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Nourse + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + + h1 {text-align: left; clear: both; margin-bottom: 2em;} + + h2 {text-align: center; clear: both;} + + hr {width: 33%; margin: 2em auto; clear: both;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + + .trans1 {border: solid 1px; margin: 2em 15% 4em; padding: 1em; text-align: justify;} + + p.cap:first-letter {float: left; margin-right: .05em; padding-top: .05em; + font-size: 300%; line-height: .8em;} + .dcap {text-transform: uppercase;} + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Dark Door, by Alan Edward Nourse + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Dark Door + +Author: Alan Edward Nourse + +Release Date: October 3, 2007 [EBook #22869] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DARK DOOR *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="trans1"><b>Transcriber's Note:</b><br /> +This etext was produced from <i>The Counterfeit Man More Science Fiction +Stories by Alan E. Nourse</i> published in 1963. Extensive research did +not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was +renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected +without note.</div> + +<h1>The<br /> +Dark<br /> +Door</h1> + + + + + +<h2>1</h2> + + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">It</span> was almost dark when he awoke, and lay on the bed, +motionless and trembling, his heart sinking in the knowledge +that he should never have slept. For almost half a minute, +eyes wide with fear, he lay in the silence of the gloomy room, +straining to hear some sound, some indication of their presence.</p> + +<p>But the only sound was the barely audible hum of his wrist +watch and the dismal splatter of raindrops on the cobbled +street outside. There was no sound to feed his fear, yet he knew +then, without a flicker of doubt, that they were going to kill +him.</p> + +<p>He shook his head, trying to clear the sleep from his brain +as he turned the idea over and over in his mind. He wondered +why he hadn't realized it before, long before, back when they +had first started this horrible, nerve-wracking cat-and-mouse +game. The idea just hadn't occurred to him. But he knew the +game-playing was over. They wanted to kill him now. And he +knew that ultimately they <i>would</i> kill him. There was no way +for him to escape.</p> + +<p>He sat up on the edge of the bed, painfully, perspiration +standing out on his bare back, and he waited, listening. How +could he have slept, exposing himself so helplessly? Every +ounce of his energy, all the skill and wit and shrewdness at +his command were necessary in this cruel hunt; yet he had +taken the incredibly terrible chance of sleeping, of losing consciousness, +leaving himself wide open and helpless against the +attack which he knew was inevitable.</p> + +<p>How much had he lost? How close had they come while he +slept?</p> + +<p>Fearfully, he walked to the window, peered out, and felt his +muscles relax a little. The gray, foggy streets were still light. +He still had a little time before the terrible night began.</p> + +<p>He stumbled across the small, old-fashioned room, sensing +that action of some sort was desperately needed. The bathroom +was tiny; he stared in the battered, stained reflector unit, +shocked at the red-eyed stubble-faced apparition that stared +back at him.</p> + +<p>This is Harry Scott, he thought, thirty-two years old, and +in the prime of life, but not the same Harry Scott who started +out on a ridiculous quest so many months ago. This Harry +Scott was being hunted like an animal, driven by fear, helpless, +and sure to die, unless he could find an escape, somehow. +But there were too many of them for him to escape, and they +were too clever, and they <i>knew</i> he knew too much.</p> + +<p>He stepped into the shower-shave unit, trying to relax, to +collect his racing thoughts. Above all, he tried to stay the fear +that burned through his mind, driving him to panic and desperation. +The memory of the last hellish night was too stark +to allow relaxation—the growing fear, the silent, desperate +hunt through the night; the realization that their numbers were +increasing; his frantic search for a hiding place in the New +City; and finally his panic-stricken, pell-mell flight down into +the alleys and cobbled streets and crumbling frame buildings +of the Old City.... Even more horrible, the friends who had +turned on him, who turned out to be <i>like</i> them.</p> + +<p>Back in the bedroom, he lay down again, his body still tense. +There were sounds in the building, footsteps moving around on +the floor overhead, a door banging somewhere. With every +sound, every breath of noise, his muscles tightened still further, +freezing him in fear. His own breath was shallow and rapid +in his ears as he lay, listening, waiting.</p> + +<p>If only something would happen! He wanted to scream, to +bang his head against the wall, to run about the room smashing +his fist into doors, breaking every piece of furniture. It was +the <i>waiting</i>, the eternal waiting, and running, waiting some +more, feeling the net drawing tighter and tighter as he waited, +feeling the measured, unhurried tread behind him, always following, +coming closer and closer, as though he were a mouse +on a string, twisting and jerking helplessly.</p> + +<p>If only they would move, do something he could counter.</p> + +<p>But he wasn't even sure any more that he could detect them. +And they were so careful never to move into the open.</p> + +<p>He jumped up feverishly, moved to the window, and peered +between the slats of the dusty, old-fashioned blind at the street +below.</p> + +<p>An empty street at first, wet, gloomy. He saw no one. Then +he caught the flicker of light in an entry several doors down +and across the street, as a dark figure sparked a cigarette to +life. Harry felt the chill run down his back again. Still there, +then, still waiting, a hidden figure, always present, always +waiting....</p> + +<p>Harry's eyes scanned the rest of the street rapidly. Two +three-wheelers rumbled by, their rubber hissing on the wet +pavement. One of them carried the blue-and-white of the Old +City police, but the car didn't slow up or hesitate as it passed +the dark figure in the doorway. They would never help me anyway, +Harry thought bitterly. He had tried that before, and met +with ridicule and threats. There would be no help from the +police in the Old City.</p> + +<p>Another figure came around a corner. There was something +vaguely familiar about the tall body and broad shoulders as +the man walked across the wet street, something Harry faintly +recognized from somewhere during the spinning madness of +the past few weeks.</p> + +<p>The man's eyes turned up toward the window for the briefest +instant, then returned steadfastly to the street. Oh, they were +sly! You could never spot them looking at you, never for <i>sure</i>, +but they were always there, always nearby. And there was no +one he could trust any longer, no one to whom he could turn.</p> + +<p>Not even George Webber.</p> + +<p>Swiftly his mind reconsidered that possibility as he watched +the figure move down the street. True, Dr. Webber had started +him out on this search in the first place. But even Webber +would never believe what he had found. Webber was a scientist, +a researcher.</p> + +<p>What could he do—go to Webber and tell him that there +were men alive in the world who were <i>not</i> men, who were +somehow men and something more?</p> + +<p>Could he walk into Dr. Webber's office in the Hoffman +Medical Center, walk through the gleaming bright corridors, +past the shining metallic doors, and tell Dr. Webber that he +had found people alive in the world who could actually see +in four dimensions, live in four dimensions, <i>think</i> in four +dimensions?</p> + +<p>Could he explain to Dr. Webber that he knew this simply +because in some way he had sensed them, and traced them, +and discovered them; that he had not one iota of proof, except +that he was being followed by them, hunted by them, even +now, in a room in the Old City, waiting for them to strike +him down?</p> + +<p>He shook his head, almost sobbing. That was what was so +horrible. He couldn't tell Webber, because Webber would be +certain that he had gone mad, just like the rest. He couldn't +tell anyone, he couldn't do anything. He could just wait, and +run, and wait—</p> + +<p>It was almost dark now and the creaking of the old board +house intensified the fear that tore at Harry Scott's mind. +Tonight was the night; he was sure of it. Maybe he had been +foolish in coming here to the slum area, where the buildings +were relatively unguarded, where anybody could come and go +as he pleased. But the New City had hardly been safer, even +in the swankiest private chamber in the highest building. They +had had agents there, too, hunting him, driving home the bitter +lesson of fear they had to teach him. Now he was afraid +enough; now they were ready to kill him.</p> + +<p>Down below he heard a door bang, and he froze, his back +against the wall. There were footsteps, quiet voices, barely +audible. His whole body shook and his eyes slid around to the +window. The figure in the doorway still waited—but the other +figure was not visible. He heard the steps on the stair, ascending +slowly, steadily, a tread that paced itself with the powerful +throbbing of his own pulse.</p> + +<p>Then the telephone screamed out—</p> + +<p>Harry gasped. The footsteps were on the floor below, moving +steadily upward. The telephone rang again and again; the +shrill jangling filled the room insistently. He waited until he +couldn't wait any longer. His hand fumbled in a pocket and +leveled a tiny, dull-gray metal object at the door. With the +other hand, he took the receiver from the hook.</p> + +<p>"Harry! Is that you?"</p> + +<p>His throat was like sandpaper and the words came out in +a rasp. "What is it?"</p> + +<p>"Harry, this is George—George Webber."</p> + +<p>His eyes were glued to the door. "All right. What do you +want?"</p> + +<p>"You've got to come talk to us, Harry. We've been waiting +for weeks now. You promised us. We've <i>got</i> to talk to you."</p> + +<p>Harry still watched the door, but his breath came easier. The +footsteps moved with ridiculous slowness up the stairs, down +the hall toward the room.</p> + +<p>"What do you want me to do? They've come to kill me."</p> + +<p>There was a long pause. "Harry, are you sure?"</p> + +<p>"Dead sure."</p> + +<p>"Can you make a break for it?"</p> + +<p>Harry blinked. "I could try. But it won't do any good."</p> + +<p>"Well, at least try, Harry. Get here to the Hoffman Center. +We'll help you all we can."</p> + +<p>"I'll try." Harry's words were hardly audible as he set the +receiver down with a trembling hand.</p> + +<p>The room was silent. The footsteps had stopped. A wave of +panic passed up Harry's spine; he crossed the room, threw open +the door, stared up and down the hall, unbelieving.</p> + +<p>The hall was empty. He started down toward the stairs at +a dead run, and then, too late, saw the faint golden glow of +a Parkinson Field across the dingy corridor. He gasped in fear, +and screamed out once as he struck it.</p> + +<p>And then, for seconds stretching into hours, he heard his +scream echoing and re-echoing down long, bitter miles of +hollow corridor.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>2</h2> + + +<p>George Webber leaned back in the soft chair, turning a +quizzical glance toward the younger man across the room. He +lit a long black cigar.</p> + +<p>"Well?" His heavy voice boomed out in the small room. +"Now that we've got him here, what do you think?"</p> + +<p>The younger man glanced uncomfortably through the glass +wall panel into the small dark room beyond. In the dimness, +he could barely make out the still form on the bed, grotesque +with the electrode-vernier apparatus already in place at its +temples. Dr. Manelli looked away sharply, and leafed through +the thick sheaf of chart papers in his hand.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," he said dully. "I just don't know what to +think."</p> + +<p>The other man's laugh seemed to rise from the depths of his +huge chest. His heavy face creased into a thousand wrinkles. +Dr. Webber was a large man, his broad shoulders carrying a +suggestion of immense power that matched the intensity of his +dark, wide-set eyes. He watched Dr. Manelli's discomfort grow, +saw the younger doctor's ears grow red, and the almost cruel +lines in his face were masked as he laughed still louder.</p> + +<p>"Trouble with you, Frank, you just don't have the courage +of your convictions."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't see anything so funny about it!" Manelli's +eyes were angry. "The man has a suspicious syndrome—so +you've followed him, and spied on him for weeks on end, +which isn't exactly highest ethical practice in collecting a +history. I still can't see how you're justified."</p> + +<p>Dr. Webber snorted, tossing his cigar down on the desk with +disgust. "The man is insane. That's my justification. He's out +of touch with reality. He's wandered into a wild, impossible, +fantastic dream world. And we've got to get him out of it, +because what he knows, what he's trying to hide from us, is +so incredibly dangerous that we don't dare let him go."</p> + +<p>The big man stared at Manelli, his dark eyes flashing. "Can't +you see that? Or would you rather sit back and let Harry Scott +go the way that Paulus and Wineberg and the others went?"</p> + +<p>"But to use the Parkinson Field on him—" Dr. Manelli +shook his head hopelessly. "He'd offered to come over, George. +We didn't need to use it."</p> + +<p>"Sure, he offered to come—fine, fine. But supposing he +changed his mind on the way? For all we know, he had us +figured into his paranoia, too, and never would have come +near the Hoffman Center."</p> + +<p>Dr. Webber shook his head. "We're not playing a game any +more, Frank. Get that straight. I thought it was a game a +couple of years ago, when we first started. But it ceased to be +a game when men like Paulus and Wineberg walked in sane, +healthy men, and came out blubbering idiots. That's no game +any more. We're onto something big. And, if Harry Scott can +lead us to the core of it, then I can't care too much what +happens to Harry Scott."</p> + +<p>Dr. Manelli stood up sharply, walked to the window, and +looked down over the bright, clean buildings of the Hoffman +Medical Center. Out across the terraced park that surrounded +the glassed towers and shining metal of the Center rose the +New City, tier upon tier of smooth, functional architecture, +a city of dreams built up painfully out of the rubble of the +older, ruined city.</p> + +<p>"You could kill him," the young man said finally. "The +psycho-integrator isn't any standard interrogative technique; +it's dangerous and treacherous. You never know for sure just +what you're doing when you dig down into a man's brain tissue +with those little electrode probes."</p> + +<p>"But we can learn the truth about Harry Scott," Dr. Webber +broke in. "Six months ago, Harry Scott was working with us, +a quiet, affable, pleasant young fellow, extremely intelligent, +intensely co-operative. He was just the man we needed to +work with us, an engineer who could take our data and case +histories, study them, and subject them to a completely nonmedical +analysis. Oh, we had to have it done—the problem's +been with us for a hundred years now, growing ever since the +1950s and 60s—insanity in the population, growing, spreading +without rhyme or reason, insinuating itself into every nook and +cranny of our civilized life."</p> + +<p>The big man blinked at Manelli. "Harry Scott was the new +approach. We were too close to the problem. We needed a +nonmedical outsider to take a look, to tell us what we were +missing. So Harry Scott walked into the problem, and then +abruptly lost contact with us. We finally track him down and +find him gone, out of touch with reality, on the same wretched +road that all the others went. With Harry, it's paranoia. He's +being persecuted; he has the whole world against him, but +most important—the factor we don't dare overlook—<i>he's no +longer working on the problem</i>."</p> + +<p>Manelli shifted uneasily. "I suppose that's right."</p> + +<p>"Of course it's right!" Dr. Webber's eyes flashed. "Harry +found something in those statistics. Something about the data, +or the case histories; or something Harry Scott himself dug up +opened a door for him to go through, a door that none of +us ever dreamed existed. We don't know what he found on +the other side of that door. Oh, we know what he <i>thinks</i> he +found, all this garbage about people that look normal but walk +through walls when nobody's looking, who think around corners +instead of in straight-line logic. But what he <i>really</i> found +there, we don't have any way of telling. We just know that +whatever he <i>really</i> found is something new, something unsuspected; +something so dangerous it can drive an intelligent +man into the wildest delusions of paranoid persecution."</p> + +<p>A new light appeared in Dr. Manelli's eyes as he faced the +other doctor. "Wait a minute," he said softly. "The integrator +is an <i>experimental</i> instrument, too."</p> + +<p>Dr. Webber smiled slyly. "Now you're beginning to think," +he said.</p> + +<p>"But you'll see only what Scott himself believes. And <i>he</i> +thinks his story is true."</p> + +<p>"Then we'll have to break his story."</p> + +<p>"<i>Break</i> it?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly. For some reason, this delusion of persecution is +far safer for Harry Scott than facing what he really found out. +What we've got to do is to make this delusion <i>less</i> safe than the +truth."</p> + +<p>The room was silent for a long moment. Manelli looked +up, his fingers trembling. "Let's hear it."</p> + +<p>"It's very simple. Up to now, Harry Scott has had <i>delusions</i> +of persecution. But now we're <i>really</i> going to persecute Harry +Scott, as he's never been persecuted before."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>3</h2> + + +<p>At first he thought he was at the bottom of a deep well and +he lay quite still, his eyes clamped shut, wondering where he +was and how he could possibly have gotten there. He could +feel the dampness and chill of the stone floor under him, and +nearby he heard the damp, insistent drip of water splashing +against stone. He felt his muscles tighten as the dripping sound +forced itself against his senses. Then he opened his eyes.</p> + +<p>His first impulse was to scream out wildly in unreasoning, +suffocating fear. He fought it down, struggling to sit up in the +blackness, his whole mind turned in bitter, hopeless hatred at +the ones who had hunted him for so long, and now had trapped +him.</p> + +<p>Why?</p> + +<p>Why did they torture him? Why not kill him outright, have +done with it? He shuddered, and struggled to his feet, staring +about him in horror.</p> + +<p>It was not a well, but a small room, circular, with little +rivulets of stale water running down the granite walls. The +ceiling closed low over his head, and the only source of light +came from the single doorway opening into a long, low stone +passageway.</p> + +<p>Wave after wave of panic rose in Harry's throat. Each time +he fought down the urge to scream, to lie down on the ground +and cover his face with his hands and scream in helpless fear. +How could they have known the horror that lay in his own +mind, the horror of darkness, of damp slimy walls and scurrying +rodents, of the clinging, stale humidity of dungeon passageways? +He himself had seldom recalled it, except in his most +hideous dreams, yet he had known such fear as a boy, so many +years ago, and now it was all around him. They had known +somehow and <i>used it against him</i>.</p> + +<p>Why?</p> + +<p>He sank down on the floor, his head in his hands, trying to +think straight, to find some clue in the turmoil bubbling through +his mind that would tell him what had happened.</p> + +<p>He had started down the hallway from his room, to find +Dr. Webber and tell him about the other people—</p> + +<p>He stopped short, looked up wide-eyed. <i>Had</i> he been going +to Dr. Webber? Had he actually decided to go? Perhaps—yes, +perhaps he had, though Webber would only laugh at such a +ridiculous story. But the not-men who had hunted him would +not laugh; to them, it would not be funny. They knew that it +was true. And they knew he knew it was true.</p> + +<p><i>But why not kill him?</i> Why this torture? Why this horrible +persecution that dug into the depths of his own nightmares to +haunt him?</p> + +<p>His breath came fast and a chilly sweat broke out on his +forehead. <i>Where</i> was he? Was this some long forgotten vault +in the depths of the Old City? Or was this another place, another +world, perhaps, that the not-men, with their impossible +powers, had created to torture him?</p> + +<p>His eyes sought the end of the hall, saw the turn at the end, +saw the light which seemed to come from the end; and then +in an instant he was running down the damp passageway, his +pulse pounding at his temples, until he could hardly gasp +enough breath as he ran. Finally he reached the turn in the +corridor where the light was brighter, and he swung around +to stare at the source of the light, a huge, burning, smoky torch +which hung from the wall.</p> + +<p>Even as he looked at it, the torch went out, shutting him +into inky blackness. The only sound at first was the desperation +of his own breath; then he heard little scurrying sounds around +his feet, and screamed involuntarily as something sleek and +four-footed jumped at his chest with snapping jaws.</p> + +<p>Shuddering, he fought the thing off, his fingers closing on +wiry fur as he caught and squeezed. The thing went limp, and +suddenly melted in his hands. He heard it splash as it struck +the damp ground at his feet.</p> + +<p><i>What were they doing to his mind?</i></p> + +<p>He screamed out in horror, and followed the echoes of his +own scream as he ran down the stone corridor, blindly, slipping +on the wet stone floor, falling on his knees into inches of +brackish water, scraping back to his feet with an uncontrollable +convulsion of fear and loathing, only to run more—</p> + +<p>The corridor suddenly broke into two and he stopped short. +He didn't know how far, or how long, he had run, but it suddenly +occurred to him that he was still alive, still safe. Only his +mind was under attack, only his mind was afraid, teetering on +the edge of control. And this maze of dungeon tunnels—where +could such a thing exist, so perfectly outfitted to horrify him, +so neatly fitting into his own pattern of childhood fears and +terrors; from where could such a <i>very individual</i> attack on his +sanity have sprung? From nowhere except....</p> + +<p><i>Except from his own mind!</i></p> + +<p>For an instant, he saw a flicker of light, thought he grasped +the edge of a concept previously obscure to him. He stared +around him, at the mist swirling down the damp, dark corridor, +and thought of the rat that had melted in his hand. Suddenly, +his mind was afire, searching through his experience with the +strange not-men he had learned to detect, trying to remember +everything he had learned and deduced about them before they +began their brutal persecution.</p> + +<p>They were men, and they looked like men, but they were +different. They had other properties of mind, other capabilities +that men did not have.</p> + +<p>They were not-men. They could exist, and co-exist, two +people in one frame, one person known, realized by all who +saw, the other one concealed except from those who learned +how to look. They could use their minds; they could rationalize +correctly; they could use their curious four-dimensional +knowledge to bring them to answers no three-dimensional man +could reach.</p> + +<p><i>But they couldn't project into men's minds!</i></p> + +<p>Carefully, Harry peered down the misty tunnels. They were +clever, these creatures, and powerful. Since they had discovered +that he knew them, they had done their work of fear and +terror on his mind skillfully. But they were limited, too; they +couldn't make things happen that were not true—fantasies, +illusions....</p> + +<p>Yes, this dungeon was an illusion. It <i>had</i> to be.</p> + +<p>He cursed and started down the right-hand corridor, his +heart sinking. There was no such place and he knew it. He +was walking in a dream, a fantasy that had no substance, that +could do no more than frighten him, drive him insane; yet +he must already have lost his mind to be accepting such an +illusion.</p> + +<p>Why had he delayed? Why hadn't he gone to the Hoffman +Center, laid the whole story before Dr. Webber and Dr. Manelli +at the very first, told them what he had found? True, they +might have thought him insane, but they wouldn't have put +him to torture. They might even have believed him enough +to investigate what he told them, and then the cat would have +been out of the bag. The tale would have been incredible, +but at least his mind would have been safe.</p> + +<p>He turned down another corridor and walked suddenly into +waist-deep water, so cold it numbed his legs. He stopped again +to force back the tendrils of unreasoning horror that brushed +his mind. Nothing could really harm him. He would merely +wait until his mind finally reached a balance again. There +might be no end; it might be a ghastly trap, but he would +wait.</p> + +<p>Strangely, the mist was becoming greenish in color as it +swirled toward him in the damp vaulted passageway. His eyes +began watering a little and the lining of his nose started to +burn. He stopped short, newly alarmed, and stared at the +walls, rubbing the tears away to clear his vision. The greenish-yellow +haze grew thicker, catching his eyes and burning like +a thousand furies, ripping into his throat until he was choking +and coughing, as though great knives sliced through his lungs.</p> + +<p>He tried to scream, and started running, blindly. Each gasping +breath was an agony as the blistering gas dug deeper and +deeper into his lungs. Reason departed from him; he was +screaming incoherently as he stumbled up a stony ramp, +crashed into a wall, spun around and smashed blindly into +another. Then something caught at his shirt.</p> + +<p>He felt the heavy planks and pounded iron scrollwork of a +huge door, and threw himself upon it, wrenching at the old +latch until the door swung open with a screech of rusty hinges. +He fell forward on his face, and the door swung shut behind +him.</p> + +<p>He lay face down, panting and sobbing in the stillness.</p> + +<p>Coarse hands grasped his collar, jerking him rudely to his +feet, and he opened his eyes. Across the dim, vaulted room he +could see the shadowy form of a man, a big man, with a broad +chest and powerful shoulders, a man whose rich voice Harry +almost recognized, but whose face was deep in shadow. As +Harry wiped the tears from his tortured eyes, he heard the +man's voice rumble out at him:</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you've had enough now to change your mind +about telling us the truth."</p> + +<p>Harry stared, not quite comprehending. "The—the truth?"</p> + +<p>The man's voice was harsh, cutting across the room impatiently. +"The truth, I said. The problem, you fool, what you +saw, what you learned; you know perfectly well what I'm referring +to. But we'll swallow no more of this silly four-dimensional +superman tale, so don't bother to start it."</p> + +<p>"I—I don't understand you. It's—it's true—" Again he +tried to peer across the room. "Why are you hunting me like +this? What are you trying to do to me?"</p> + +<p>"We want the truth. We want to know what you saw."</p> + +<p>"But—but <i>you're</i> what I saw. You know what I found out. +I mean—" He stopped, his face going white. His hand went +to his mouth, and he stared still harder. "Who are you?" he +whispered.</p> + +<p>"The truth!" the man roared. "You'd better be quick, or +you'll be back in the corridor."</p> + +<p>"<i>Webber!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Your last chance, Harry."</p> + +<p>Without warning, Harry was across the room, flying across +the desk, crashing into the big man's chest. With a scream of +fury he fought, driving his fists into the powerful chest, wrenching +at the thick, flailing arms of the startled man.</p> + +<p>"<i>It's you!</i>" he screamed. "It's you that's been torturing me. +It's you that's been hunting me down all this time, not the +other people, you and your crowd of ghouls have been at my +throat!"</p> + +<p>He threw the big man off balance, dropped heavily on him +as he fell back to the ground, glared down into the other's +angry brown eyes.</p> + +<p>And then, as though he had never been there at all, the big +man vanished, and Harry sat back on the floor, his whole body +shaking with frustrated sobs as his mind twisted in anguish.</p> + +<p>He had been wrong, completely wrong, ever since he had +discovered the not-men. Because he had thought <i>they</i> had been +the ones who hunted and tortured him for so long. And now +he knew how far he had been wrong. For the face of the +shadowy man, the man behind the nightmare he was living, +was the face of Dr. George Webber.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"You're a fool," said Dr. Manelli sharply, as he turned +away from the sleeping figure on the bed to face the older +man. "Of all the ridiculous things, to let him connect you +with this!" The young doctor turned abruptly and sank down +in a chair, glowering at Dr. Webber. "You haven't gotten to +first base yet, but you've just given Scott enough evidence to +free himself from integrator control altogether, if he gives it +any thought. But I suppose you realize that."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," Dr. Webber retorted. "He had enough information +to do that when we first started. I'm no more worried +now than I was then. I'm sure he doesn't know enough about +the psycho-integrator to be able voluntarily to control the +patient-operator relationship to any degree. Oh, no, he's safe +enough. But you've missed the whole point of that little interview." +Dr. Webber grinned at Manelli.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I have. It looked to me like useless bravado."</p> + +<p>"The persecution, man, the <i>persecution</i>! He's shifted his +sights! Before that interview, the <i>not-men</i> were torturing him, +remember? Because they were afraid he would report his findings +to me, of course. But now it's <i>I</i> that's against him." The +grin widened. "You see where that leads?"</p> + +<p>"You're talking almost as though you believed this story +about a different sort of people among us."</p> + +<p>Dr. Webber shrugged. "Perhaps I do."</p> + +<p>"Oh, come now, George."</p> + +<p>Dr. Webber's eyebrows went up and the grin disappeared +from his face.</p> + +<p>"Harry Scott believes it, Frank. We mustn't forget that, +or miss its significance. Before Harry started this investigation +of his, he wouldn't have paid any attention to such nonsense. +But he believes it now."</p> + +<p>"But Harry Scott is insane. You said it yourself."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes," said Dr. Webber. "Insane. Just like the others +who started to get somewhere along those lines of investigation. +Try to analyze the growing incidence of insanity in the +population and you yourself go insane. You've got to be crazy +to be a psychiatrist. It's an old joke, but it isn't very funny any +more. And it's too much for coincidence.</p> + +<p>"And then consider the nature of the insanity—a full-blown +paranoia—oh, it's amazing. A cunning organization of men +who are <i>not</i>-men, a regular fairy story, all straight from Harry +Scott's agile young mind. But now it's <i>we</i> who are persecuting +him, <i>and he still believes his fairy tale</i>."</p> + +<p>"So?"</p> + +<p>Dr. Webber's eyes flashed angrily. "It's too neat, Frank. +It's clever, and it's powerful, whatever we've run up against. +But I think we've got an ace in the hole. We have Harry Scott."</p> + +<p>"And you really think he'll lead us somewhere?"</p> + +<p>Dr. Webber laughed. "That door I spoke of that Harry +peeked through, I think he'll go back to it again. I think he's +started to open that door already. And this time I'm going to +follow him through."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>4</h2> + + +<p>It seemed incredible, yet Harry Scott knew he had not been +mistaken. It had been Dr. Webber's face he had seen, a face +no one could forget, an unmistakable face. And that meant +that it had been Dr. Webber who had been persecuting him.</p> + +<p>But why? He had been going to report to Webber when he +had run into that golden field in the rooming-house hallway. +And suddenly things had changed.</p> + +<p>Harry felt a chill reaching to his fingers and toes. Yes, something +had changed, all right. The attack on him had suddenly +become butcherous, cruel, sneaking into his mind somehow +to use his most dreaded nightmares against him. There was +no telling what new horrors might be waiting for him. But he +knew that he would lose his mind unless he could find an +escape.</p> + +<p>He was on his feet, his heart pounding. He had to get out +of here, wherever he was. He had to get back to town, back +to the city, back to where people were. If he could find a place +to hide, a place where he could rest, he could try to think his +way out of this ridiculous maze, or at least try to understand it.</p> + +<p>He wrenched at the door to the passageway, started through, +and smashed face-up against a solid brick wall.</p> + +<p>He cried out and jumped back from the wall. Blood trickled +from his nose. The door was <i>walled up</i>, the mortar dry and +hard.</p> + +<p>Frantically, he glanced around the room. There were no +other doors, only the row of tiny windows around the ceiling +of the room, pale, ghostly squares of light.</p> + +<p>He pulled the chair over to the windows, peered out through +the cobwebbed openings to the corridor beyond.</p> + +<p>It was not the same hallway as before, but an old, dirty +building corridor, incredibly aged, with bricks sagging away +from the walls. At the end he could see stairs, and even the +faintest hint of sunlight coming from above.</p> + +<p>Wildly, he tore at the masonry of the window, chipping +away at the soggy mortar with his fingers until he could squeeze +through the opening. He fell to the floor of the corridor outside.</p> + +<p>It was much colder and the silence was no longer so intense. +He seemed to feel, rather than hear, the surging power, the +rumble of many machines, the little, almost palpable vibrations +from far above him.</p> + +<p>He started in a dead run down the musty corridor to the +stairs and began to climb them, almost stumbling over himself +in his eagerness.</p> + +<p>After several flights, the brick walls gave way to cleaner +plastic, and suddenly a brightly lighted corridor stretched +before him.</p> + +<p>Panting from the climb, Harry ran down the corridor to the +end, wrenched open a door, and looked out anxiously.</p> + +<p>He was almost stunned by the bright light. At first he +couldn't orient himself as he stared down at the metal ramp, +the moving strips of glowing metal carrying the throngs of +people, sliding along the thoroughfare before him, unaware of +him watching, unaware of any change from the usual. The +towering buildings before him rose to unbelievable heights, +bathed in ever-changing rainbow colors, and he felt his pulse +thumping in his temples as he gaped.</p> + +<p>He was in the New City, of that there was no doubt. This +was the part of the great metropolis which had been built again +since the devastating war that had nearly wiped the city from +the Earth a decade before. These were the moving streets, the +beautiful residential apartments, following the modern neo-functional +patterns and participational design which had completely +altered the pattern of city living. The Old City still +remained, of course—the slums, the tenements, the skid-rows +of the metropolis—but this was the teeming heart of the city, +a new home for men to live in.</p> + +<p>And this was the stronghold where the not-men could be +found, too. The thought cut through Harry's mind, sending a +tremor up his spine. He had found them here; he had uncovered +his first clues here, and discovered them; and even now +his mind was filled with the horrible, paralyzing fear he had +felt that first night when he had made the discovery. Yet he +knew now that he dared not go back where he had come from.</p> + +<p>At least he could understand why the not-men might have +feared and persecuted him, but he could not understand the +horrible assault that Dr. Webber had unleashed. And somehow +he found Dr. Webber's attack infinitely more frightening.</p> + +<p>He seemed to be safe here, though, at least for the moment.</p> + +<p>Quickly he moved down onto the nearest moving sidewalk +heading toward the living section of the New City. He knew +where he could go there, where he could lock himself in, a +place where he could think, possibly find a way to fight off +Dr. Webber's attack of nightmares.</p> + +<p>He settled back on a bench on the moving sidewalk, watching +the city slide past him for several minutes before he noticed +the curious shadow-form which seemed to whisk out of his +field of vision every time he looked.</p> + +<p>They were following him again! He looked around wildly +as the sidewalk moved swiftly through the cool evening air. +Far above, he could see the shimmering, iridescent screen that +still stood to protect the New City from the devastating virus +attacks which might again strike down from the skies without +warning. Far ahead he could see the magnificent "bridge" +formed by the sidewalk crossing over to the apartment area, +where the thousands who worked in the New City were returning +to their homes.</p> + +<p>Someone was still following him.</p> + +<p>Presently he heard the sound, so close to his ear he jumped, +yet so small he could hardly identify it as a human voice. +"What was it you found, Harry? What did you discover? Better +tell, better tell."</p> + +<p>He saw the rift in the moving sidewalk coming, far ahead, a +great, gaping rent in the metal fabric of the swiftly moving +escalator, as if a huge blade were slicing it down the middle. +Harry's hand went to his mouth, choking back a scream as +the hole moved with incredible rapidity down the center of +the strip, swallowing up whole rows of the seats, moving +straight toward his own.</p> + +<p>He glanced in fright over the side just as the sidewalk moved +out onto the "bridge," and he gasped as he saw the towering +canyons of buildings fall far below, saw the seats tumble end +over end, heard the sounds of screaming blend into the roar of +air by his ears.</p> + +<p>Then the rift screamed by him with a demoniac whine and +he sank back onto his bench, gasping as the two cloven halves +of the strip clanged back together again.</p> + +<p>He stared at the people around him on the strip and they +stared back at him, mildly, unperturbed, and returned to their +evening papers as the strip passed through the first local station +on the other side of the "bridge."</p> + +<p>Harry Scott sprang to his feet, moving swiftly across the +slower strips for the exit channels. He noted the station stop +vaguely, but his only thought now was speed, desperate speed, +fear-driven speed to put into action the plan that had suddenly +burst in his mind.</p> + +<p>He knew that he had reached his limit. He had come to a +point beyond which he couldn't fight alone.</p> + +<p>Somehow, Webber had burrowed into his brain, laid his +mind open to attacks of nightmare and madness that he could +never hope to fight. Facing this alone, he would lose his mind. +His only hope was to go for help to the ones he feared only +slightly less, the ones who had minds capable of fighting back +for him.</p> + +<p>He crossed under the moveable sidewalks and boarded the +one going back into the heart of the city. Somewhere there, he +hoped, he would find the help he needed. Somewhere back in +that city were men he had discovered who were men and something +more.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Frank Manelli carefully took the blood pressure of the +sleeping figure on the bed; then turned to the other man. "He'll +be dead soon," he snapped. "Another few minutes now is all +it'll take. Just a few more."</p> + +<p>"Absurd. There's nothing in these stimuli that can kill him." +George Webber sat tense, his eyes fixed on the pale fluctuating +screen near the head of the bed.</p> + +<p>"His own mind can kill him! He's on the run now; you've +broken him loose from his nice safe paranoia. His mind is +retreating, running back to some other delusions. It's escaping +to the safety his fantasy people can afford him, these not-men +he thinks about."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," agreed Dr. Webber, his eyes eager. "Oh, he's +on the run now."</p> + +<p>"But what will he do when he finds there aren't any 'not-men' +to save him? What will he do then?"</p> + +<p>Webber looked up, frowning and grim. "Then we'll know +what he found behind the dark door that he opened, that's +what."</p> + +<p>"No, you're wrong! He'll die. He'll find nothing and the +shock will kill him. My God, Webber, you can't tamper with +a man's mind like this and hope to save his life! You're +obsessed; you've always been obsessed by this impossible +search for something in our society, some undiscovered factor +to account for the mental illness, the divergent minds, but +you can't kill a man to trace it down!"</p> + +<p>"It's too neat," said Webber. "He comes back to tell us the +truth, and we call him insane. We say he's paranoid, throw +him in restraint, place him in an asylum; and we never <i>know</i> +what he found. The truth is too incredible; when we hear it, +it must be insanity we're hearing."</p> + +<p>The big doctor laughed, jabbing his thumb at the screen. +"This isn't insanity we're seeing. Oh, no, this is the answer +we're following. I won't stop now. I've waited too long for this +show."</p> + +<p>"Well, I say stop it while he's still alive."</p> + +<p>Dr. Webber's eyes were deadly. "Get out, Frank," he said +softly. "I'm not stopping now."</p> + +<p>His eyes returned to the screen, to the bobbing figure that +the psycho-integrator traced on the fluorescent background. +Twenty years of search had led him here, and now he knew the +end was at hand.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>5</h2> + + +<p>It was a wild, nightmarish journey. At every step, Harry's +senses betrayed him: his wrist watch turned into a brilliant +blue-green snake that snapped at his wrist; the air was full of +snarling creatures that threatened him at every step. But he +fought them off, knowing that they would harm him far less +than panic would. He had no idea where to hunt, nor whom +to try to reach, but he knew they were there in the New City, +and somehow he knew they would help him, if only he could +find them.</p> + +<p>He got off the moving strip as soon as the lights of the center +of the city were clear below, and stepped into the self-operated +lift that sped down to ground level. From the elevator, he +moved on to one of the long, honeycombed concourses, filled +with passing shoppers who stared at the colorful, enticing +three-dimensional displays.</p> + +<p>At one of the intersections ahead, he spotted a visiphone +station, and dropped onto the little seat before the screen. +There had been a number, if only he could recall it. But as +he started to dial, the silvery screen shattered into a thousand +sparkling glass chips, showering the floor with crystal and +sparks.</p> + +<p>Harry cursed, grabbed the hand instrument, and jangled +frantically for the operator. Before she could answer, the instrument +grew warm in his hand, then hot and soft, like wax. +Slowly, it melted and ran down his arm.</p> + +<p>He bolted out into the stream of people, trying desperately +to draw some comfort from the crowd around him.</p> + +<p>He felt utterly alone; he <i>had</i> to contact the not-men who +were in the city, warn them, before they spotted him, of the +attack he carried with him. If he were leading his pursuer, +he could expect no mercy from the ones whose help he sought. +He knew the lengths to which they would go to remain undetected +in the society around them. Yet he had to find them.</p> + +<p>In the distance, he saw a figure waiting, back against one +of the show windows. Harry stopped short, ducked into a doorway, +and peered out fearfully. Their eyes locked for an instant; +then the figure moved on. Harry felt a jolt of horror surge +through him. Dr. Webber hunting him in person!</p> + +<p>He ducked out of the doorway, turned and ran madly in the +opposite direction, searching for an up escalator he could +catch. Behind him he heard shots, heard the angry whine of +bullets past his ear.</p> + +<p>He breathed in great, gasping sobs as he found an almost +empty escalator, and bounded up it four steps at a time. Below, +he could see Webber coming too, his broad shoulders forcing +their way relentlessly through the mill of people.</p> + +<p>Panting, Harry reached the top, checked his location against +a wall map, and started down the long ramp which led toward +the building he had tried to call.</p> + +<p>Another shot broke out behind him. The wall alongside +powdered away, leaving a gaping hole. On impulse, he leaped +into the hole, running through to the rear of the building as the +weakened wall swayed and crumbled into a heap of rubble +just as Webber reached the place Harry had entered.</p> + +<p>Harry breathed a sigh of relief and raced up the stairs of +the building to reach a ramp on another level. He turned his +eyes toward the tall building at the end of the concourse. There +he could hide and relax and try, somehow, to make a contact.</p> + +<p>Someone fell into step beside him and took his arm gently +but firmly. Harry jerked away, turning terrified eyes to the +one who had joined him.</p> + +<p>"Quiet," said the man, steering him over toward the edge +of the concourse. "Not a sound. You'll be all right."</p> + +<p>Harry felt a tremor pass through his mind, the barest touching +of mental fingertips, a recognition that sent a surge of eager +blood through his heart.</p> + +<p>He stopped short, facing the man. "I'm being followed," he +gasped. "You can't take me anywhere you don't want Webber +to follow, or you'll be in terrible danger."</p> + +<p>The stranger shrugged and smiled briefly. "You're not here. +You're in a psycho-integrator. It can hurt you, if you let it. +But it can't hurt me." He stepped up his pace slightly, and in +a moment they turned abruptly into a darkened cul-de-sac.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, they were moving <i>through</i> the wall of the building +into the brilliantly lit lobby of the tall building. Harry +gasped, but the stranger led him without a sound toward the +elevator, stepped aboard with him, and sped upward, the silence +broken only by the whish-whish-whish of the passing +floors. Finally they stepped out into a quiet corridor and down +through a small office door.</p> + +<p>A man sat behind the desk in the office, his face quiet, his +eyes very wide and dark. He hardly glanced at Harry, but +turned his eyes to the other man.</p> + +<p>"Set?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Couldn't miss now."</p> + +<p>The man nodded and looked at last at Harry. "You're +upset," he murmured. "What's bothering you?"</p> + +<p>"Webber," said Harry hoarsely. "He's following me here. +He'll spot you. I tried to warn you before I came, but I +couldn't."</p> + +<p>The man at the desk smiled. "Webber again, eh? Our old +friend Webber. That's all right. Webber's at the end of his +tether. There's nothing he can do to stop us. He's trying to +attack with force, and he fails to realize that time and thought +are on our side. The time when force would have succeeded +against us is long past. But now there are many of us, almost +as many as not."</p> + +<p>Harry stared shrewdly at the man behind the desk. "Then +why are you so afraid of Webber?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Afraid?"</p> + +<p>"You know you are. Long ago you threatened me, if I reported +to him. You watched me, played with me. Why are you +afraid of him?"</p> + +<p>The man sighed. "Webber is premature. We are stalling for +time, that's all. We wait. We have grown from so very few, +back in the 1940s and 50s, but the time for quiet usurpation of +power has not quite arrived. But men like Webber force our +hand, discover us, try to expose us."</p> + +<p>Harry Scott's face was white, his hands shaking. "And what +do you do to them?"</p> + +<p>"We—deal with them."</p> + +<p>"And those like me?"</p> + +<p>The man smiled lopsidedly. "Those like Paulus and Wineberg +and the rest—they're happy, really, like little children. +But one like you is so much more useful." He pointed almost +apologetically to the small screen on his desk.</p> + +<p>Harry looked at it, realization dawning. He watched the +huge, broad-shouldered figure moving down the hallway toward +the door.</p> + +<p>"Webber was dangerous to you?"</p> + +<p>"Unbelievably dangerous. So dangerous we would use any +means to trap him."</p> + +<p>Suddenly the door burst open and there stood Webber, a +triumphant Webber, face flushed, eyes wide, as he stared at +the man behind the desk.</p> + +<p>The man smiled back and said, "Come on in, George. We've +been waiting for you."</p> + +<p>Webber stepped through the door. "Manelli, you fool!"</p> + +<p>There was a blinding flash as he crossed the threshold. A +faint crackle of sound reached Harry's ears; then the world +blacked out....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It might have been minutes, or hours, or days. The man who +had been behind the desk was leaning over Harry, smiling +down at him, gently bandaging the trephine wounds at his +temples.</p> + +<p>"Gently," he said, as Harry tried to sit up. "Don't try to +move. You've been through a rough time."</p> + +<p>Harry peered up at him. "You're—not Dr. Webber."</p> + +<p>"No. I'm Dr. Manelli. Dr. Webber's been called away—an +accident. He'll be some time recovering. I'll be taking care +of you."</p> + +<p>Vaguely, Harry was aware that something was peculiar, +something not quite as it should be. The answer slowly dawned +on him.</p> + +<p>"The statistical analysis!" he exclaimed. "I was supposed to +get some data from Dr. Webber about an analysis, something +about rising insanity rates."</p> + +<p>Dr. Manelli looked blank. "Insanity rates? You must be +mistaken. You were brought here for an immunity examination, +nothing more. But you can check with Dr. Webber, when +he gets back."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>6</h2> + + +<p>George Webber sat in the little room, trembling, listening, +his eyes wide in the thick, misty darkness. He knew it would +be a matter of time now. He couldn't run much farther. He +hadn't seen them, true. Oh, they had been very clever, but +they thought they were dealing with a fool, and they weren't. +He <i>knew</i> they'd been following him; he'd known it for a long +time now.</p> + +<p>It was just as he had been telling the man downstairs the +night before: they were everywhere—your neighbor upstairs, +the butcher on the corner, your own son or daughter, maybe +even the man you were talking to—<i>everywhere</i>!</p> + +<p>And of course he had to warn as many people as he possibly +could before <i>they</i> caught him, throttled him off, as they +had threatened to if he talked to anyone.</p> + +<p>If only the people would <i>listen</i> to him when he told them +how cleverly it was all planned, how it would only be a matter +of months, maybe only weeks or days before the change would +happen, and the world would be quietly, silently taken over +by the <i>other</i> people, the different people who could walk +through walls and think in impossibly complex channels. And +no one would know the difference, because business would go +on as usual.</p> + +<p>He shivered, sinking down lower on the bed. If only people +would listen to him—</p> + +<p>It wouldn't be long now. He had heard the stealthy footsteps +on the landing below his room some time ago. This was the +night they had chosen to make good their threats, to choke +off his dangerous voice once and for all. There were footsteps +on the stairs now, growing louder.</p> + +<p>Wildly he glanced around the room as the steps moved down +the hall toward his door. He rushed to the window, threw up +the sash and screamed hoarsely to the silent street below: +"Look out! They're here, all around us! They're planning to +take over! Look out! Look out!"</p> + +<p>The door burst open and there were two men moving toward +him, grim-faced, dressed in white; tall, strong men with +sad faces and strong arms.</p> + +<p>One was saying, "Better come quietly, mister. No need to +wake up the whole town."</p> + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Dark Door, by Alan Edward Nourse + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DARK DOOR *** + +***** This file should be named 22869-h.htm or 22869-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/8/6/22869/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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