight. “You’re bound to find it?”

  “Certainly.”

  “It was only worth a few dollars, you know. And believe me, old man, what are a few dollars compared to the value of your own life?”

  “What does my life have to do with a hat?”

  “Oh, now I say, old fellow, didn’t you hear the old mother tell you that if you found the hat you found the four hours, and that if you found the four hours you lost your life? Now let’s look at this thing sagely, eh? Let’s examine it in the light of cold and dispassionate reasoning. A hat is worth perhaps ten dollars. During the remaining thirty-five years of your life you will probably make a hundred and fifty thousand dollars at, say, forty-five hundred dollars a year. Now is that anything to exchange for a ten-dollar bill?”

  “Wellll—nooo.”

  “All right, old fellow, I’m glad you see my point. Now let us probe more deeply into this problem. You are a very intelligent man. You have lost four hours. In the thirty-five years you may yet live there will be exactly three hundred and five thousand, four hundred and forty hours. Is that time sufficient to outweigh a perfectly stupid period like four hours?”

  “No—but—”

  “Ah, so we must still argue about this some more. You are bound to find your hat, eh?”

  “I would like to.”

  “And you won’t worry if you find your hat and then find the four hours—for they are right there side by side?”

  “Well—”

  “Now! I thought you’d weaken after a while. Find your hat, find four hours, find death. That’s the way it will run. Hats are too numerous for you to go scrambling around looking for just one.”

  “I’ll . . . I’ll think it over.”

  “Don’t do that. You should be convinced right here and now that it is no use finding the hat. And forget the four hours. Forget them quite completely.”

  “Maybe—” ventured Lowry, “maybe you can tell me what did happen in those four hours.”

  “Oh, now, come, old fellow! I tell you that if you find out you will surely die, and you ask me point-blank to tell you. And here I am trying to save you, not destroy you.”

  “You can’t even give me a hint?”

  “Why should I?”

  “Was it that article—”

  “Tut, tut, Jim Lowry. Don’t try to worm it out of me, for I have no reason to wish you dead. In fact, I think you are a swell fellow, a veritable prince and the best there is. Now you just go on down—”

  “Was it malaria?”

  “Tut, tut.”

  “Was it the drink?”

  “Hush, now.”

  “Was it—”

  “I said to be quiet!” roared the knight. “If you are so determined to learn, you go on down those steps and you’ll come to a man. That’s all I’ll say. You’ll come to a man.”

  “Thank you,” said Lowry. “And now, would you mind telling me your name?”

  “Name? Why should I have a name? I am a knight, and I am full of ideals.”

  “But if I see you again I won’t recognize you.”

  “I said I am full of ideals!”

  �
��Well, what difference does that make? I am full of ideals, too.” He reached out and started to raise the fellow’s visor. The knight did not jerk away, but stood quite still.

  The visor went up.

  The suit was empty!

  And there was darkness.

  After a little while Lowry made another attempt to go up, but again it was futile; he almost fell through the void above him. He stood still, shivering. Did—did he have to go down there, after all? Down to— Swiftly he shook off the wild craving to scream. He grew calm.

  There was something a little different about these steps, he found; they gave out another sound, a hollow sound, as though they were built of lumber; and unlike the others which had been above, these were regular. After a very short descent he almost fell trying to reach a step which was seemingly solid earth. Yes. He was on a flat expanse of earth! He could see nothing—

  Suddenly he turned and felt for the bottom step. It was still there. The one above it was still there. The one above that was still there. Maybe the stairs were all there once more! Perhaps he could again gain the top! But again he stumbled, for where there had been a landing of marble there was now a platform of wood with a railing about it and further ascent was impossible. He went down the steps again to the flat expanse of earth.

  He had not seen the fellow before, mainly because the fellow was all dressed in black. All in black. He wore a black slouch hat with a wide brim which almost covered the whole of his face, but was unable to hide the grossness of the features or the cruelty of the mouth; his powerful but hunched shoulders were draped in a black cloak of ancient manufacture; his shoes had black buckles upon them. He was carrying a lantern which threw, at best, a feeble glow between himself and Lowry; this he set down and perched himself upon a wooden seat, taking something long and snaky from under his arm. He then took out a little black book and, lifting the lantern, peered intently at the pages.

  “Lowry?”

  “That is I.”

  “Huh! Frank fellow, aren’t you? Well, everybody knows better than to shilly-shally with me.” He spat loudly and looked back at the book. “Nice black weather we’re having, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. I suppose so.”

  “How much do you weigh, Lowry?”

  “A hundred and ninety pounds.”

  “Hmmm. Hundred and ninety pounds.” He found a pencil and scribbled a note in his book. Then he lifted the lantern high and took a long look at Lowry’s face and body. Hmmm. No deformities?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Hundred and ninety pounds and an ordinary neck. James Lowry, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, we won’t be knowing each other very long, but that’s your trouble, not mine.”

  “What . . . what is your name?”

  “Jack. It’s really Jack Ketch, but you can call me Jack.” He spat loudly again. “If you want to do right by me and make it easy, why, just put a pound note or two in your pocket when you come up.”

  There was a certain odor of decay about the fellow—decay and dried blood—which made Lowry’s neck hair mount. “Why a pound note?”

  “Why not? I’ve got to eat same as you used to. I can make it pretty easy or I can make it terrible bad. Now if you want my advice, you’ll just pass over a pound note or two now and we can get down to business. I hate this waiting around. It’s all built there, and we’ll only get mixed up more if we keep delaying things and you’ll only worry about it. What do you say to that?”

  “I . . . I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  He raised the lantern and stared at Lowry. “Hmmm. And you look bright enough.” He set the lantern back and took up the long, snaky thing from his lap. His coarse fingers became busy with it.

  Lowry felt terror begin its slow seep through him. Jack Ketch. That was a familiar name. But he was certain he had never seen this man before. Jack Ketch—

  Suddenly Lowry saw what the man was doing. That thing he had was a rope! And on it he was tying a hangman’s noose!

  And those steps. There were thirteen of them! And a platform at the top—a gallows!

  “No!” screamed Lowry. “You can’t do it! You have no reason to do it!”

  “Hey! Hey, Lowry! Jim Lowry! Come back here! You can’t run away from me! You’ll never be able to run away from me! Lowry—Jim Lowry—”

  The hangman’s boots were thudding behind him, and the whip of the cloak was like thunder.

  Lowry tried to catch himself on the brink of new steps, sensing rather than seeing them, but the steps were slippery and he could not stop. He braced himself for the shock of striking those immediately below—

  But he struck nothing.

  Tumbling, twisting, turning, down, down, down, through an inky void with the horror of falling, a lump of agony in his stomach. Down, down, down, down, through mists and the slashing branches of trees and mists again.

  And then Lowry was lying in ooze, with the feel of it squashy between his fingers and the smell of it dead and rotten. Somewhere something was moving in the blackness. Brush was crackling and something was breathing hard and hot, something searching.

  As quietly as he could, Lowry crept away. It was too dark for anything to see him; if he could be silent—

  “Lowry! Jim Lowry!”

  Lowry pressed into the muck and lay still.

  “So you don’t think I can see you, Jim Lowry! Wait a moment. I have something for you.”

  Jack Ketch’s voice was growing closer, and Lowry knew that while he could not see a thing, he must be plainly visible to Jack Ketch. Madly he leaped to his feet and floundered away; brush stung him and the half-submerged trunk of a tree tripped him and, knee-deep, he somehow kept on.

  “I can tell you where you can find your hat, Jim Lowry. I want to help you.” And there was a sound of spitting. “You can’t get away from me.”

  Lowry felt warm water up as high as his knees, with ooze beneath, and the steam of it smelled decayed. He hurried through it.

  “I’m trying to help you, Jim Lowry!” said Jack Ketch, seemingly closer now. “All I want to do is help you. I can tell you where to find your hat. Won’t you listen to me?”

  Sick and weary, Lowry fell prone and pried himself out of the mud again and floundered on.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” pleaded Jack Ketch’s voice. “I only want to hang you!” He swore and spat. “That’s what a man gets for trying to help. Lowry! Come back here! I want to tell you where to find your hat!”

  The ground was hard under his feet now, and Lowry fled swiftly through the velvet dark. A mighty force abruptly smote him on the chest and knocked him flat and half-drowned into a mauling suction of sand and sea, turning him swiftly and snatching at him and dragging him under and outward. He was drowning!

  He opened his mouth to scream and choked upon the saltwater; he was being held in the depths, and all around him was a greenish light, and he could see the silver bubbles of his own breath going up to the surface.

  Suddenly he was on top, sucking breath into his tortured body, breath which was half sea water. He coughed and retched and tried to cry for help. And then the panic quieted in him and he found that he could stay afloat very easily. His breathing returned to normal as he treaded water and he looked anxiously for Jack Ketch, but of the hangman there was no sign. Instead there was a long jungle strand, a yellow beach bathed in white waves, green trees of gigantic size bending over the sea. And the sky was blue and the sea was blue and there was no sound in all this peaceful serenity. Lowry thankfully dragged in the beauty of the place and wondered at the comfortable warmth which spread through him. He eyed the beach again, but not for Jack Ketch; vaguely now he remembered that he had lost something—that he had lost four hours. Somehow he had to find them despite all the warnings which he had been given; somehow he had to rearrange his memory so that he would know for certain—

  The darkness was settling once more and there came a wind, at first very low and th
en shrill, and the waves began to stir restlessly. He was beginning to feel tired.

  Suddenly he knew that there was something in the deep below which was going to strike up and snatch him down, that there were many black and awful things beyond description which would haul him under and rend him apart.

  He began to swim toward the shore through the thickening dark. It took all his wits to keep from speeding in blind panic and to keep from dwelling upon the things which must be under him. There was a roaring in the air and a thunder of breaking surf, and, looking closely across the waves, he saw great towers of spume appearing and vanishing, water smashed to white frenzy on a jagged reef. He turned. He would be mashed beyond recognition if he tried to land here, and yet he knew that he could not stay long in this water, for at any moment now something would reach up and gnash him in half. But he could not turn back, for the sea seemed to be forcing him in upon the jagged black teeth which thrust up through the surf. Somewhere lightning battered blue sheets at the world. But there was no thunder beyond that of the surf. He was being raised ten feet and dropped ten feet by the surging waves, and each time he was closer to the rocks. He could not hear, he could not breathe. He was caught in a trap of water, and if he did not drown he would be smashed to a mangled mess.

  Something bumped against him and he recoiled. It bumped against him a second time and he glanced toward it. A piece of wood! But even as he seized upon it he knew that it was of a peculiar design, and that he had no right to touch it.

  Just above the piece of wood he sensed a presence. He looked up.

  He saw a book, held by a pair of hands. That was all. Just a book and a pair of hands.

  “Now hold on tight,” said a somewhat oily voice. “Everything is going to be all right very soon. But you must hold on tight and close your eyes and not see anything and not hear anything but what I tell you to see and hear. Believe in me and do exactly as I tell you—”

  The voice was getting faint and far away, but that was because Lowry’s weary face had dropped into the soothing cushion of the water, while his hands, almost nerveless, still held the piece of wood.

  Chapter Four

  “Come on, now. You’ll come around all right. A nice sleep in the jail will fix you up. Never did see why men had to drink— Why, it’s Professor Lowry!”