RSS

“Knock” by FREDRIC BROWN

16 Oct
“Knock” by FREDRIC BROWN

 “Knock“, written by Fredric Brown, is a science fiction short story that starts with a short-short story based on a text of Thomas Bailey Aldrich.

The first two lines are a complete story by themselves:

The last man on Earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock on the door…

Knock by FREDRIC BROWN

    There is a sweet little horror story that is only two sentences long:
    “The last man on Earth sat alone in a room There was a knock  on  the
door…”
    Two sentences and an ellipsis of three dots. The horror,  of  course,
isn’t in the two sentences at all; it’s in the ellipsis, the  implication:
what knocked at the door? Faced with the unknown, the human mind  supplies
something vaguely horrible.
    But it wasn’t horrible, really.
    The last man on Earth – or in the universe, for  that  matter  –  sat
alone in a room. It was a rather peculiar  room.  He’d  just  noticed  how
peculiar it was and he’d been studying out the reason for its peculiarity.
His conclusions didn’t horrify him, but it annoyed him.
    Walter Phelan, who had been associate professor  of  anthropology  at
Nathan University up until the time two days ago  when  Nathan  University
had ceased to exist, was not a man who horrifled easily. Not  that  Walter
Phelan was a heroic figure, by any wild stretch of the imagination. He was
slight of stature and mild of disposition. He wasn’t much to look at,  and
he knew it.
    Not that his appearance worried him now. Right now,  in  fact,  there
wasn’t much feeling in him. Abstractedly,  he  knew  that  two  days  ago,
within the space of an hour, the human race had been destroyed, except for
him and, somewhere, a woman – one woman. And that was a fact which  didn’t
concern Walter Phelan in the slightest degree. He’d probably never see her
and didn’t care too much if he didn’t.
    Women just hadn’t been a factor in Walter’s  life  since  Martha  had
died a year and a half ago. Not that Martha hadn’t  been  a  good  wife  –
albeit a bit on the bossy side. Yes, he’d loved Martha, in a  deep,  quiet
way. He was only forty now, and he’d been only  thirty-eight  when  Martha
had died, but – well – he just hadn’t thought about women since then.  His
life had been his books, the ones he read and the ones he wrote. Now there
wasn’t any point in writing books, but he had the  rest  of  his  life  to
spend in reading them.
    True, company would be nice, but he’d get  along  without  it.  Maybe
after a while, he’d get so he’d enjoy the occasional company of one of the
Zan, although that was a bit difficult to imagine. Their thinking  was  so
alien  to  his  that  there  seemed  no  common  ground  for   discussion,
intelligent though they were, in a way.
    An ant is  intelligent,  in  a  way,  but  no  man  ever  established
communication with an ant. He thought of the Zan, somehow, as  super-ants,
although they didn’t look like ants, and he  had  a  hunch  that  the  Zan
regarded the human race as the human  race  had  regarded  ordinary  ants.
Certainly what they’d done to Earth had been what men did to ant hills-and
it had been done much more efficiently.

    But they had given him plenty of books. They’d been nice about  that,
as soon as he had told them what he wanted, and he had told them that  the
moment he had learned that he was destined to spend the rest of  his  life
alone in this room. The rest of his life,  or  as  the  Zan  had  quaintly
expressed it, forev-er. Even a brilliant mind – and the Zan obviously  had
brilliant minds – has its idiosyncracies. The Zan  had  learned  to  speak
Terrestrial English in a manner of hours but they persisted in  separating
syllables. But we disgress.
    There was a knock on the door.
    You’ve got it all now, except the three dots, the ellipsis,  and  I’m
going to fill that in and show you that it wasn’t horrible at all.
    Walter Phelan called out, “Come in,” and the door opened. It  was  of
course, only a Zan. It looked exactly like the other Zan; if there was any
way of telling one of them from another, Walter hadn’t found  it.  It  was
about four feet tall and it looked like nothing on earth –  nothing,  that
is, that had been on Earth until the Zan came there.
    Walter said, “Hello, George.” When he’d learned that none of them had
names he decided to call them all George, and the Zan didn’t seem to mind.
    This one said, “Hel-lo, Wal-ter.” That was ritual; the knock  on  the
door and the greetings. Walter waited.
    “Point one,” said the Zan “You will please hence-forth sit with  your
chair turned the other way.”
    Walter said, “I thought so, George. That plain  wall  is  transparent
from the other side, isn’t it?”
    “It is trans-par-ent.”
    “Just what I thought I’m in a zoo Right?”
    “That is right.”
    Walter sighed. “I knew it. That plain, blank wall, without  a  single
piece of furniture against it. And made of something  different  from  the
other walls. If I persist in sitting with my back to it,  what  then?  You
will kill me? – I ask hopefully.”
    “We will take a-way your books.”
    “You’ve got me there George. All right I’ll face the other way when I
sit and read. How many other animals besides me are in this zoo of yours?”
    “Two hun-dred and six-teen.”
    Walter shook his head. “Not complete, George. Even a bush league  zoo
can beat that – could beat that, I mean, if there  were  any  bush  league
zoos left. Did you just pick at random?”
    “Ran-dom sam-ples yes All spe-cies would have been  too  man-y.  Male
and female each of one hun-dred and eight kinds,”
    “What do you feed them? The carnivorous ones, I mean.”
    “We make food Syn-thet-ic.”
    “Smart,” said Walter. “And the flora? You got a collection  of  that,
too?”
    “Flo-ra was not hurt by vi-bra-tions. It is all still grow-ing.”
    “Nice for the flora,” said Walter. “You weren’t as hard on it,  then,
as you were on the fauna, Well, George, you started out with ‘point  one.’
I deduced there is a point two kicking around somewhere. What is it?”
    “Some-thing we do not un-der-stand. Two of the oth-er a-nimals  sleep
and do not wake? They are cold.”
    “It happens in the best regulated zoos, George,” Walter Phelan  said.
“Probably not a thing wrong with them except that they’re dead.”
    “Dead? That means stopped. But nothing stopped them. Each was a-lone.”
    Walter stared at the Zan. “Do you mean, George, you don’t  know  what
natural death is?”
    “Death is when a be-ing is killed, stopped from liv-ing.”
    Walter Phelan blinked. “How old are you, George?” he asked.
    “Six-teen-you would not know the word. Your pla-net went a-round your
sun a-bout sev-en thou-sand times, I am still young.”
    Walter whistled softly. “A babe in arms,” he said. He thought hard  a
moment. “Look, George,” he said, “you’ve got something to learn about this
planet you’re on. There’s a guy here who doesn’t  hang  around  where  you
come from. An old man with a beard and a scythe and  an  hour-glass.  Your
vibrations didn’t kill him.”
    “What is he?”
    “Call him the Grim Reaper, George. Old  Man  Death.  Our  people  and
animals live until somebody – Old Man Deathstops them ticking.”
    “He stopped the two crea-tures? He will stop more?”

    Walter opened  his  mouth  to  answer,  and  then  closed  it  again.
Something in the Zan’s voice indicated that there would be a worried frown
on his face, if he had had a face recognizable as such.
    “How about taking me to these animals  who  won’t  wake  up?”  Walter
asked. “Is that against the rules?”
    “Come,” said the Zan.
    That had been the afternoon of  the  second  day.  It  was  the  next
morning that the Zan came back, several of them. They began to move Walter
Phelan’s books and furniture. When they’d finished that, they  moved  him.
He found himself in a much larger room a hundred yards away.
    He sat and waited and this time, too, when there was a knock  on  the
door, he knew what was coming and politely stood up. A Zan opened the door
and stood aside. A woman entered.
    Walter bowed shghtly, “Walter  Phelan,”  he  said,  “in  case  George
didn’t tell you my name. George tries to be polite, but  he  doesn’t  know
all of our ways.”
    The woman seemed calm; he was glad to notice that. She said, “My name
is Grace Evans, Mr. Phelan. What’s this all about? Why did they  bring  me
here?”
    Walter was studying her as she talked. She was tall, fully as tall as
he, and well-proportioned.  She  looked  to  be  somewhere  in  her  early
thirties, about the age Martha had been. She had the same calm  confidence
about her that  be’d  always  liked  about  Martha,  even  though  it  had
contrasted with his own easy-going informality. In fact,  he  thought  she
looked quite a bit like Martha.
    “I think I know why they brought you here but let’s go back  a  bit,”
he said. “Do you know just what has happened otherwise?”
    “You mean that they’ve – killed everyone?”
    “Yes. Please sit down. You know how they accomplished it?”  She  sank
into a comfortable chair nearby. “No,” she said, “I don’t know  just  how.
Not that it matters does it?”
    “Not a lot. But here’s the story – what I know of it from getting one
of them to talk, and from piecing things together.  There  isn’t  a  great
number of them – here, anyway. I don’t know how numerous a race  they  are
where they came from and I don’t know where that is, but  I’d  guess  it’s
outside the Solar System. You’ve seen the space ship they came in?”
    “Yes It’s as big as a mountain.”
    “Almost. Well it has equipment for emitting some sort of a  vibration
– they call it that, in our language, but I imagine it’s more like a radio
wave than a sound vibration – that destroys all animal life. It – the ship
itself – is insulated against the vibration.  I  don’t  know  whether  its
range is big enough to kill off the whole planet at once, or whether  they
flew in circles around the earth, sending out the vibratory waves. But  it
killed everybody and everything instantly and,  I  hope,  painlessly.  The
only reason we, and the other two-hundredodd animals in this zoo,  weren’t
killed was because we were  inside  the  ship.  We’d  been  picked  up  as
specimens. You do know this is a zoo, don’t you?”
    “I – I suspected it.”
    “The front walls are transparenl from the outside The Zan were pretty
clever at fixing up the inside  of  each  cubicle  to  match  the  natural
habitat of the creature it contains. These cubicles, such as the one we’re
in, are of plastic, and they’ve got a machine that makes one in about  ten
minutes, If Earth had had  a  machine  and  a  process  like  that,  there
wouldn’t have been any housing shortage. Well,  there  isn’t  any  housing
shortage now, anyway. And I imagine that the human race – specifically you
and I – can stop worrying about  the  A-bomb  and  the  next  war.The  Zan
certainly solved a lot of prohlems for us.”
    Grace Evans smiled faintly. “Another case  where  the  operation  was
successful, but the patient died. Things were in an  awful  mess.  Do  you
remember being captured? I don’t. I went to sleep one night and woke up in
a cage on the space ship.”
    “I don’t remember either ” Walter said. “My hunch is that  they  used
the vibratory waves at low intensity first, just enough to  knock  us  all
out. Then they cruised around, picking up samples more or less  at  random
for their zoo. After they had as many as they wanted, or as many  as  they
had space in the ship to hold, they turned on the juice all the  way.  And
that was that. It wasn’t until yesterday they knew they’d made  a  mistake
and had underestimated us. They thought we were immortal, as they are.”
    “That we were – what?”
    “They can be killed but they don’t know what natural death  is.  They
didn’t anyway, until yesterday. Two of us died yesterday.”
    “Two of – Oh!”
    “Yes, two of us animals in their zoo. One was a snake and one  was  a
duck. Two species gone irrevocably. And by the Zan’s way of figuring time,
the remaining member of each species is going to live only a few  minutes,
anyway. They figured they had permanent specimens.”
    “You mean they didn’t realize what short-lived creatures we are?”
    “That’s right,” Walter said. “One of them is young at seven  thousand
years, he told me. They’re bi-sexual themselves,  incidentally,  but  they
probably breed once every ten thousand years  or  thereabouts.  When  they
learned yesterday how ridiculously short a life expectancy we  terrestrial
animals have, they were probably shocked to the core – if they have cores.
At any rate they decided to reorganize their zoo – two by two  instead  of
one  by  one.  They  figure  we’ll  last  longer   collectively   if   not
individually.”
    “Oh!” Grace Evans stood up and there was a taint flush on  her  face.
“If you think – If they think -” She turned toward the door.
    “It’ll be locked,” Walter Phelan said calmly “But don’t worry.  Maybe
they think, but I don’t think. You needn’t even tell me you wouldn’t  have
me if I  was  the  last  man  on  Earth;  it  would  be  corny  under  the
circumstances.”
    “But are they going to keep us locked up together in this one  little
room?”
    “It isn’t so little; we’ll get by.I can sleep  quite  comfortably  in
one of these overstuffed chairs. And don’t think I don’t  agree  with  you
perfectly, my dear. All personal considerations aside, the least favor  we
can do the human race is to let it end with us and not he perpetuated  for
exhibition in a zoo.”
    She said “Thank you,” almost inaudibly, and the  flush  receded  from
her checks. There was anger in her eyes, but Walter knew  that  is  wasn’t
anger at him. With her eyes sparkling like that, she  looked  a  lot  like
Martha, he thought.
    He smiled at her and said, “Otherwise -‘
    She started out of her chair, and for an instant he thought  she  was
going to come over and slap him.Then she sank back wearily. “If you were a
man, you’d be thinking of some way to – They can be killed, you said?” Her
voice was bitter.
    “The Zan? Oh, certainly. I’ve been studying them. They look  horribly
different from us, but I think they have  about  the  same  metabolism  we
have, the same type of circulatory system, and probably the same  type  of
digestive system. I think that anything that would kill one  of  us  would
kill one of them.”
    “But you said -”
    “Oh, there are differences, of course. Whatever factor it is  in  man
that ages him, they don’t have. Or else they  have  some  gland  that  man
doesn’t have, something that renews cells.”

    She had forgolten her anger now.  She  leaned  forward  eagerly.  She
said, “I think that’s right. And I don’t think they feel pain.”
    “I was hoping that. But what makes you think so, my dear?”
    “I stretched a piece of wire that I found in the desk of  my  cubicle
across the door so my Zan would fall over it. He did, and the wire cut his
leg.”
    “Did he bleed red?”
    “Yes but it didn’t seem to annoy him. He didn’t  get  mad  about  it;
didn’t even mention it. When he came back  the  next  time,  a  few  hours
later, the cut was one. Well, almost gone. I could see just  enough  of  a
trace of it to be sure it was the same Zan.”
    Walter Phelan nodded slowly.
    “He wouldn’t get angry, of course,” he  said.  “They’re  emotionless.
Maybe, if we killed one, they wouldn t even punish us. But it wouldn’t  do
any good. They’d just give us our food through a trap door and treat us as
men would have treated a zoo animal that had killed a keeper. They’d  just
see that he didn’t have a crack at any more keepers.
    “How many of them are there?” she asked.
    “About two hundred, I think,  in  this  particular  space  ship.  But
undoubtedly there are many more where they came from. I have a hunch  this
is just an advance guard, sent to clear off this planet and make  it  safe
for Zan occupancy,”
    “They did a good-”

    There was a knock at the door, and Walter Phelan  called  out,  “Come
in.”
    A Zan stood in the doorway.
    “Hello George,” said Walter.
    “Hel-lo Wal-ter,” said the Zan.
    It may or may not have been the same Zan, but it was always the  same
ritual.
    “What’s on your mind?” Walter asked.
    “An-oth-er crea-ture sleeps and will  not  wake.A  small  fur-ry  one
called a wea-sel.”
    Walter shrugged.
    “It happens, George. Old Man Death. I told you about him.”
    “And worse. A Zan has died. This morning.”
    “Is that worse?” Walter looked at him blandly. “Well, George,  you’ll
have to get used to it, if you’re going to stay around here.”
    The Zan said nothing. It stood there.
    Finally Walter said, “Well?”
    “A-bout wea-sel You ad-vise same?”
    Walter shrugged again. “Probably won’t do any  good.  But  sure,  why
not?”
    The Zan left.
    Walter could hear his footsteps dying away outside. He  grinned.  “It
might work, Martha,” he said.
    “Mar – My name is Grace, Mr Phelan. What might work?”
    “My name is Walter, Grace. You might as well  get  used  to  it.  You
know, Grace, you do remind me a lot of Martha. She was my wife.She died  a
couple of years ago.”
    “I’m sorry,” said Grace “But what might work? What were  you  talking
about to the Zan?”
    “We’ll know tomorrow,” Walter said. And she couldn’t get another word
out of him.
    That was the fourth day of the stay of the Zan.
    The next was the last.
    It was nearly noon when one of the Zan came.  After  the  ritual,  he
stood  in  the  doorway,  looking  more  alien  than  ever.  It  would  be
interesting to describe him for you, but there aren’t words.
    He said, “We go. Our coun-cil met and de-cid-ed,”
    “Another of you died?”
    “Last night This is pla-net of death ”
    Walter nodded. “You did your share. You’re leaving  two  hundred  and
thirteen creatures alive, out of quite a few billion. Don’t hurry back.”
    “Is there an-y-thing we can do?”
    “Yes. You can hurry. And you can leave our door unlocked, but not the
others. We’ll take care of the others.”
    Something clicked on the door; the Zan left.
    Grace Evans was standing, her eyes shining.
    She asked, “What -? How -?”
    “Wait,” cautioned Walter. “Let’s hear them blast off. It’s a sound  I
want to remember.”
    The sound caiue within minutes,  and  Walter  Phelan,  realizing  how
rigidly he’d been holding himself, relaxed in his chair.
    “There was a snake in the Garden of Eden, too, Grace, and it  got  us
in trouble,” he said musingly. “But this one made up for it.  I  mean  the
mate of the snake that died day before yesterday. It was a rattlesnake.”
    “You mean it killed the two Zan who died? But -”
    Walter nodded, “They were babes in the woods here. When they took  me
to look at the first creatures who ‘were asleep and wouldn’t wake up,’ and
I saw that one of them was a rattler, I had an idea, Grace. Just maybe,  I
thought, poison creatures were a development peculiar to Earth and the Zan
wouldn’t know about them. And, too, maybe their metabolism was enough like
ours so that the poison would kill them. Anyway, I  had  nothing  to  lose
trying. And both maybes turned out to be right.”
    “How did you get the snake to -”
    Walter Phelan grinned. He said, “I told them what affection was. They
didn’t know. They were interested, I found, in  preserving  the  remaining
one of each species as long as possible, to study the picture  and  record
it before it died. I told them it would die  immediately  because  of  the
loss of its mate, unless it had affection  and  petting  –  constantly.  I
showed them how with the duck. Luckily it was a tame one, and  I  held  it
against my chest and petted it a while to show them. Then I let them  take
over with it – and the rattlesnake.”

    He stood up and stretched, and then sat down again more comfortably.
    “Well, we’ve got a world to plan,” he said. “We’ll have  to  let  the
animals out of the ark, and that will take some thinking and deciding. The
herbivorous wild ones we can let go right away. The domestic  ones,  we’ll
do better to keep and take charge of; we’ll need them. But the carnovora –
Well, we’ll have to decide. But I’m afraid it’s got to be thumbs down.”
    He looked at her. “And the human race. We’ve got to make  a  decision
about that. A pretty important one.”
    Her face was getting a little pink again, as it  had  yesterday;  she
sat rigidly in her chair.
    “No!” she said.
    He didn’t seem to have heard her. “It’s been a  nice  race,  even  if
nobody won it,” he said. “It’ll be starting over again now, and it may  go
backward for a while until it gets its breath, but we can gather books for
it and keep most of its knowledge intact, the important things anyway.  We
can -”
    He broke off as she got up and started for the door. Just the way his
Martha would have acted, he thought, back in the days when he was courting
her, before they were married.
    He said, “Think it over, my dear, and take your time. But come back.”
    The door slammed. He sat waiting, thinking out all the  things  there
were to do, once he started, but iis no hurry to start them; and  after  a
while he heard her hesitant footsteps coming back.
    He smiled a little. See? lt wasn’t horrible, really.
    The last man on Earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock  on  the
door…

Anuncios
 
1 comentario

Publicado por en octubre 16, 2013 en Books, Short Story

 

Etiquetas: ,

Una respuesta a ““Knock” by FREDRIC BROWN

  1. Marian

    octubre 17, 2013 at 12:40 pm

    Reblogueó esto en Trópico de cáncer.

     

Responder

Introduce tus datos o haz clic en un icono para iniciar sesión:

Logo de WordPress.com

Estás comentando usando tu cuenta de WordPress.com. Cerrar sesión / Cambiar )

Imagen de Twitter

Estás comentando usando tu cuenta de Twitter. Cerrar sesión / Cambiar )

Foto de Facebook

Estás comentando usando tu cuenta de Facebook. Cerrar sesión / Cambiar )

Google+ photo

Estás comentando usando tu cuenta de Google+. Cerrar sesión / Cambiar )

Conectando a %s

 
YesterdayAfter

Art Inspiring Magic

JB Art Drawings

Life is a shipwreck, but we must not forget to sing in the lifeboats - Voltaire

authortranslatorOlga

Books, writing, life and everything else

Jet Eliot

Travel and Wildlife Adventures

Armitage Agonistes

A Foray into the Fandom of Richard Armitage

Pocas Luces

Un viaje corto, una vuelta manzana.

The Last Island

Art, Films, Literature, Music, Theatre...and my own stuff as a writer here.

Eltiempohabitado's Weblog

Blog de Julie Sopetrán. Poesía para niños y adultos.

Be ▲rtist - Be ▲rt Magazine

GLOB▲L - M▲G▲ZINE

FROM THE BYGONE

Exploring arts & fashions throughout the past two centuries

Paul Militaru

Photography Portfolio

Etcetera Etcetera Etcetera

... about nothing in particular, because "Candid photography is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get". Photography by Lignum Draco, "The Wood Dragon" since 2013.

Steve McCurry's Blog

Steve's body of work spans conflicts, vanishing cultures, ancient traditions and contemporary culture alike - yet always retains the human element. www.stevemccurry.com

Making memories

inesemjphotography

iLUZtración

Just another WordPress.com weblog

Rogues & Vagabonds

theatre, film & tv past and present 2001-2008 & 2013...

yadadarcyyada

Vague Meanderings of the Broke and Obscure

ILLUSTRATION AGE

THE ULTIMATE RESOURCE FOR ILLUSTRATORS

Photo Speed

Las fotos de un aficionado

URieLaRtE

“El arte es la expresión de los más profundos sentimientos por el camino más sencillo”

Smorgasbord - Variety is the spice of life

Blog with a view - on books, music, humour and health

ASESINANDO PALABRAS de JhulleRay

Vlogger, Journalism, Rookie Writer, Design, ect.

writerchristophfischer

Books, Reviews and bookish thoughts

Just Olga

Olga's things: writing, reading, translating, stories, life

The Cool Muse / La Musa Molona

"The Cool Muse: Proudly tormenting friends and family with paintings of doubtful quality since MMII" "

Me + Richard Armitage

a frequently irreverent and occasionally cerebral feuilleton of richard armitage studies

Un Lugar para isabel...cine y libros

¡La magia del cine y el placer de los libros!

Galicia Futura

Blogazine Independiente / Abierto 24 horas

Temas de política e historia

Un blog de Andreas Westhues

First Night Design

Art, Design, Theatre, Literature, History, Food, Laughter ...

Siéntate y observa…

Be welcome to the land of all cultural and artistic expression, nature and animals

sara33ia

A fine WordPress.com site

ThorNews

Supplier of Norwegian Culture

TwistedSifter

The Best of the visual Web, sifted, sorted and summarized

Dimitris Manousakis

A great WordPress.com site

Moco-choco

TRAVEL, LEISURE AND ART BLOG

Brian Cooney's photography blog.

IRELAND. See What You're Missing.

Jane Austen's World

This Jane Austen blog brings Jane Austen, her novels, and the Regency Period alive through food, dress, social customs, and other 19th C. historical details related to this topic.

A %d blogueros les gusta esto: