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The Thing, whole no. 2, Summer 1946
Page 7
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The crawling Thing Duane W. Rimmel[[?]] May 2---Carlson, Wash. "What did it look like, Edward?" "I didn't see it plain," the boy replied frankly. "I was playing down by the slough an done of the other kids said he saw the grass moving. You know how some boys are afraid of snakes. Well, I looked over in the grass and something was wiggling away from the water." "Yes?" I said pleasantly. "Well, I thought it was a snake, too--but it wasn't. I could see the ground right through it. It looked like a piece of water moving up through the grass." Strange how children notice things; that's why magicians don't like to perform in front of them. Their minds are disciplined, unfortunately. Sometimes they see too much. "Naturally, you know it wasn't water, don't you?" I said. "Water can't run uphill." Edward nodded. My eleven-year old nephew is very mature for his age,and doesn't seem that young at all. Often we have long talks about nature, physics and natural phenomena. After he left, I walked to my study and sat down before the window. I looked out over the roofs of nearby houses, my own edifice being on a rounded hill at the edge of town. It is a good view--I can see the winding Snake river, and the tall willow and poplar trees growing at its brink. An early spring has flowered the poplars with bright green leaves. This time of year blackbirds dive and whirl around the slough where Edward and his little friends like to play. I'll have to be more careful with my pet. It enjoys going to the river every morning for a swim. How could I know it would pick the spot where the boys were fishing? There was another big hubbub in the papers this morning. I have to chuckle every time I think about it. Number three, this time. The last one is gone, and the slate is clean, damn their dirty souls! They laughed at my experiments and called them "silly." I needed money to further advance my learning, and they refused me. Old Creeper was the worst--as president of the bank he was in the best position to lend me money until I perfected my theories of atomic bombardment. Just because I chose a small town for my work (my only sister, Edward's mother, lives here), they call me a crackpot. Creeper laughed at me, but he is not laughing now. He is lying cold and dead in his tomb, a dark welt around his scrawny neck. At least, I hope it is still there. I'll never forget that interview. E. A. Creeper called me into his private office and scowled over the rims of his thick glasses, shuffling papers on his desk. "What do you want, Stillson? Why all this secrecy?"
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The crawling Thing Duane W. Rimmel[[?]] May 2---Carlson, Wash. "What did it look like, Edward?" "I didn't see it plain," the boy replied frankly. "I was playing down by the slough an done of the other kids said he saw the grass moving. You know how some boys are afraid of snakes. Well, I looked over in the grass and something was wiggling away from the water." "Yes?" I said pleasantly. "Well, I thought it was a snake, too--but it wasn't. I could see the ground right through it. It looked like a piece of water moving up through the grass." Strange how children notice things; that's why magicians don't like to perform in front of them. Their minds are disciplined, unfortunately. Sometimes they see too much. "Naturally, you know it wasn't water, don't you?" I said. "Water can't run uphill." Edward nodded. My eleven-year old nephew is very mature for his age,and doesn't seem that young at all. Often we have long talks about nature, physics and natural phenomena. After he left, I walked to my study and sat down before the window. I looked out over the roofs of nearby houses, my own edifice being on a rounded hill at the edge of town. It is a good view--I can see the winding Snake river, and the tall willow and poplar trees growing at its brink. An early spring has flowered the poplars with bright green leaves. This time of year blackbirds dive and whirl around the slough where Edward and his little friends like to play. I'll have to be more careful with my pet. It enjoys going to the river every morning for a swim. How could I know it would pick the spot where the boys were fishing? There was another big hubbub in the papers this morning. I have to chuckle every time I think about it. Number three, this time. The last one is gone, and the slate is clean, damn their dirty souls! They laughed at my experiments and called them "silly." I needed money to further advance my learning, and they refused me. Old Creeper was the worst--as president of the bank he was in the best position to lend me money until I perfected my theories of atomic bombardment. Just because I chose a small town for my work (my only sister, Edward's mother, lives here), they call me a crackpot. Creeper laughed at me, but he is not laughing now. He is lying cold and dead in his tomb, a dark welt around his scrawny neck. At least, I hope it is still there. I'll never forget that interview. E. A. Creeper called me into his private office and scowled over the rims of his thick glasses, shuffling papers on his desk. "What do you want, Stillson? Why all this secrecy?"
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