Robert Sheckley: Ghost V

A water pistol, a top and a bag of marbles had spilled on to the floor.

Evening was coming, so Gregor dragged his equipment into the prefab and made his preparations. He rigged an alarm system and adjusted it so finely that even a roach would set it off. He put up a radar alarm to scan the immediate area. He unpacked his arsenal, laying the heavy rifles within easy reach, but keeping a hand-blaster in his belt. Then, satisfied, he ate a leisurely supper.

Outside, the evening drifted into night. The warm and dreamy land grew dark. A gentle breeze ruffled the surface of the lake and rustled silkily in the tall grass.

It was all very peaceful.

The settlers must have been hysterical types, he decided. They had probably panicked and killed each other.

After checking his alarm system one last time, Gregor threw his clothes on to a chair, turned off the lights and climbed into bed. The room was illuminated by starlight, stronger than moonlight on Earth. His blaster was under his pillow. All was well with the world.

He had just begun to doze off when he became aware that he was not alone in the room.

That was impossible. His alarm system hadn't gone off. The radar was still humming peacefully.

Yet every nerve in his body was shrieking alarm. He eased the blaster out and looked around.

A man was standing in a corner of the room.

There was no time to consider how he had come. Gregor aimed the blaster and said, 'Okay, raise your hands,' in a quiet, resolute voice.

The figure didn't move.

Gregor's finger tightened on the trigger, then suddenly relaxed. He recognized the man. It was his own clothing, heaped on a chair, distorted by the starlight and his own imagination.

He grinned and lowered the blaster. The pile of clothing began to stir faintly. Gregor felt a faint breeze from the window and continued to grin.

Then the pile of clothing stood up, stretched itself and began to walk towards him purposefully.

Frozen to his bed, he watched the disembodied clothing, assembled roughly in man-like form, advance on him.

When it was halfway across the room and its empty sleeves were reaching for him, he began to blast.

And kept on blasting, for the rags and remnants slithered towards him as if filled with a life of their own. Flaming bits of cloth crowded towards his face and a belt tried to coil around his legs. He had to burn everything to ashes before the attack stopped.

When it was over, Gregor turned on every light he could find. He brewed a pot of coffee and poured in most of a bottle of brandy. Somehow, he resisted an urge to kick his useless alarm system to pieces. Instead, he radioed his partner.

'That's very interesting,' Arnold said, after Gregor had brought him up to date. 'Animation! Very interesting indeed.'

'I hoped it would amuse you,' Gregor answered bitterly. After several shots of brandy, he was beginning to feel abandoned and abused.

'Did anything else happen?'

'Not yet.'

'Well, take care. I've got a theory. Have to do some research on it. By the way, some crazy bookie is laying five to one against you.'

'Really?'

'Yeah. I took a piece of it.'

'Did you bet for me or against me?' Gregor asked, worried.

'For you, of course,' Arnold said indignantly. 'We're partners, aren't we?'

They signed off and Gregor brewed another pot of coffee. He was not planning on any more sleep that night. It was comforting to know that Arnold had bet on him. But, then, Arnold was a notoriously bad gambler.

By daylight, Gregor was able to get a few hours of fitful sleep. In the early afternoon he awoke, found some clothes and began to explore the sun worshippers' camp.

Towards evening, he found something. On the wall of a prefab, the word ' Tgasklit ' had been hastily scratched. Tgasklit. It meant "nothing to him, but he relayed it to Arnold at once.

He then searched his prefab carefully, set up more lights, tested the alarm system and recharged his blaster.

Everything seemed in order. With regret, he watched the sun go down, hoping he would live to see it rise again. Then he settled himself in a comfortable chair and tried to do some constructive thinking.

There was no animal life here - nor were there any walking plants, intelligent rocks or giant brains dwelling in the planet's core. Ghost V hadn't even a moon for someone to hide on.

And he couldn't believe in ghosts or demons. He knew that supernatural happenings tended to break down, under detailed examination, into eminently natural events. The ones that didn't break down - stopped. Ghosts just wouldn't stand still and let a non-believer examine them. The phantom of the castle was invariably on vacation when a scientist showed up with cameras and tape-recorders.

That left another possibility. Suppose someone wanted this planet, but wasn't prepared to pay Ferngraum's price? Couldn't this someone hide here, frighten the settlers, kill them if necessary in order to drive down the price?

That seemed logical. You could even explain the behaviour of his clothes that way. Static electricity, correctly used, could—

Something was standing in front of him. His alarm system, as before, hadn't gone off.

Gregor looked up slowly. The thing in front of him was about ten feet tall and roughly human in shape, except for its crocodile head. It was coloured a bright crimson and had purple stripes running lengthwise on its body. In one claw, it was carrying a large brown can.

'Hello,' it said.

'Hello,' Gregor gulped. His blaster was on a table only two feet away. He wondered, would the thing attack if he reached for it?

'What's your name?' Gregor asked, with the calmness of deep shock.

'I'm the Purple-striped Grabber,' the thing said. 'I grab things.'

'How interesting.' Gregor's hand began to creep towards the blaster.

'I grab things named Richard Gregor,' the Grabber told him in its bright, ingenuous voice. 'And I usually eat them in chocolate sauce.' It held up the brown can and Gregor saw that it was labelled 'Smig's Chocolate - An Ideal Sauce to Use with Gregors, Arnolds and Flynns'.

Gregor's fingers touched the butt of the blaster. He asked, 'Were you planning to eat me?'

'Oh, yes,' the Grabber said.

Gregor had the gun now. He flipped off the safety catch and fired. The radiant blast cascaded off the Grabber's chest and singed the floor, the walls and Gregor's eyebrows.

'That won't hurt me,' the Grabber explained. 'I'm too tall.'

The blaster dropped from Gregor's fingers. The Grabber leaned forward.

'I'm not going to eat you now,' the Grabber said.

'No?' Gregor managed to enunciate.

'No. I can only eat you tomorrow, on May first. Those are the rules. I just came to ask a favour.'

'What is it?'

The Grabber smiled winningly. 'Would you be a good sport and eat a few apples? They flavour the flesh so wonderfully.'

And, with that, the striped monster vanished.

With shaking hands, Gregor worked the radio and told Arnold everything that had happened. 'Hmm,' Arnold said. 'Purple-striped Grabber, eh? I think that clinches it. Everything fits.'

'What fits? What is it?'

'First, do as I say. I want to make sure.'

Obeying Arnold's instructions, Gregor unpacked his chemical equipment and laid out a number of test tubes, retorts and chemicals. He stirred, mixed, added and subtracted as directed and finally put the mixture on the stove to heat.

'Now,' Gregor said, coming back to the radio, 'tell me what's going on.'

'Certainly. I looked up the word "Tgasklit". It's Opalian. It means "many-toothed ghost". The sun worshippers were from Opal. What does that suggest to you?'

'They were killed by a home-town ghost,' Gregor replied nastily. 'It must have stowed away on their ship. Maybe there was a curse and—'