The Dark Other by Stanley G. Weinbaum (new ebook reader .txt) 📕

“No.” He shook his head, still watching her seriously. “Not exactly like that, Honey. Don’t you think he might possibly have lied to you, Pat? To excuse himself for the responsibility of Saturday night, for instance?”

“No, I don’t,” she said defiantly.

“Then you have an idea yourself what the trouble is? I judge you have.”

“Yes,” she said in low tones. “I have an idea.”

“What is it?”

“I think he’s possessed by a devil!” said the girl flatly.

A quizzical expression came into the Doctor’s face. “Well, of all the queer ideas that harum-scarum mind of yours has ever produced, that’s the queerest!” He broke into a chuckle.

“Queer, is it?” flared Pat. “I don’t think you and your mind-doctors know as much as a Swahili medicine-man with a mask!”

She leaped angrily to her feet, stamped viciously into the hall.

“Devil and all,” she repeated, “I love him!”

“Pat!” called the Doctor anxiously. “Pat! Where are you going, child?”

“Where do devils live?” Her voice floated tauntingly back from the front door. “Hell, of course!”

Pat had no intentions, however, of following the famous highway that evening. She stamped angrily down the Doctor’s steps, swished her way through the break in the hedge with small regard to the safety of her sheer hose, and mounted to her own porch. She found her key, opened the door and entered.

As she ascended the stairs, her fit of temper at the Doctor passed, and she felt lonely, weary, and unutterably miserable. She sank to a seat on the topmost step and gave herself over to bitter reflections.

Nick was gone! The realization came poignantly at last; there would be no more evening rides, no more conversations whose range was limited only by the scope of the universe, no more breathtaking kisses, the sweeter for his reluctance. She sat mournfully silent, and considered the miserable situation in which she found herself.

In love with a madman! Or worse⁠—in love with a demon! With a being half of whose nature worshiped her while the other half was bent on her destruction! Was anyone, she asked herself⁠—was anyone, anywhere, ever in a more hopeless predicament?

What could she do? Nothing, she realized, save sit helplessly aside while Nick battled the thing to a finish. Or possibly⁠—the only alternative⁠—take him as he was, chance the vicissitudes of his unstable nature, lay herself open to the horrors she had glimpsed so recently, and pray for her fortunes to point the way of salvation. And in the mood in which she now found herself, that seemed infinitely the preferable solution. Yet rationally she knew it was impossible; she shook her head despondently, and leaned against the wall in abject misery.

Then, thin and sharp sounded the shrill summons of the door bell, and a moment later, the patter of the maid’s footsteps in the hall below. She listened idly to distract herself from the chain of despondency that was her thoughts, and was mildly startled to recognize the booming drums of Dr. Horker’s voice. She heard his greeting and the muffled reply from the group, and then a phrase understandable because of his sonorous tones.

“Where’s Pat?” The words drifted up the well of the stairs, followed by a scarcely audible reply from her mother. Heavy footfalls on the carpeted steps, and then his figure bulked on the landing below her. She cupped her chin on her hands, and stared down at him while he ascended to her side, sprawling his great figure beside her.

“Pat, Honey,” he rumbled, “you’re beginning to get me worried!”

“Am I?” Her voice was weary, dull. “I’ve had myself like that for a long time.”

“Poor kid! Are you really so miserable over this Nick problem of yours?”

“I love him.”

“Yes.” He looked at her with sympathy and calculation mingling in his expression. “I believe you do. I’m sorry, Honey; I didn’t realize until now what he means to you.”

“You don’t realize now,” she murmured, still with the weary intonation.

“Perhaps not, Pat, but I’m learning. If you’re in this thing as deeply at all that, I’m in too⁠—to the finish. Want me?”

She reached out her hand, plucking at his coatsleeve. Abruptly she leaned toward him, burying her face against the rough tweed of his suit; she sobbed a little, while he patted her gently with his great, delicately fingered hand. “I’m sorry, Honey,” he rumbled. “I’m sorry.”

The girl drew herself erect and leaned back against the wall, shaking her head to drive the tears from her eyes. She gave the Doctor a wan little smile.

“Well?” she asked.

“I’ll return your compliment of the other night,” said Horker briskly. “I’ll ask a few questions⁠—purely professional, of course.”

“Fire away, Dr. Carl.”

“Good. Now, when our friend has one of these⁠—uh⁠—attacks, is he rational? Do his utterances seem to follow a logical thought sequence?”

“I⁠—think so.”

“In what way does he differ from his normal self?”

“Oh, every way,” she said with a tremor. “Nick’s kind and gentle and sensitive and⁠—and naive, and this⁠—other⁠—is cruel, harsh, gross, crafty, and horrible. You can’t imagine a greater difference.”

“Um. Is the difference recognizable instantly? Could you ever be in doubt as to which phase you were encountering?”

“Oh, no! I can⁠—well, sort of dominate Nick, but the other⁠—Lord!” She shuddered again. “I felt like a terrified child in the presence of some powerful, evil god.”

“Humph! Perhaps the god’s name was Priapus. Well, we’ll discount your feelings, Pat, because you weren’t exactly in the best condition for⁠—let’s say sober judgment. Now about this story of his. What happens to his own personality when this other phase is dominant? Did he say?”

“Yes. He said his own self was compelled to sort of stand by while the⁠—the intruder used his voice and body. He knew the thoughts of the other, but only when it was dominant. The rest of the time he couldn’t tell its thoughts.”

“And how long has he suffered from these⁠—intrusions?”

“As long as he can remember. As a child he was blamed for the other’s mischief, and when he tried to explain, people thought he was lying to escape