A Gleeb for Earth
By CHARLES SHAFHAUSER
Illustrated by EMSH
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Science Fiction May 1953.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Not to be or not to not be ... that was the
not-question for the invader of the not-world.
Dear Editor:
My 14 year old boy, Ronnie, is typing this letter for me because hecan do it neater and use better grammar. I had to get in touch withsomebody about this because if there is something to it, then somebody,everybody, is going to point finger at me, Ivan Smernda, and say, "Whydidn't you warn us?"
I could not go to the police because they are not too friendly tome because of some of my guests who frankly are stew bums. Also theymight think I was on booze, too, or maybe the hops, and get my licenserevoked. I run a strictly legit hotel even though some of my guestsmight be down on their luck now and then.
What really got me mixed up in this was the mysterious disappearance oftwo of my guests. They both took a powder last Wednesday morning.
Now get this. In one room, that of Joe Binkle, which maybe is an alias,I find nothing but a suit of clothes, some butts and the letters Iinclude here in same package. Binkle had only one suit. That I know.And this was it laying right in the middle of the room. Inside thecoat was the vest, inside the vest the shirt, inside the shirt theunderwear. The pants were up in the coat and inside of them was alsothe underwear. All this was buttoned up like Binkle had melted out ofit and dripped through a crack in the floor. In a bureau drawer werethe letters I told you about.
Now. In the room right under Binkle's lived another stew bum thatchecked in Thursday ... name Ed Smith, alias maybe, too. This guy was areal case. He brought with him a big mirror with a heavy bronze frame.Airloom, he says. He pays a week in advance, staggers up the stairs tohis room with the mirror and that's the last I see of him.
In Smith's room on Wednesday I find only a suit of clothes, the samesuit he wore when he came in. In the coat the vest, in the vest theshirt, in the shirt the underwear. Also in the pants. Also all in themiddle of the floor. Against the far wall stands the frame of themirror. Only the frame!
What a spot to be in! Now it might have been a gag. Sometimes theseguys get funny ideas when they are on the stuff. But then I readthe letters. This knocks me for a loop. They are all in differenthandwritings. All from different places. Stamps all legit, my kid says.India, China, England, everywhere.
My kid, he reads. He says it's no joke. He wants to call the cops ormaybe some doctor. But I say no. He reads your magazine so he sayswrite to you, send you the letters. You know what to do. Now you havethem. Maybe you print. Whatever you do, Mr. Editor, remember my place,the Plaza Ritz Arms, is straight establishment. I don't drink. I nevertouch junk, not even aspirin.
Yours very truly,
Ivan Smernda
Bombay, India
June 8
Mr. Joe Binkle
Plaza Ritz Arms
New York City
Dear Joe:
Greetings, greetings, greetings. Hold firm in your wretched projection,for tomorrow you will not be alone in the not-world.