William Gresham - Nightmare Alley

“I was walking through the snow when suddenly the street vanished; it became a stony mountain path. I felt light as air but my feet seemed heavy. That was the altitude. Then, stretching below me in a little valley, I saw the City-just as you have described your vision of it a few moments ago. And I knew that it had been revealed to me for a purpose. Once this realization dawned on me the mountains, the rugged outline of bare peaks and glaciers, softened. They seemed to close in and I was back on the doorstep of the Church of the Heavenly Message. But there, stretching away up the sidewalk, were my own tracks of a few minutes before! A few yards farther on they stopped. I had dematerialized when I reached that spot .”

Grindle said, “A wonderful experience. I’ve heard of such experiences. The holy men of Tibet claim to have them. But I never thought I’d ever meet a man who had reached such psychic heights.” His voice was humble and old and a little foolish. Then he started up from his chair.

A vague light had drifted past on the garden wall. It had the shape of a young girl.

The medium said, “You must relax. No tension. All receptivity -all love.”

Grindle settled back.

The sky clouded over; the darkness deepened. This time he did not stir but said hopefully, “I-I think I see something, out there by the sundial. Something moving-a spot of light.”

It was true. By the shadows at the base of the sundial was a spot of greenish light. Expanding slowly, it moved toward them, a cloud of glowing vapor taking form.

This time the industrialist sat up in spite of Stan’s reproving hand on his wrist.

The apparition drifted closer until they could see that it was a girl, dressed in shining garments which floated about her like a mist. Her dark hair was bound by a tiara in which seven bright jewels shone by their own cold light. She seemed to move a few inches above the ground, drifting toward them down a breath of night wind.

The believer’s voice had become a feeble, despairing whisper. “Dorrie-Could it be Dorrie?”

“My dear…” The materialized form spoke in a voice which seemed part of the garden and the night. “It’s Dorrie. But only for a moment. I can’t stay… it’s hard… hard to come back, darling.”

The Rev. Carlisle’s hand tightened on the older man’s arm; but the clergyman himself seemed to have passed into a deep trance.

The ghostly figure was fading. It receded, lost outline, sank into a single dot of green glow and then vanished.

“Dorrie-Dorrie-come back. Please come back. Please-” He was on his knees now by the sundial, where the light had disappeared. His broad stern in the tawny slacks was toward Stan, who could have planted a kick right in the middle of it.

Grindle knelt for several seconds, then got to his feet heavily and dropped back into the deck chair, covering his face with his hands.

Beside him the Rev. Carlisle stirred and sat up. “Was there a full materialization? I ‘went under’ very rapidly. I could feel the force leaving me as the light grew. What happened?”

“I-I saw an old friend.”

Molly was so happy she could cry. It had been a long time since they’d had anything like a holiday together. Stan had been acting so screwy she was afraid he was living on Queer Street. And then, all of a sudden, these three days-just driving anywhere, stopping at chicken-dinner shacks and roadhouses. Dancing and, in the daytime, going for a swim wherever a lake looked good. It was heaven; she got sad thinking about going back to the flat and starting all over again, doing nothing, just waiting for Stan to come home or something.

Stan was still awfully jumpy and sometimes you’d talk to him and he’d seem to be listening and then he’d say, “What was that, kid?” and you’d have to go through it all over again. But it was great to be getting around like this.

Stan looked nice in a bathing suit. That was something to be thankful for. Some guys were sweet guys but too skinny or with a pot. Stan was just right. She guessed they were both just right by the way other fellows ran their eyes over her chassis when she stepped out on a diving board. What hippos some girls her own age turned out to be!

The Great Stanton pulled himself out of the water and lay beside her on the float. They had the lake all to themselves except for some kids at the other end. He sat looking down at her and then leaned over and kissed her. Molly threw her arms around him. “Oh, honey, don’t ever let anything bust us up, honey! All I want is you, Stan.”

He slid his arm under her head. “Baby, how’d you like to do this every day in the year? Huh? Well, if this deal goes over we’re set. And every day is Christmas.”

Molly had a cold, sinking feeling inside her. He had said that so many times. Once it was “Get the house away from old Mrs. Peabody.” Always something. She didn’t really believe it any more.

He felt her go limp. “Molly! Molly! look at me! Honest to God, this is the thing I’ve been building toward ever since I started in this racket. I’ve run myself almost into the nut college building the guy. My foot’s never slipped yet. And if you think that guy is easy to handle-”

She pressed her face against his chest and began to cry. “Stan, why do we have to be this way? He seemed like a nice sort of old guy-from what I could tell in the dark up there. I felt like an awful heel, honest. I don’t mind taking some guy that thinks he’s wise and is trying to be a cheater himself-”

He held her tighter. “Molly, we’re in this deeper than you have any idea. That guy has millions. He has a whole private army. You ought to see that joint in Jersey. It’s like a fort. If we step on the flypaper from now on they’ll turn that bunch of private cops loose on us like a pack of bloodhounds. They’ll find us no matter where we scram to. We’ve got to go into it all the way. I’ve put him in touch with his girl that died when he was a kid in college. He wants to make it up to her somehow. Money doesn’t mean anything to that guy. He’s willing to give anything-just to get square with his conscience. He’s overboard on the spook dodge. He’s letting his business run itself. He’s living on Dream Street.”

Stan had straightened the girl until she sat on the edge of the float, her feet in the cool water. He took both her hands. “Baby, from now on it depends on you. Whether every day is Christmas and I can get my nerves back in shape and act like a human being-or whether the wolves start howling for our blood.”

Molly’s eyes were big now and Stan bored in.

“Now, look. This is what we’ve got to do.”

When she had heard it she sat for a moment with her hair falling over her face, looking down at her bare thighs and the bright yellow of the bathing suit. She ran her hands slowly from her crotch down to her knees. They felt cold and the water was cold around her feet; she raised them and drew them up, leaning her head on her knees, not looking at the man beside her.

“That’s how it is, kid. I’ll make it up to you. Honest to God, baby. Don’t you see-this is the only thing that can put us back together again?”

Suddenly she stood up, throwing her hair back. Her fingers trembled as she drew on her cap. Then, without looking at him, she dived from the float and set out for the dock. Stan was churning the water with his legs, trying to overtake her. She reached the dock and raced up the ladder with him close behind. When they got to the cabin he bolted the door.

Molly whipped off her cap and shook out her hair. Then she slipped the bathing suit down and left it on the floor in a sodden pile, stepping out of it. Stan watched her, his heart thumping with anxiety. Now.

She said, “Stan, take a good look. Make believe you never saw me undressed before. I mean it. Now then, tell me, if I-if I-do it-will I look any different? To you?”