William McGivern - The William P. McGivern Fantasy MEGAPACK™ - 25 Classic Fantasy Stories from the Pulps

Wilbur swallowed. “I — guess that’s logical enough,” he offered timorously.

Miss Chittling delved into the portfolio again and came up with a leather bag. The contents she emptied into her lap.

Wilbur saw that they were stones and small rock fragments of various sizes, shapes, and hues. Miss Chittling pawed through them and finally picked out three pieces of slate-gray rock about the size of ice cubes.

“What are those?” Wilbur asked uncertainly.

“Meteor fragments,” Miss Chittling explained. She seemed too busy now to talk further. She had drawn forth from the portfolio a queer contraption of steel and wires that looked somewhat like a combination of a slide-rule and grocery scale. Into a compartment she dropped a meteor fragment, and then she moved an indicator along a calibrated bar until it seemed to catch in a tiny notch. Then she removed the meteor fragment from the compartment and inserted the remaining two.

“I think this is it,” she said, spacing her words very carefully. “I think this is it.”

“Oh, Elvira,” Wilhelmina Wunch said breathlessly, “I hope you’ve found it.” In her excitement Wilhelmina’s face flushed red and white like a barber pole. Her predatory nose was hooked forward like a sharp claw and her thin chest rose and fell like a bellows.

Miss Chittling suddenly slumped against the back of her chair and closed her eyes. “It is over,” she murmured throatily. “I have succeeded. These meteor fragments possess the correct equation to balance the star-forces with human destinies. Each of these fragments,” she raised the stones dramatically above her head, “are tuned to the galaxy of stars that are about to determine your fate. As the sun sets tomorrow, your stars will be in the ascendency. Make known your desires then, and they will be granted. Each stone represents an accumulation of good fortune, and for each stone a wish can be granted.”

“You mean,” Wilbur said unbelievingly, “because of the stones and the stars and everything, my wishes will be granted tomorrow?”

Miss Chittling nodded. She seemed to be spent from her exertions.

“Oh, that’s simply wonderful!” Wilhelmina cried in her crow-like voice. “Think of it! Riches, money, jewels — everything I’ve always wanted.”

The enthusiasm was contagious. “Gee,” Wilbur said happily, “I can get that fishing rod I’ve always wanted.”

“Fishing rod!” Wilhelmina’s voice was close to the cracking point. “That’s all you can think of. I will decide what we’re going to get from your wishes, and don’t you forget it.”

Wilbur felt a shivery premonition crawl up his spine. Wilhelmina, nagging and fretful, was bad enough, but Wilhelmina, grasping and greedy, would be impossible. But the faint fires of revolt had long ago been stamped out in Wilbur’s soul.

“Yes, my dear,” he replied meekly.

Miss Chittling’s plump hand fluttered before his nose. “Six dollars please,” she said, in a voice just above a whisper.

“Pay her,” hissed Wilhelmina.

Wilbur’s hand automatically dug into his pocket, but his soul writhed with injustice. He had six dollars — just six dollars — saved aside for the entrance fee in his bowling league. No money, no bowling!

He laid the money in Miss Chittling’s pink palm and watched her fingers close over it like the leaves of some flesh-eating plant.

“Thank you for the donation,” she murmured. “Now I must go. I must rest, rest.”

She handed the three stones to Wilbur and climbed heavily to her feet.

“Use your good fortune wisely,” she said as she started for the door.

Wilbur watched her leave, feeling like the man who bought the Brooklyn bridge at a “sacrifice price.” So absorbed was he that he didn’t feel the tug on his sleeve until it was repeated with sufficient force to jerk him halfway around.

His wife faced him. Her cold, hard features were stamped in a mask of greed and triumph. “Stop wool-gathering, you fool,” she snapped, “and give me those meteor fragments.”

“I should really have gone to work today,” Wilbur Wunch said plaintively the next afternoon. “I’ve never missed a day before. They’ll—”

“Oh, shut up, you miserable little worm!” Wilhelmina paced nervously up and down the length of the living room casting impatient glances at the bright afternoon sun. “Can’t you think of anything but that precious office? Can’t you think about me ? You’ve never given me the things I deserved. Money, jewels, position! Other women have them, but not Wilbur Wunch’s wife. I’ve slaved and suffered and scrimped through the years, and now that you have the chance to do something for me, you worry about the office!”

She paused and glanced down at the three stone fragments in her hand. “These will give me the things I’ve always craved. You couldn’t do it, and now that you’ve got the opportunity, you’d think that you’d be happy to make amends.”

Wilbur Wunch sighed. Wilhelmina had been particularly unbearable since the astrologist had predicted that his three wishes would come true. All she had talked about had been the money, the jewels, the servants that she expected. She had made him stay home from work that day to be on hand at sunset, the appointed hour. Wilbur had the very definite suspicion that life would be far from pleasant if Wilhelmina’s desires were granted.

The sun, he noticed, was dropping into the horizon, a flaming red ball on the edge of the world. Wilhelmina turned to him, her thin narrow features set rigidly.

“It’s time,” she said. “I’ll tell you what to wish.”

Wilbur squirmed uncomfortably. He didn’t like the setup. He felt foolish. If Wilhelmina was so interested and so greedy, why shouldn’t she be the one to wish?

“All right,” he said petulantly, “but I don’t see why I had to get lucky all at once. It’s upset my whole day. I’d be a lot happier if I didn’t have anything to do with this.”

“Don’t worry,” Wilhelmina snapped, “you aren’t going to have much to do with this affair. I’m going to arrange that.”

“Why — why, what do you mean?” faltered Wilbur.

“Just this.” Wilhelmina faced him, her hands on her angular hips. “It’s time for you to wish now. The sun is going down. And you’re going to wish just what I tell you. Your first wish will be to wish that I had the wishing power for the remaining two stones. Do you understand me?”

“Why sure,” Wilbur said, “you want the power to make the wishes. That’s all right with me because I never wanted it anyway. That astrologer said I was going to be real happy and lucky today, but I never felt worse in my life. So you’re welcome to it. I wish that you had the power to make the two remaining wishes. There! Does that make you feel any better?”

“I’ll know in a little while,” Wilhelmina cried. She squared her narrow shoulders and threw back her head. “I wish I had one million dollars!” she said loudly.

Wilbur sighed. If Wilhelmina got her wish, it would be a calamity. She would turn into an unbearable, arrogant, over-proud snob. He shuddered contemplating it. What his own life would be like, he hardly dared think about.

In the middle of these unpleasant thoughts, the doorbell rang.

Wilhelmina answered it, and an instant later he heard a shrill, hysterical shriek sounding through the house. He started for the front of the house, but he met Wilhelmina rushing wildly toward him. Her thin face was flushed with fanatical exultance.

“It worked!” she screamed, “it worked!”

“What did?” he asked. He noticed a letter clutched in her hands.

“The stars!” she cried, “the stars have done it. My wish has been granted. A distant relative of mine died and left me his fortune. It amounts to just exactly one million dollars. I’m rich, rich, d’y’hear? RICH!”