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

She danced around the room, hugging the letter to her bosom, crying and screaming frantically.

Wilbur watched her in silence. It was worse than he had thought it would be. And that was saying a lot. He waited as she calmed down and he saw the greedy cunning creep into her face.

“I suppose,” she said quickly, “that you think you have some claim on this money. I can see it in your face. You think because you gave me the wishes you deserve half of it. Well you don’t, do you hear me? You don’t. It’s mine and I intend to keep every cent of it for myself.”

Wilbur knew his wife too well to be surprised. He only wondered gloomily about the black, unenviable future that stretched before him. He thought of Joe Blodget and sighed wistfully.

“And don’t forget,” Wilhelmina thrust herself into his pleasant dreams, “I still have another wish.” She glared at him scornfully and Wilbur would have sworn that her eyes actually glittered like they’re reported to do in fiction.

“I’ve made up my mind,” she said deliberately, “but before I make my wish, there are a few things I want to tell you. First, I want to tell you how much I despise you. How much your beaten, insignificant, frightened little mind disgusts me. Then I want to tell you that I’ve laughed at you for years and I’ve enjoyed brow-beating you because I knew you never had the courage to talk back. You’re a despicable, revolting little worm, Wilbur Wunch, and I had to tell you that before I leave you for good.”

“Leave me?” Wilbur gasped.

“Do you think I’m fool enough to stay now that I have money?” Wilhelmina demanded. “I’ve got the money I need, and here’s my last wish.” She stood before him a picture of incarnate rage and triumph — thin, bitter, mean, cruel and scornful.

“I wish,” she said spitefully, “that I’d never met you, Wilbur Wunch.” Wilbur opened his mouth, but before he could speak, a blinding flash shot through the room and then all hell seemed to explode in his face.

Before everything went black, he had a kaleidoscopic image of the room whirling dizzily, Wilhelmina’s lean features a mask of fright and amazement, and then the entire flashing picture merged into reeling fathomless blackness...

Wilbur Wunch had braced himself against the incredible, blinding shock that had assailed him. Braced himself, while bunching his hands into tight knots. But then, miraculously, the roaring had faded, the room seemed to be regaining balance. And Wilbur opened his eyes.

Everything was quiet, everything was beautiful, but — the realization struck him with the suddenness and force of blackjack in a dark alley — everything was totally changed!

He was no longer in the modest living room of his home! He was in a strange, luxurious apartment.

Dazedly, semi-hysterically, he looked wildly about. A thousand fears battled for admission to his mind. There was no Wilhelmina in this apartment, and even the clothes he was wearing were not the drab garments that usually concealed his slight frame.

Then, looking down, Wilbur realized for the first time that he clutched a cocktail glass in his hand and that he stood — clad in a red velvet dressing gown — before a duplex, super-tone radio.

Understanding broke on Wilbur like the sun beaming suddenly through gray clouds. He smiled and squared his shoulders and tasted the drink in the glass he held in his hand.

It was delightful. He took another sip, and his smile widened until he was chuckling, then laughing out loud. It was a good, ringing laugh, and it echoed cheerily through the sumptuous apartment.

Wilbur laughed until his sides ached, until he collapsed on the soft sofa, doubled up with the gleeful mirth that coursed through him. He didn’t stop until the tears streamed down his cheeks and he sat up too weak to laugh any more.

It was glorious. And the most glorious part of it was the fact that Wilhelmina had caused this wonderful change.

For her last spiteful wish had been that she had never met him. And what was more important, she had gotten her wish!

For here he was — Wilbur Wunch, Bachelor. Wilbur Wunch, who had never met Wilhelmina Wunch. A free, different Wilbur Wunch, who enjoyed the same delights and advantages that Joe Blodget enjoyed.

But that was not why he laughed until he was weak. It was Wilhelmina and her loss of the million dollars that made him laugh. For if she had never met him, she could never have wished for and never received the money. Oh, it was glorious!

He sank back into the sofa and picked up his glass. Through the high windows of his glorious new apartment he could see a myriad stars winking down at him, friendly and cheerful.

He winked back.

“You said I was going to be lucky,” he chortled, “and buddies, you sure gave me the jackpot.”

Then he started laughing all over again.

That astrology stuff was okay!

Science has made things invisible, by means of reflected light rays, bending them around an object until no light is reflected back to a certain point, where the observer is stationed. Thus, an object may be made invisible. However, in this instance, it is obvious that the reflective properties of the surface of the lamp were such that all light was bent around the lamp and not reflected back at all. Thus, with no light turned more than momentarily from its course, no object could have been visible.

When Albert Addin dropped the lamp, this perfect, non-reflecting, light-bending surface was dented enough to totally destroy the delicate balance of curving surface and reflecting angle. Thus, the lamp snapped into visibility. In photographing with an infra-red light filter, it seems that Albert unwittingly captured the only rays which were not by-passed around the lamp, which in normal color range, are invisible to the eye.

The Leanhaun Shee is a legendary Irish enchantress, who lives on love. Her very life and existence depend on love, and being loved. It is said that any man who loves her becomes her slave, and finally pays with his life for loving her — because she uses the life force that makes him live to sustain her own body! Thus, she steals, vampirelike, the life from her lovers and goes on living eternally. However, she too has a restriction, one that has never (say the legends) caused her any trouble: namely a curse placed on her by her own father that any man who could resist her charms would turn the tables on her, and she would become his slave.

Schizophrenia — A mental disease resulting from a split personality. The victim has two natures, generally diametrically opposed to each other.

Anyone who has read Freud will understand the manner by which Colegrave built up the terrific, though artificial frustration in his mind. Since he was a schizophrenic, with two separate personalities, he created a tremendous repression in his subconscious by willing one out of existence.

A physical example of what Colegrave did would be in the case of a man who, with an extreme effort of will, denied himself even the thought of food or drink. In that case, if this were carried to its conclusion, the man would certainly die. Colegrave “killed” his secondary nature by denying its existence absolutely.

This “death” was in the form of a mighty repression which built up pressure day by day, just as a hot water boiler might. Then when the ultimate repression was reached something had to give. In Colegrave’s case, by the aid of strange drugs, a physical manifestation of his subconscious was created. The drugs might possibly be those of Indian origin which are responsible for schizoid transformation in small animals. It was from a base of this type that the fictional transformation of Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde was supposed to have been effected.