Fredric Brown - The Mind Thing

“If you think so, all right. Is that tight enough?”

“Perfect. And you’ve got the knot where I can’t reach it with my fingers. All right, I’ll lie down now. And I can still force myself to stay awake long enough for you to tie my ankles.”

He did, barely. The moment he approved the job she did on his ankles he sighed and closed his eyes. Instantly he was sound asleep.

Miss Talley stood watching him for a few minutes. And then, because she wanted to know, if possible, whether or not the enemy was in Dr. Staunton’s mind but was still letting him sleep or pretend to sleep, she picked up the shotgun and opened the door, looked upward. Something, big and black was coming down, diving at her, but she saw that she had time and that stepping back into the house would be safer than raising the gun and taking a shot that could miss, or fail to deflect even if it killed. She stepped back and closed the door just as something heavy thudded to the porch outside the door.

The thing that thudded had been a buzzard, one of several that had gorged themselves on the dead deer and flapped away to sleep in nearby trees. It was the third of these that the mind thing had used.

The mind thing had been annoyed by the unexpected arrival of the schoolteacher, Miss Talley. He had been aloft at the time he saw the coming Volkswagen, but had quickly crash-landed and killed his host and taken over the nearest bull. He’d charged it through the fence just after the Volkswagen went by, and followed. His first thought had been to charge and wreck the car, but when Staunton had fired the first barrel of the shotgun at him and he realized that the man had aimed low with intent to cripple rather than to kill, he had changed direction and charged so that Staunton had to shoot to kill in order to save his own life.

Then, back in his own body, the tortoise-like shell hidden under the back steps of the house, he had watched and listened to the conversation between the man and the woman; long enough to realize that they knew the futility of their trying to get back to town, or even to a phone, either afoot or in the small car. That, of course, made it unnecessary for him to destroy the car.

He relaxed then and studied them and listened to their conversation, surprised that they had been able to deduce so many things about him, but understanding, after hearing their explanations, how they had been able to do so. It didn’t worry him; there was nothing that they could do about it. He didn’t have to maintain a host in the air; he knew, of course, whenever one of them planned to attempt leaving, and was able to have a bird aloft, usually by the time the door opened.

But then he learned from their conversation that Miss Talley had asked the sheriff to come out. True, she said the sheriff had promised to come tomorrow, but the sheriff could change his mind and come sooner, or send a deputy sooner. And if another car should approach he wanted advance warning so he could deal with the situation. Perhaps it would be better to wreck the car, and kill the occupant if and when he left it, than to let him reach the house alive and reinforce the opposition.

After that, as Staunton or Miss Talley made periodic circuits of the windows of the house, so the mind thing periodically took a flying host aloft to circle high into the sky to scan the road from town and still keep the house under observation, as when out of his own body he could not use his perceptive sense to check on what was going on inside the house. After each flight he had killed the bird by crashing it, and had been instantly back in his shell.

He had been just starting such a flight when Staunton had said he could not possibly stay awake much longer; he knew then it would probably be the last such reconnaisance flight he’d have to make. But because it might be his last, he had circled high to check the road as far as possible. And thus he had not been aware of the final conversation between Staunton and the schoolteacher, or the tying up of Staunton.

So he was surprised, when he was just about ready to crash his buzzard host, to see Miss Talley step outside alone with the shotgun. Of course he had dived at her immediately, and his buzzard host had died with the impact.

But then he was back in his own shell, as Miss Talley was back in the house, and was even more surprised to discover that his potential host, Staunton, was asleep and tied up in rope. That he was asleep was no surprise, but that he was tied up!

It was devilishly clever, and thwarting. Neither of them had thought of, or at least neither of them had mentioned, that idea in any part of their conversation that he had overheard. One of them must have thought of it suddenly, and they had executed it quickly.

Now if he entered Staunton’s mind he would be helpless until Staunton’s body was untied, and he hesitated and considered. He decided finally that it was safe. The woman couldn’t keep Staunton tied up forever. And if he entered Staunton’s mind now but caused Staunton’s body to continue to sleep he could make good use of the time. He could study Staunton’s most intimate thoughts and memories and by the time—say, in the middle of the night—he let Staunton’s body awaken, he would be able to act the part of Staunton so thoroughly that Miss Talley would suspect nothing and untie him. And then—but the rest of his plans could also be worked out in the long hours he would be immobile in Staunton’s mind while the body slept.

He entered.

And now he encountered something new to him—not in kind, but in degree. Every mind he’d ever entered fought back for a fraction of a second at least. A minor struggle in the case of an animal mind, a severe but brief one in the case of the three human minds he had previously taken over—the two high school boys and the old German farmer.

This fight was no different, except in degree. The struggle lasted for seconds longer than any other he’d engaged in and during it Staunton was still in partial control of his own body. He fought against what was happening and managed to jerk his body up almost to a sitting position and to gasp out: “Under steps. Thing like—”

But then it was over; the mind thing was in control.

Doc Staunton lay back and breathed deeply a time or two, and then opened his eyes. They met those of Miss Talley, who was standing by the couch staring down at him. He said, normally and casually, “Think I had a touch of nightmare, Miss Talley. Probably from being overtired. Did I make any noises?”

Miss Talley didn’t answer for seconds. Then, very quietly: “You made noises, Doctor—if you are Dr. Staunton. You said, and I quote, ‘Under steps. Thing like—’ and that was all. What was your nightmare about?”

“Good Lord, Miss Talley. How can I remember, except vaguely that it was something about a charging bull and oh, yes, in the nightmare I ran and I was trying to crawl under the front steps to hide from it—in the dream I didn’t have a gun. I think I can go to sleep again now—and let’s hope, no more nightmares.” He closed his eyes.

“Dr. Staunton, you told me that you thought ‘the enemy,’ as you called it, was nearby and could be hiding inside the house. And that you searched the house for it—which would include any area under the staircase inside. Besides, you didn’t say ‘staircase’; you said ‘under steps.’ And there are three steps leading to the front porch and another three leading to the back door. I’m going to look. Now, while it’s still light outside.”

“Miss Talley, that’s ridiculous. A nightmare—”

But he was talking to empty space. Miss Talley was already out the front door, taking the shotgun and the pistol with her. And a flashlight; it was still light outside, but might be dim under the steps.