Unknown, p.1
Unknown, page 1
CHARLES L. GRANT
GALLERY OF HORROR
Table of Contents
Introduction
1 - William F. Nolan - Something Nasty
2 - Joseph Payne Brennan - Canavan's Back Yard
3 - Stephen R. Donaldson - The Conqueror Worm
4 - Alan Ryan - Death to the Easter Bunny
5 - Robert Bloch - The Rubber Room
6 - T.E.D. Klein - Petey
7 - Bernard Taylor - Out of Sorts
8 - Ramsey Campbell - The Sunshine Club
9 - Gardner Dozois - Down Among the Dead Men
10 - John Coyne - The Crazy Chinaman
11 - Michael Bishop - Gravid Babies
12 - Dennis Etchison - The Chair
13 - David Moffell - The Typewriter
14 - Tanith Lee - Nune Dimittis
15 - Steve Rasnic Tem - Derelicts
16 - Eric Van Lustbader - In Darkness, Angels
17 - Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - The Arrows
18 - Theodore Sturgeon - Talent
19 - Craig Shaw Gardner - Aim for the Heart
20 - Stephen King - Nona
Introduction
More years ago than I care to remember, I used to spend every Saturday afternoon at the Lincoln Theater in Kearny, New Jersey, joining my friends in an escape from school, the weather, parents, homework, and anything (or anyone) else that tended to smack of childhood's worst Monster-being responsible (otherwise known as acting your age, or growing up). It was, at the time, quite natural to substitute for this Monster a delightful clutch of others-the werewolf, the vampire, the ghost, the banshee, the thing in the cellar, the thing in the attic.
More often than not my friends and I would leave the theater laughing, walking stiff-legged or pretending we were wearing long black capes and fanging the girls walking by.
But as sure as cartoon follows first feature, there was also."Qaturday night. In bed. Alone. Sleeping the sleep of the innocent until something woke me up. Woke me up so hard, in fact, that I had a hard time going back to sleep; and often I would require the soothing services of my parents to assure me that I would, indeed, see the next dawn.
You would think that years of this would have cured me of Karloff and Lugosi and Zucco and all the others, but it didn't. And it didn't nny n either, though no one would admit to the nightmares that followed the Saturday matinee. The only thing we did know was: they were fun. Not in the dreaming, but in the retelling.
After all, that's why we went to those films in the first place-to get scared then, and to get scared again later.
Since then the Monster has gotten me, for the most part. I have grown up, I have accepted some measure of responsibility here and there, and I do, on occasion, act my age (whatever the hell that means).
On the other hand, I also write'and edit books like this, ones that if all goes well will give their readers a good dose of the chills, the shudders, and the outright shrieks now and then. After all, if the truth be known, we haven't grown up all that much; the fears we have now aren't the same as they were when we were children, but they're fears just the same. They make our palms sweat, they give us nightmares, and they're sometimes powerful enough to alter our characters.
They are now, as they were then, real.
So why read about them?
Because this book you can put down, walk away from, close with a slam in the sure knowledge that all of the horrid things happening to the people in these pages can't happen to you. What's on these pages doesn't exist.
I still think they're fun to flirt with, however, to give in to now and again, and if they hit closer to home than they would have when we were kids, well, that's the nightmare risk, isn't it? That's where the fun comes in.
And to be sure that these writers haven't wasted their time, they ask only one thing of you (aside from a shadowy room and a cold wind and a pane that rattles unnervingly in the sash): just as watching a film with two dozen graphic and full-color murders tends to numb the mind and produces little more than yawns, reading twenty or more stories at a clip is dulling, and ultimately disappointing. It doesn't make any difference to the authors gathered here how fast the traffic is going out on your street; all they ask is for a fair chance to do to you what you want them to-horrify, terrify, or just give you a dose of squirming anxiety.
These stories are variously graphic, quiet, oriented toward the supernatural, aimed at the psychological; some are bludgeons and some are razors; some will ask you for more work than others, and some will do their work more than once-like the shock of a virulent poison entering your system… and the aftertaste that lingers.
All, however, are in the business of recording nightmares.
And sooner or later you just might hit one of yours.
Of course, as long as the lights work, and as long as you don't really not for a minute believe in any of this stuff, it won't matter to you at all. That childhood Monster has gotten hold of you and transformed you, and you can handle most anything these days, especially stories that do nothing more than nibble a little at your imagination, tug a little at the shadows you were sure were banished when the sun came up.
Sure you can.
Sleep well.
CHARLES L. GRANT Newton, New Jersey
1 - William F. Nolan - Something Nasty
"Have you had your shower yet, Janey?" ther's voice from below stairs, drifting smokily up to her, barely audible where she lay in her bed.
Louder now; insistent." Janey! Will you ans She got up, cat-stretched, walked into the hall, to the landing, where her mother could hear her." I'y in.
"But I told you that Uncle Gus was coming over this afternoon."
"I hate him," said Janey softly.
"You're muttering. I can't understand you." Frustration. Anger and frustration." Come down here at once."
When Janey reached the bottom of the stairs her mother's image was rippled. The little girl blinked rapidly, trying to clear her watering eyes.
Janey's mother stood tall and ample-fleshed and fresh-smelling above her in a satiny summer dress.
Mommy always looks nice when Uncle Gus is coming.
"Why are you crying?" Anger had given way to concern.
"Because," said Janey.
"Because why?"
"Because I don't want to talk to Uncle Gus."
"But he adores you! He comes over especially to see you."
"No, he doesn't," said Janey, scrubbing at her cheek with a small fist ." He doesn't adore me and he doesn't come specially to see me.
He comes to get money from Daddy."
Her mother was shocked." That's a terrible thing to say!"
"But it's true. Isn't it true?"
"Your Uncle Gus was hurt in the war. He can't hold down an ordinary job. We just do what we can to help him."
"He never liked me," said Janey." He says I make too much noise. And he never lets me play with Whiskers when he's here."
"That's because cats bother him. He's not used to them. He doesn't like furry things." Her mother touched at Janey's hair. Soft gold."
Remember that mouse you got last Christmas, how nervous it made him..
.. Remember?"
"Pete was smart," said Janey." He didn't like Uncle Gus, same as me."
"Mice neither like nor dislike people," Janey's mother told her.
"They're not intelligent enough for that."
Janey shook her head stubbornly." Pete was very intelligent. He could find cheese anywhere in my room, no matter where I hid it."
"That has to do with a basic sense of smell, not intelligence," her mother said." But we're wasting time here, Janey. You run upstairs, take your shower and then put on your pretty new dress. The one with red polka dots."
"They're strawberries. It has little red strawberries on it."
"Fine. Now just do as I say. Gus will be here soon and I want my brother to be proud of his niece."
Blonde head down, her small heels dragging at the top of each step, Janey went back upstairs.
"I'm not going to report this to your father," Janey's mother was saying, her voice dimming as the little girl continued upward." I'll just tell him you overslept."
"I don't care what you tell Daddy," murmured Janey. The words were s in a way er room.
Daddy would believe anything Mommy told him. He always did.
Sometimes it was true, about oversleeping. It was hard to wake up from her afternoon nap. Because Iput off going to sleep. Because I hate it.
Along with eating broccoli, and taking colored vitamin pills in little animal shapes and seeing the dentist and going on roller coasters.
Uncle Gus had taken her on a high, scary roller coaster ride last summer at the park, and it had made her vomit. He liked to upset her, frighten her. Mommy didn't know about all the times Uncle Gus said scary things to her, or played mean tricks on her, or took her places she didn't want to go.
Mommy would leave her with him while she went shopping, and Janey absolutely hated being there in his dark old house. He knew the dark frightened her. He'd sit there in front of her with all the lights out, telling spooky stories, with sick, awful things in them, his voice oily and horrible. She'd get so scared, listening to him, that sometimes she'd cry.
And that made him smile.
"Gus. Always so good to see you!"
"Hi, Sis."
"C'mon inside. Jim's puttering around out back somewhere. I've fixed us a nice lunch. Sliced turkey. And I made some cornbread."
"So where's my favorite niece?"
"Janey's due down here any s econd. She'll be wearing her new dress-just for you."
" Well, now, isn't that nice."
She was watching from the top of the stairs, lying flat on her stomach so she wouldn't be seen. It made her sick, watching Mommy hug Uncle Gus that way, each time he came over, as if it had been years between visits. Why couldn't Mommy see how mean Uncle Gus was? All of her friends in class saw he was a bad person the first day he took her to school. Kids can tell right away about a person. Like that mean ole Mr. Kruger in geography, who made Janey stay after class when she forgot to do her homework. All the kids knew that Mr. Kruger was awful.
Why does it take grownups so long to know things?
Janey slid backwards into the hall shadows. Stood up. Time to go downstairs. In her playclothes. Probably meant she'd get a spanking after Uncle Gus left, but it would be worth it not to have to put on her new dress for him. Spankings don't hurt too much. Worth it.
"Well, here's my little princess!" Uncle Gus was lifting her hard in swung around in the air. He set her down with a thump. Looked at her with his big cruel eyes." And where's that pretty new dress your Mommy told me about?" - "It got torn," Janey said, staring at the carpet." I can't wear it today."
Her mother was angry again." That is not true, young lady, and you know it! I ironed that dress this morning and it is perfect." She pointed upward." You march right back upstairs to your room and put on that dress!"
"No, Maggie." Gus shook his head." Let the child stay as she is.
She looks fine. Let's just have lunch." He prodded Janey in the stomach ." Bet that little tummy of yours is starved for some turkey."
And Uncle Gus pretended to laugh. Janey was never fooled; she knew real laughs from pretend laughs. But Mommy and Daddy never seemed to know the difference.
Janey's mother sighed and smiled at Gus." All right, I'll let it go this time-but I really think you spoil her."
"Nonsense. Janey and I understand each other." He stared down at her."
Don't we, sweetie?"
Lunch was no fun. Janey couldn't finish her mashed potatoes, and she'd just nibbled at her turkey. She could never enjoy eating with her uncle there. As usual, her father barely noticed she was at the table.
He didn't care if she wore her new dress or not. Mommy took care of her and Daddy took care of business, whatever that was. Janey could never figure out what he did, but he left every day for some office she'd never seen and he made enough money there so that he always had some to give to Uncle Gus when Mommy asked him for a check.
Today was Sunday so Daddy was home with his big newspaper to read and the car to wax and the grass to trim. He did the same things every Sunday.
Does Daddy love me? I know that Mommy does, even though she spanks me sometimes. But she always hugs me after. Daddy never hugs me. He buys me ice cream, and he takes me to the movies on Saturday afternoon, but I don't think he loves me.
Which is why she could never tell him the truth about Uncle Gus.
He'd never listen.
And Mommy just didn't understand.
After lunch, Uncle Gus grabbed Janey firmly by the hand and took her into the back yard. Then he sat her down next to him on the big wooden swing.
"I'll bet your new dress is ugly," he said in a cold voice.
"Is not. It's pretty!"
Her discomfort pleased him. He leaned over, close to her right ear."
Want to know a secret?"
Janey shook her head." I want to go back with Mommy. I don't like being out here."
She started away, but he grabbed her, pulling her roughly back onto the swing." You listen to me when I talk to you." His eyes glittered." I'm going to tell you a secret. About yourself."
"Then tell me."
He grinned." You've got something inside."
"What's that mean?"
"It means there's something deep down inside your rotten little belly.
And it's alive!"
" Huh?" She blinked, beginning to get scared.
"A creature. That lives off what you eat and breathes the air you breathe and can see out of your eyes." He pulled her face close to his.
"Open your mouth, Janey, so I can look in and see what's living down there! "
"No, I won't." She attempted to twist away, but he was too strong.
"You're lying! You're just telling me an awful lie! You are!"
"Open wide." And he applied pressure to her jaw with the fingers of his right hand. Her mouth opened." Ah, that's better. Let's have a look... " He peered into her mouth." Yes, there. I can see it now."
She drew back, eyes wide, really alarmed." What's it like?"
"Nasty! Horrid. With very sharp teeth. A rat, I'd say. Or something like a rat. Long and gray and plump."
" I don't have it! I don't!"
"Oh, but you do, Janey." His voice was oily." I saw its red eyes shining and its long snaky tail. It's down there all right. Something nasty."
And he laughed. Real, this time. No pretend laugh. Uncle Gus was having himself some tin.
Janey knew he was just trying to scare her again-but she wasn't absolutely 100 percent sure about the thing inside. Maybe he had seen something.
"Do… any other people have… creatures… living in them?"
"Depends," said Uncle Gus." Bad things live inside bad people.
Nice little girls don't have them."
" I'm nice!"
"Well now, that's a matter of opinion, isn't it?" His voice was soft and unpleasant." If you were nice, you wouldn't have something nasty living inside."
"I don't believe you," said Janey, breathing fast." How could it be real?"
"Things are real when people believe in them." He lit a long black cigarette, drew in the smoke, exhaled it slowly." Have you ever heard of voodoo, Janey?"
She shook her head.
"The way it works is-this witch doctor puts a curse on someone by making a doll and sticking a needle into the doll's heart. Then he leaves the doll at the house of the man he's cursed. When the man sees it he becomes very frightened. He makes the curse real by believing in it."
"And then what happens?"
"His heart stops and he dies."
Janey felt her own heart beating very rapidly.
"You're afraid, aren't you, Janey?"
"Maybe… a little."
"You're afraid, all right." He chuckled." And you should be-with a thing like that inside you!"
"You're a very bad and wicked man!" she told him, tears misting her eyes.
And she ran swiftly back to the house.
That night, in her room, Janey sat rigid in bed, hinrs.
He liked to come in late after dark and curl up on the coverlet just under her feet and snooze there until dawn. He was an easy-going, gray-and-black housecat who never complained about anything and always delivered a small "meep" of contentment whenever Janey picked him up for some stroking. Then he would begin to purr.
Tonight Whiskers was not purring. He sensed the harsh vibrations in the room, sensed how upset Janey was. He quivered uneasily in her arms.
"Uncle Gus lied to me, didn't he, Whiskers?" The little girl's voice was strained, uncertain." See She hugged the cat closer.
"Nothing's down there, huh?"
And she yawned her mouth wide to show her friend that no ratthing lived there. If one did, ole Whiskers would be sticking a paw inside to get it. But the cat didn't react. Just blinked slitted green eyes at her.
I knew it," Janey said, vastly relieved." If I just don't believe it's in there, then it isn't."
She slowly relaxed her tensed body muscles-and Whiskers, sensing a change, began to purr-a tiny, soothing motorized sound in the night.
Everything was all right now. No red-eyed creature existed in her tummy. Suddenly she felt exhausted. It was late, and she had school tomorrow.
Janey slid down under the covers and closed her eyes, releasing Whiskers, who padded to his usual spot on the bed.
She had a lot to tell her friends.
It was Thursday, a day Janey usually hated. Every other Thursday her mother went shopping and left her to have lunch with Uncle Gus in his big spooky house with the shutters closed tight against the sun and shadows filling every hallway.
But this Thursday would be all different, so Janey didn't mind when her mother drove off and left her alone with her uncle. This time, she told herself, she wouldn't be afraid. A giggle.
She might even have fun!
