The Telenizer
By DON THOMPSON
Illustrated by VIDMER
[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science FictionMarch 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that theU.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
When I saw the blood dripping from the tap in the bathtub, I knew thatsomeone had a telenosis beam on me, and I breathed a very audible sighof relief.
During the past few days, I had begun to wonder if I was really crackingup.
When you start seeing visions of a bearded gent with a halo, or havingvague but wonderful dreams about some sort of perfect world, feelingintense loyalties to undefined ideals, and experiencing sudden impulses,sometimes cruel and sometimes kind—you know that something's wrong.
At least I do.
If he—whoever he was—had just kept up the slow, subtle pace he'dmaintained for the past two or three days, he would have had me in alittle while. For whatever he wanted.
But now, he'd overplayed his hand. I knew, at least, what was going on.Who was doing it, or why, I still didn't know—nor whether I could standit, even knowing.
The thick, bright red blood dripping steadily from the water tap in thebath tub wasn't so bad.
I stood before the mirror, with my softly humming razor in my hand, andI watched the blood ooze from the tap, quiver as it grew heavy andpregnant, then pull itself free and fall with a dull plonk to theenamel as another drop began to form.
That wasn't so bad. But my sigh of relief became a gurgle of almosthysterical apprehension as I braced myself for what might come, with thetelenizer knowing that I was aware.
There was something I could do—should do—but my mind refused to focus.It bogged down in a muck of unreasoning terror and could only screamWhy? Why? Why?
The drops of blood from the water tap increased both in size andrapidity, as I watched. Heavy, red, marble-sized tears followed oneanother from the tap, plonk, plonk, plonk, splashing in the tub and onthe floor. Faster and faster, and then the drip became a flow, a gush,as though the vein of some giant creature had been slashed.
The tub filled rapidly, and blood flowed like a crimson waterfall overthe edge and across the floor toward me.
I heard a tiny howling, and looked down.
I screamed and threw the soft, brown, fuzzy, squirming puppy-thing thathad been a razor into the advancing tide of blood.
The fuzzy thing shattered when it hit the blood, and each of thethousand pieces became another tiny puppy-thing that grew and grew,yapping and swimming in the blood. The tide was now rising about myshoes.
I backed away from the mirror, trembling violently. I forced myself toslosh through the thick blood into the bedroom, groping for a bottle ofwhisky on the bureau.
"What the hell are you doing here?" the boss asked when I opened hisoffice door and peeked in. "You're supposed to be in Palm Beach. Well,damn it, come on in!"
I clung to the door firmly as I maneuvered myself through the opening.And when I closed the door, I leaned back against it heavily.
I could see the boss—Carson Newell, managing editor of Intergalaxy NewsServic