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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/32361-h.zip b/32361-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..08d3ab9 --- /dev/null +++ b/32361-h.zip diff --git a/32361-h/32361-h.htm b/32361-h/32361-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a391d2a --- /dev/null +++ b/32361-h/32361-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1248 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Prophetic Camera, by John Mcgreevey. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.linenum { + position: absolute; + top: auto; + left: 4%; +} /* poetry number */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.sidenote { + width: 20%; + padding-bottom: .5em; + padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; + padding-right: .5em; + margin-left: 1em; + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; + color: black; + background: #eeeeee; + border: dashed 1px; +} + +.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + +.bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + +.bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + +.br {border-right: solid 2px;} + +.bbox {border: solid 2px;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 1em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1em; + margin-bottom: + 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Prophetic Camera, by John McGreevey + +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 Prophetic Camera + +Author: John McGreevey + +Release Date: May 14, 2010 [EBook #32361] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PROPHETIC CAMERA *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illus1.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h1>THE PROPHETIC CAMERA</h1> + +<h2>By John McGreevey</h2> + +<p>[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Imagination Stories of +Science and Fantasy August 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any +evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="sidenote">Joey knew the old man had somehow faked his pictures; after +all, nobody could photograph the future. But then the future began to +happen!</div> + + +<p>Joey Barrett set his camera carefully to one side and swung onto the +edge of the desk. He knew this annoyed Nugent, and, at the moment, +nothing gave him greater satisfaction than his ability to irritate the +editor.</p> + +<p>His heels thunked against the highly polished sides of the desk, and he +shook his head very deliberately, in rhythm with the heel-hammering.</p> + +<p>"No," he said. "I don't think so, Nugent." He decided the drumming had +lost its impact, so, he crossed his legs and turned to face the balding +man behind the desk. "Why should I? This assignment's out of my line and +you know it."</p> + +<p>Nugent nodded. "I know. But this is an unusual story, Joey, and I'd like +to get a photographer's slant on it."</p> + +<p>"Want to find out how the other half thinks, huh?"</p> + +<p>Nugent referred to a memo. "This is the address." He pushed the slip of +paper toward Joey. "I think you'll find this Jason Ewing most +cooperative."</p> + +<p>"He's a crackpot." Joey shied away from the memo and slid off the desk. +"That's why none of your brainy reporters will touch the assignment."</p> + +<p>"He's eccentric." Nugent didn't bother to hide his impatience. "What +inventor isn't?"</p> + +<p>"He's an inventor?"</p> + +<p>"New kind of camera. That's where you come in, Joey." Nugent leaned back +in his swivel chair. "I want a photographer's reactions to it."</p> + +<p>"What's so special about his camera?"</p> + +<p>Nugent didn't look at Joey. "It photographs another dimension."</p> + +<p>There was a moment's silence. Nugent was abruptly preoccupied with his +hands. Joey moved slowly toward the desk.</p> + +<p>"Another dimension! You mean stereoptican stuff? With depth?"</p> + +<p>Nugent stood. "No. I don't think that's what Ewing means." He moved from +his desk to the window. "I want you to find out what it is. Get all the +information you can."</p> + +<p>"Are you sure this doesn't belong on the comic page, Nugent?"</p> + +<p>Dusk was settling over the city. Nugent stared out at the darkening +skyline. "I admit it sounds crazy. But, it'll make a good human interest +yarn." He turned back to Joey. "Just bring in the facts and one of the +re-write boys will put them in shape."</p> + +<p>Joey Barrett's chin set doggedly. "You've got no right to ask me to...."</p> + +<p>But he didn't finish. His editor had abruptly moved in very close. +"You're in no position to quibble, Joey."</p> + +<p>"What does that mean?"</p> + +<p>Nugent's thin lips were tightly compressed. "The management's not happy +with you." Joey's laugh was brittle. Nugent walked slowly back to his +desk. "I've had more and more complaints about your work."</p> + +<p>Joey was close behind him. "I take the assignments you hand me. And +there's no one on the staff gets a sharper shot."</p> + +<p>Nugent waved this aside. "It's your manner." He pushed a glossy eight by +ten print toward the photographer. "You play up the grisly, the +macabre."</p> + +<p>Joey stared down at the picture. A slow smile narrowed his eyes. "I +photograph what I see. I figure it's what your readers want to see, +too."</p> + +<p>Nugent sat heavily. "We had a hundred phone calls about that picture. +Brutal ... sadistic ... morbid."</p> + +<p>The print fell face up before Nugent. He turned it over. Joey laughed. +"Sure. It's all those things. And they loved it." He leaned very close +to Nugent. "You didn't have to print it."</p> + +<p>"It was the only shot I had. It was print it or be scooped on one of the +big stories of the year."</p> + +<p>Joey's outward nonchalance failed to mask entirely his inner tension. +"When I take a picture, they remember it."</p> + +<p>"There's a difference between memorable photography and cheap +sensationalism." The editor picked up the memo with Ewing's address. +"All things considered," he said, "I think you'd better get this +interview for me."</p> + +<p>Joey stared at Nugent for an insolent second. Then, he took the memo. He +checked the address, jammed the paper into his pocket, and moved quickly +to the door. Hand on the knob, he paused.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Nugent," he called, "if you can't see the story I bring back, just +remember: it's in another dimension."</p> + +<p>He slammed the door on Nugent's anger.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Early evening traffic was heavy as he pulled into the quiet, +old-fashioned street where Ewing lived.</p> + +<p>Sober brownstone houses, their front steps rising steeply to stain-glass +paneled doors; heavily curtained bay windows; weather-stained and +rotting gingerbread; an atmosphere of reluctant decay and genteel +senescence. Ewing's house was like a dozen others in the same block.</p> + +<p>Joey was not a man given to hunches, and yet, as he climbed out of his +car and stood staring up at the silent house, he could not repress a +shiver of apprehension.</p> + +<p>He looked up the street. Nothing marred the quiet. A middle-aged woman +hurried home with her armload of groceries. A man paraded an ancient dog +on a leash.</p> + +<p>Slowly, Joey climbed the steps. His apprehension was no more than the +resentment he felt for the assignment. He yanked the old-fashioned bell +and listened for its echoes dying deep in the house.</p> + +<p>He fidgeted impatiently. Perhaps old Ewing wasn't at home. Or, maybe he +was so eccentric he no longer answered the bell. Joey jerked it again.</p> + +<p>On the traffic-noisy boulevard a block away, he heard a raw squealing of +brakes.</p> + +<p>Joey sighed and turned away. He'd wasted an hour. He started down the +steps. And the door opened.</p> + +<p>Jason Ewing was very old. His incredibly blue eyes seemed alien in the +yellow parchment face. His clothing, his manner, even his speech were +archaic.</p> + +<p>As Joey shook the bony hand, Ewing was apologizing for the delay.</p> + +<p>"I was in my dark-room," he said—the voice strangely resonant to come +from so frail a chest—"and I had to get the developer off my hands."</p> + +<p>Joey nodded and stepped inside. The atmosphere of the house was a +curious mixture of chemical and decay. There was a layer of dust on the +bric-a-brac, and as Joey followed the stooped figure from the entry-hall +into the living-room, he saw Ewing as a kind of insubstantial ghost, +moving through the deserted rooms so carefully that the dust was not +disturbed.</p> + +<p>Ewing gestured to a chair which looked prim and uncomfortable in its +yellowed antimacassars. "Sit down, please, Mr. Barrett." He switched on +an ornate table lamp. "It's most kind of you to be interested in my +work."</p> + +<p>Joey gave him the automatic smile. The room was a combination studio and +parlor. A bulky, antique camera lorded it over the conventional +furnishings. Its unblinking eye regarded Joey coldly.</p> + +<p>There was a fireplace, with massive brass andirons cast to resemble +griffon-heads; purple draperies at the window were faded by sun and +time; the heavy furniture was defiantly shabby; even the antique +photograph album with its plush cover and gold-plated clasp and lock was +right for the room. This was Jason Ewing's world and Joey felt himself +to be an alien.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Ewing hovered nervously, white fingers clenching and unclenching, +reaching out, now and then, to touch the album on the dusty table-top. +"I know you are a busy man, Mr. Barrett," he said, "so I'll come at once +to the point."</p> + +<p>Joey relaxed as much as he could in the old chair. "I should tell you +first, Mr. Ewing, that I'm not a writer. I'm a photographer. My editor +thought maybe you and me would talk the same language."</p> + +<p>Ewing bobbed his head up and down. "Excellent. Excellent." He pulled up +a small chair. "Believe me, Mr. Barrett, I hesitated a very long while +before I decided to make my discovery public."</p> + +<p>Joey disguised a grin. "What finally decided you?"</p> + +<p>Ewing closed his eyes. "I'm not well. Heart. Most unreliable. Doctor +tells me I may ... may die ... at any time."</p> + +<p>"I see."</p> + +<p>"But, before I die," the old man said, leaning forward again, "I must +share my secret." He seemed to have difficulty in finding the words he +sought. "It's ... it's so extraordinary, Mr. Barrett, that I've been +afraid to divulge it." He gave a sad shake of his head. "People today +are so unwilling to accept the unusual."</p> + +<p>Joey writhed inwardly. This was worse than he had thought. He would make +Nugent pay. "Mr. Nugent said something about your photographing another +dimension," he prompted.</p> + +<p>The old man pushed himself to his feet. "It was accidental. I've dabbled +in amateur photography for years." He limped over to his camera. "Not +only took pictures—developed my own." He paused and looked very +directly at Joey. "About six years ago, I began experimenting with a new +developer."</p> + +<p>Ewing's eyes were disturbing. Joey looked away. "You had used commercial +developers before?"</p> + +<p>"Yes." Ewing gripped the camera. "I wanted a developer that would give a +more sharply defined image. I tried fifty different formulae—never +quite achieving what I had in mind."</p> + +<p>Joey lit a cigarette. "You must have spent a lot of time on it."</p> + +<p>"I had retired. I live alone here. No other interests." The phrases came +in little gasps, as if Ewing had to force the words between his lips. +"Made no progress. And then, I tried Formula #53."</p> + +<p>The pause indicated Joey was expected to react. "Formula #53?"</p> + +<p>Ewing moved back to the light. "My fifty-third experiment. Radical +departure from commercial developers."</p> + +<p>"It succeeded?"</p> + +<p>"It succeeded, Mr. Barrett, but not in the way I had imagined." The +fish-white hands rested on the photo album. "I developed some film in +Formula #53 and received the shock of my life." His voice was a whisper. +"The pictures on the negative were NOT the pictures I had taken."</p> + +<p>He paused to watch the effect on Barrett. Joey scratched his ear. "You +took one set of pictures and the negatives you got were of another set?"</p> + +<p>"I know what you're thinking," Ewing said. "What I thought at first: +that I'd gotten hold of the wrong film. But that wasn't the answer. The +same thing happened again and again. Whenever I used Formula #53 as my +developer, I produced a strange set of pictures."</p> + +<p>Joey stood up nervously. The old boy was crazier than he had first +guessed. Humoring him seemed the only answer. "That's incredible."</p> + +<p>Ewing nodded excitedly. "I thought I was losing my mind. But, slowly, I +began to realize what had happened."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>The old man sank into the chair by the table. "School of modern +philosophers ... teaches all time is co-existent."</p> + +<p>Joey felt almost sorry for the old boy. He was so much in earnest about +his crack-brained discovery. "Time ... co-existent?"</p> + +<p>"Past, present, future—all simultaneous. Running along in parallel +dimensions."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Joey tried a laugh. "Little rough for me, Mr. Ewing," he apologized. +"Look," he went on quickly, "I've been thinking...."</p> + +<p>But Ewing wasn't listening. "Simplify it. At this moment, Caesar +crossing the Rubicon; Columbus is discovering America; you and I are +talking; a man in the twenty-fifth century is rocketing toward Mars."</p> + +<p>"I see what you mean."</p> + +<p>Ewing was holding the old fashioned photo album in his lap. "Well, I +know now that what I've stumbled into with Formula #53 is another +dimension in time."</p> + +<p>"You mean that ... that you can take a picture of what's happening in +another time?"</p> + +<p>Ewing nodded. "I know it's difficult to grasp, Mr. Barrett." He held out +the plush-covered album. "But I have proof."</p> + +<p>Joey stepped toward the old man. "You've got pictures in there—pictures +of this other dimension?"</p> + +<p>"Yes." He fumbled in his vest pocket, found a small key, and with +trembling hand inserted it in the album lock. "I've never shown anyone +these pictures before," he said.</p> + +<p>Despite himself, Joey felt excited. Even as he dismissed Ewing as a +hopeless crackpot, he was disturbingly eager to see the pictures in the +old album.</p> + +<p>Ewing gestured for him to be seated. Joey sat in the chair near the +table and the old man handed him the open album.</p> + +<p>"So far," Ewing said, "I haven't been able to control the process. I +photograph a subject and the picture may be projected ten years into the +future or a hundred years into the past. There must be an infinite +number of dimensions registered on the film, but my developer varies."</p> + +<p>Joey's initial eagerness was quickly dissipated. The photographs in the +album were disappointingly ordinary. True, there were some that seemed +to be trick-shots and a few in which the costuming was unfamiliar, but +certainly nothing to document the old boy's claim. Aside from a few +shots that were interesting because of their violence, there was nothing +in the album.</p> + +<p>Ewing waited for Joey's reaction—the parchment face even more deeply +wrinkled by excitement—the blue eyes blazing.</p> + +<p>"Well, Mr. Barrett?"</p> + +<p>Joey left the album open at the picture of a gruesome accident. +Apparently, two cars had met head-on. The one had been a sleek +convertible. The other was an old sedan. Both were terribly crumpled. +Glass littered the street. Steam spewed from the twisted radiator of the +old wreck.</p> + +<p>A man sprawled from the front seat of the sedan—an elderly man, with a +white beard—a beard spattered with blood. His sightless eyes stared +accusingly at the small cluster of onlookers who surrounded the wreck. +Nearby, thrown from the crushed convertible by the impact, lay a woman. +She wore an extreme evening dress, and a fur cape had fallen not far +from her body. All around her were pearls ... spilled from the broken +strand at her throat.</p> + +<p>Joey looked up at Ewing. He shook his head. "You've got some interesting +pictures, but I can't see that they prove your theory. They could have +been taken any time." He pointed to the photo of the wreck. "This one, +for instance." He smiled up at the old man. "That looks like a shot I +might have made."</p> + +<p>Ewing's entire body seemed shaken by his eagerness to prove his point. +"Mr. Barrett ... that picture is of an accident that hasn't occurred. +One evening, I took a picture of the street out there ... at the corner +... where our street joins the Boulevard." His voice was low, urgent. +"When I snapped that photo, the street was deserted. There were no +cars—no people."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Joey took another look at the wreck. He closed the album with finality. +"Mr. Ewing," he said, "I'm not questioning your sincerity. I can see +that you're convinced your developer has extraordinary powers."</p> + +<p>"But you don't believe me." There was despair in the old man's voice. +"What can I say to make you believe that you've just looked at the +picture of an accident that's yet to happen."</p> + +<p>Joey laid the album on the table. "It's an interesting theory."</p> + +<p>Ewing moved to his camera. "It's more than a theory. I can prove it." He +ducked behind the camera. "Let me take your picture, Mr. Barrett, and +I'll prove it."</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute!" Joey half rose from the chair in protest, and then, +with a shrug subsided. "Sure," he said. "Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Thank you," Ewing answered. He focused the camera, cut on extra lights, +posed Joey, took his picture.</p> + +<p>The ordeal over, Joey moved toward the door.</p> + +<p>"You'll see, Mr. Barrett. This picture will convince you."</p> + +<p>Joey nodded. "Sure, sure. You give me a call."</p> + +<p>They were in the entry-hall. "As I said," Ewing continued, "I haven't +much time. That's why I'm very anxious to pass on my discovery. It could +do great good—in the right hands."</p> + +<p>Joey opened the door. "I understand," he said. "You give me a call."</p> + +<p>"I will."</p> + +<p>Joey was outside—the door between him and Ewing's pathetic eagerness. +As he bounded down the steps, he was devising a revenge extreme enough +for Nugent.</p> + +<p>He slipped in behind the wheel. It was surprising that anyone as near +psycho as Ewing should be loose. The old boy had lived too long alone in +the empty house.</p> + +<p>Just as he drew away from the curb, Joey heard the crash. Squealing +rubber, splintering glass, rending metal, perhaps a human scream ... +compounded into an awful discord that ricocheted against the quiet +brownstone fronts, building to a crescendo of metallic anguish.</p> + +<p>After the first moment of surprise, Joey experienced the curious +exaltation he always felt at a scene of violence. The trip wasn't a +waste after all. He'd get a picture, and from the sound of the crash, it +would be a good one.</p> + +<p>As he clambered out of his car, camera ready, people were running down +steps, cars were swinging off the boulevard—the first cluster of the +curious was collecting.</p> + +<p>With professional assurance, Joey brushed people aside and moved in. One +car had been stopped at the intersection and the other had careened off +the boulevard and smashed head-on into it.</p> + +<p>Joey stopped on the crowd's inner edge and stared.</p> + +<p>It was impossible. One car was an old sedan. The other, a sleek +convertible. An old man with blood-spattered white beard half-spilled +from the sedan and on the glistening pavement lay a woman in evening +dress, surrounded by dozens of pearls.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>From habit, Joey took the picture of the accident and delivered it to +Nugent. By the time he had developed his picture, he was beginning to +enjoy the knowledge that it was an exact duplicate of the photograph in +Ewing's album.</p> + +<p>Only he and Ewing realized the power of Formula #53. It couldn't be +coincidence. The details were too exact. Ewing's explanation was the +only one possible. And that meant the old boy wasn't crazy. The formula +was all he insisted.</p> + +<p>Such a formula could be a great force for good, the old man had said. In +the right hands. In the hands of Joey Barrett.</p> + +<p>Joey decided to keep his secret. This was not a power to be shared with +Leslie Nugent or anyone else. So, when he faced his editor again, he was +careful to dismiss the Ewing interview with just the proper degree of +casualness.</p> + +<p>"There's no doubt about it," he said. "Ewing's a crackpot."</p> + +<p>Nugent scowled impatiently. "Even so...."</p> + +<p>"I tell you, if we run the story he gave me, we'll be laughed out of +business." Joey watched Nugent closely.</p> + +<p>"But surely as a human interest yarn," the editor protested, "we'd be +justified."</p> + +<p>Joey shook his head. "He's an old crank, trying to build up his ego with +these phony claims."</p> + +<p>Nugent leaned back. "There was absolutely no basis for his theory?"</p> + +<p>"None." Joey laughed easily. "You should have seen the obvious trick +photos he tried to pass off as evidence. My advice is: forget Jason +Ewing."</p> + +<p>There was a long pause. Then, Nugent nodded. "All right. Thanks, Joey." +He picked up a glossy of the accident. "You outdid yourself on this +one."</p> + +<p>Joey sauntered to the door. "The master's touch," he called. "I'll hit +you for a raise later."</p> + +<p>Satisfied that Nugent considered the Ewing story dead, Joey left the +paper and hurried to a pay-phone.</p> + +<p>When Jason Ewing answered, there was a note of near-hysteria in his +voice. He seemed frightened by Joey's interest and was extremely +reluctant to give him another interview.</p> + +<p>"I don't blame you for being irritated," Joey said. "I was very rude. +But look, Mr. Ewing, now I see I was wrong. We can't talk about it on +the phone. All I want is a chance to see you again. Maybe tomorrow?"</p> + +<p>There was such a long pause that Joey thought Ewing had broken the +connection. Then, he heard the old man sigh.</p> + +<p>"I ... I don't know what to say," Ewing faltered. "In the light of ... +of recent developments, I think it would be unwise to involve you, Mr. +Barrett."</p> + +<p>Joey laughed. "Listen, this is the break of a lifetime for me. How about +tomorrow morning at nine?"</p> + +<p>"Tomorrow." The one word was neither affirmation nor question.</p> + +<p>But Joey chose to interpret it as agreement. "See you in the morning at +nine, Mr. Ewing," he said, and hung up quickly.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Joey slept little that night. He was up early, gulped a hasty breakfast, +and stood on the steps at Ewing's house at five minutes to nine.</p> + +<p>Again, as on the day before, he had to ring the bell twice before the +door opened and the wrinkled face showed itself. He was shocked by the +change in Ewing. The man seemed much older and there was a haunting fear +in the blue eyes.</p> + +<p>"It would have been wiser," the old man whispered, "if you had not come +here again—for us not to have met."</p> + +<p>Joey was determined to be charming. He put his hand on the thin old arm +and gently pushed Ewing into the entry hall. "I don't blame you for +being bitter," he said, closing the door. "I was a fool yesterday."</p> + +<p>Ewing pulled free and moved agitatedly into the living-room. Even the +morning sun made no impression on the shadows there.</p> + +<p>The old man didn't look at Joey. "You were right," he said. "It would be +better to forget the formula."</p> + +<p>Joey fought down his impatience. He tried to move smoothly, keep his +voice calm. "No. You mustn't think that. You can't be selfish. You said +yourself, Mr. Ewing, that this knowledge could do great good."</p> + +<p>The quiet persuasiveness of Joey's approach seemed cause for further +alarm. "I said that, but since then ... I ... I see that it might also +do great harm."</p> + +<p>He tottered away from Joey and slumped tiredly into the chair by the +table.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Ewing," Joey said, following him, "yesterday I saw one of your +pictures come to life."</p> + +<p>Ewing did not look up. "I know. The accident at the corner. I was afraid +you had seen it."</p> + +<p>"Afraid!" Joey laughed. "That was the clincher." He leaned over the old +man. "Listen, Mr. Ewing, the second I saw that wreck, I realized what we +have in Formula #53. I want to help you make use of it—the proper use."</p> + +<p>The old man shook his head. "I'm afraid," he whimpered.</p> + +<p>Joey ignored the interruption. "We'll work this together. If we play it +smart, the sky's the limit. We can be millionaires. Name our own +prices." He laughed in his excitement. "They'll meet our demands when +they see what we've got to offer."</p> + +<p>Ewing had slowly pushed himself to his feet. He regarded Joey with mixed +apprehension and disgust. "You ... you can't commercialize my +discovery," he protested. "I wouldn't permit the formula to be used for +personal gain."</p> + +<p>"Not just MY gain. You and me together." Joey looked at the red-plush +photo album and rubbed his hands. "I'll bet we got pictures in that +album worth a hundred grand."</p> + +<p>Abruptly, Ewing stepped past Joey and seized the album. He cradled it in +his arms. "That's out of the question." He tottered toward the +fireplace. "Mr. Barrett," he pleaded, "I beg you to go now."</p> + +<p>Anger simmered in Joey—anger and frustration. "All right," he said, +forcing himself to be reasonable. "Those are your pictures." He faced +Ewing at the fireplace. "But if I take some, will you give me the +formula so I can develop them?"</p> + +<p>Stubbornly, the old man shook his head.</p> + +<p>"What IS the formula?" Joey demanded.</p> + +<p>"I've never written it down." Ewing clutched the red-plush photo album +with one hand and gestured imploringly with the other. "Mr. Barrett, +every moment you stay here, you jeopardize us both. Leave now. Please. +Forget we ever met ... that you ever heard of Formula #53."</p> + +<p>"Forget!" Joey's hands clenched and unclenched in mounting desperation. +"You can't start a guy on a thing like this, Ewing, and then tell him to +forget it!" For a long second, they stared at each other. Ewing was +breathing heavily and perspiration beaded the parchment face.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Joey tried another tactic: "Look ... if you don't want to give me the +formula, at least let me have a few of the pictures in that album. +Whatever I get out of them, I'll split with you." He reached out +tentatively.</p> + +<p>Ewing shrank back. "Go away. Let me alone. There's nothing in the album. +I burned the pictures."</p> + +<p>"You're lying!" The thought of the money the old fool had thrown away +cut into Joey like a knife. "You wouldn't do a crazy thing like that."</p> + +<p>"Only two left. Should have burned them."</p> + +<p>Panic seized Joey. He grabbed at the red-plush album. "I don't believe +you. Let me see."</p> + +<p>Ewing held onto the book with the tenacity of an aged crab. "You +mustn't," he croaked. "You're destroying yourself. Don't."</p> + +<p>But the old man's stubborn and futile resistance stoked the smouldering +fires of Joey's anger. He gripped one corner of the coveted trophy with +his left hand, and with his right, gave Ewing a vicious shove.</p> + +<p>With a rattling cry, the old man staggered back and fell with a clatter +into the fireplace.</p> + +<p>The book was in Joey's hand. He didn't look at Ewing. The clasp was not +locked. Feverishly, he opened the heavy cover. The truth took his breath +away. Ewing hadn't lied. The pages were empty. He had burned the +pictures. The crazy old fool!</p> + +<p>But he had said there were two pictures left. Joey thumbed hastily +through the empty album till he reached the first of the remaining +pictures.</p> + +<p>He cried out.</p> + +<p>It was a self-portrait of Ewing. He lay sprawled on the floor before the +fireplace, blue eyes staring up at the ceiling, blood smearing his +temple and one of the massive brass andirons.</p> + +<p>Joey dropped the album on the table and slowly turned. He closed his +eyes. "Oh, God!" he whispered. "No! No!"</p> + +<p>Like a sleep-walker, he moved to the silent figure, knelt, searched in +vain for pulse or heart-beat. There was none. Jason Ewing was dead.</p> + +<p>Joey stared at the andiron with its tell-tale stain. He pulled himself +up to a half-crouch and looked wildly around the dark living-room. The +camera was an accusing eye. "It was an accident," he murmured. "His +heart. He was an old man."</p> + +<p>The photo album still lay open on the table.</p> + +<p>Ewing had saved two pictures. One of himself. The other....</p> + +<p>There was a heavy knocking at the front door.</p> + +<p>Joey went shakily to the album. Gripping the table's edge, he turned to +the second picture:</p> + +<p>Joey Barrett sat in a chair. His trousers were slit. His head was shaved +and there were straps and electrodes.</p> + +<p>It was the kind of picture that would sell a thousand extra copies.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Prophetic Camera, by John McGreevey + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PROPHETIC CAMERA *** + +***** This file should be named 32361-h.htm or 32361-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/3/6/32361/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan 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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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 Prophetic Camera + +Author: John McGreevey + +Release Date: May 14, 2010 [EBook #32361] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PROPHETIC CAMERA *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + THE PROPHETIC CAMERA + + By John McGreevey + +[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Imagination Stories of +Science and Fantasy August 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any +evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] + + +[Sidenote: Joey knew the old man had somehow faked his pictures; after +all, nobody could photograph the future. But then the future began to +happen!] + +Joey Barrett set his camera carefully to one side and swung onto the +edge of the desk. He knew this annoyed Nugent, and, at the moment, +nothing gave him greater satisfaction than his ability to irritate the +editor. + +His heels thunked against the highly polished sides of the desk, and he +shook his head very deliberately, in rhythm with the heel-hammering. + +"No," he said. "I don't think so, Nugent." He decided the drumming had +lost its impact, so, he crossed his legs and turned to face the balding +man behind the desk. "Why should I? This assignment's out of my line and +you know it." + +Nugent nodded. "I know. But this is an unusual story, Joey, and I'd like +to get a photographer's slant on it." + +"Want to find out how the other half thinks, huh?" + +Nugent referred to a memo. "This is the address." He pushed the slip of +paper toward Joey. "I think you'll find this Jason Ewing most +cooperative." + +"He's a crackpot." Joey shied away from the memo and slid off the desk. +"That's why none of your brainy reporters will touch the assignment." + +"He's eccentric." Nugent didn't bother to hide his impatience. "What +inventor isn't?" + +"He's an inventor?" + +"New kind of camera. That's where you come in, Joey." Nugent leaned back +in his swivel chair. "I want a photographer's reactions to it." + +"What's so special about his camera?" + +Nugent didn't look at Joey. "It photographs another dimension." + +There was a moment's silence. Nugent was abruptly preoccupied with his +hands. Joey moved slowly toward the desk. + +"Another dimension! You mean stereoptican stuff? With depth?" + +Nugent stood. "No. I don't think that's what Ewing means." He moved from +his desk to the window. "I want you to find out what it is. Get all the +information you can." + +"Are you sure this doesn't belong on the comic page, Nugent?" + +Dusk was settling over the city. Nugent stared out at the darkening +skyline. "I admit it sounds crazy. But, it'll make a good human interest +yarn." He turned back to Joey. "Just bring in the facts and one of the +re-write boys will put them in shape." + +Joey Barrett's chin set doggedly. "You've got no right to ask me to...." + +But he didn't finish. His editor had abruptly moved in very close. +"You're in no position to quibble, Joey." + +"What does that mean?" + +Nugent's thin lips were tightly compressed. "The management's not happy +with you." Joey's laugh was brittle. Nugent walked slowly back to his +desk. "I've had more and more complaints about your work." + +Joey was close behind him. "I take the assignments you hand me. And +there's no one on the staff gets a sharper shot." + +Nugent waved this aside. "It's your manner." He pushed a glossy eight by +ten print toward the photographer. "You play up the grisly, the +macabre." + +Joey stared down at the picture. A slow smile narrowed his eyes. "I +photograph what I see. I figure it's what your readers want to see, +too." + +Nugent sat heavily. "We had a hundred phone calls about that picture. +Brutal ... sadistic ... morbid." + +The print fell face up before Nugent. He turned it over. Joey laughed. +"Sure. It's all those things. And they loved it." He leaned very close +to Nugent. "You didn't have to print it." + +"It was the only shot I had. It was print it or be scooped on one of the +big stories of the year." + +Joey's outward nonchalance failed to mask entirely his inner tension. +"When I take a picture, they remember it." + +"There's a difference between memorable photography and cheap +sensationalism." The editor picked up the memo with Ewing's address. +"All things considered," he said, "I think you'd better get this +interview for me." + +Joey stared at Nugent for an insolent second. Then, he took the memo. He +checked the address, jammed the paper into his pocket, and moved quickly +to the door. Hand on the knob, he paused. + +"Oh, Nugent," he called, "if you can't see the story I bring back, just +remember: it's in another dimension." + +He slammed the door on Nugent's anger. + + * * * * * + +Early evening traffic was heavy as he pulled into the quiet, +old-fashioned street where Ewing lived. + +Sober brownstone houses, their front steps rising steeply to stain-glass +paneled doors; heavily curtained bay windows; weather-stained and +rotting gingerbread; an atmosphere of reluctant decay and genteel +senescence. Ewing's house was like a dozen others in the same block. + +Joey was not a man given to hunches, and yet, as he climbed out of his +car and stood staring up at the silent house, he could not repress a +shiver of apprehension. + +He looked up the street. Nothing marred the quiet. A middle-aged woman +hurried home with her armload of groceries. A man paraded an ancient dog +on a leash. + +Slowly, Joey climbed the steps. His apprehension was no more than the +resentment he felt for the assignment. He yanked the old-fashioned bell +and listened for its echoes dying deep in the house. + +He fidgeted impatiently. Perhaps old Ewing wasn't at home. Or, maybe he +was so eccentric he no longer answered the bell. Joey jerked it again. + +On the traffic-noisy boulevard a block away, he heard a raw squealing of +brakes. + +Joey sighed and turned away. He'd wasted an hour. He started down the +steps. And the door opened. + +Jason Ewing was very old. His incredibly blue eyes seemed alien in the +yellow parchment face. His clothing, his manner, even his speech were +archaic. + +As Joey shook the bony hand, Ewing was apologizing for the delay. + +"I was in my dark-room," he said--the voice strangely resonant to come +from so frail a chest--"and I had to get the developer off my hands." + +Joey nodded and stepped inside. The atmosphere of the house was a +curious mixture of chemical and decay. There was a layer of dust on the +bric-a-brac, and as Joey followed the stooped figure from the entry-hall +into the living-room, he saw Ewing as a kind of insubstantial ghost, +moving through the deserted rooms so carefully that the dust was not +disturbed. + +Ewing gestured to a chair which looked prim and uncomfortable in its +yellowed antimacassars. "Sit down, please, Mr. Barrett." He switched on +an ornate table lamp. "It's most kind of you to be interested in my +work." + +Joey gave him the automatic smile. The room was a combination studio and +parlor. A bulky, antique camera lorded it over the conventional +furnishings. Its unblinking eye regarded Joey coldly. + +There was a fireplace, with massive brass andirons cast to resemble +griffon-heads; purple draperies at the window were faded by sun and +time; the heavy furniture was defiantly shabby; even the antique +photograph album with its plush cover and gold-plated clasp and lock was +right for the room. This was Jason Ewing's world and Joey felt himself +to be an alien. + + * * * * * + +Ewing hovered nervously, white fingers clenching and unclenching, +reaching out, now and then, to touch the album on the dusty table-top. +"I know you are a busy man, Mr. Barrett," he said, "so I'll come at once +to the point." + +Joey relaxed as much as he could in the old chair. "I should tell you +first, Mr. Ewing, that I'm not a writer. I'm a photographer. My editor +thought maybe you and me would talk the same language." + +Ewing bobbed his head up and down. "Excellent. Excellent." He pulled up +a small chair. "Believe me, Mr. Barrett, I hesitated a very long while +before I decided to make my discovery public." + +Joey disguised a grin. "What finally decided you?" + +Ewing closed his eyes. "I'm not well. Heart. Most unreliable. Doctor +tells me I may ... may die ... at any time." + +"I see." + +"But, before I die," the old man said, leaning forward again, "I must +share my secret." He seemed to have difficulty in finding the words he +sought. "It's ... it's so extraordinary, Mr. Barrett, that I've been +afraid to divulge it." He gave a sad shake of his head. "People today +are so unwilling to accept the unusual." + +Joey writhed inwardly. This was worse than he had thought. He would make +Nugent pay. "Mr. Nugent said something about your photographing another +dimension," he prompted. + +The old man pushed himself to his feet. "It was accidental. I've dabbled +in amateur photography for years." He limped over to his camera. "Not +only took pictures--developed my own." He paused and looked very +directly at Joey. "About six years ago, I began experimenting with a new +developer." + +Ewing's eyes were disturbing. Joey looked away. "You had used commercial +developers before?" + +"Yes." Ewing gripped the camera. "I wanted a developer that would give a +more sharply defined image. I tried fifty different formulae--never +quite achieving what I had in mind." + +Joey lit a cigarette. "You must have spent a lot of time on it." + +"I had retired. I live alone here. No other interests." The phrases came +in little gasps, as if Ewing had to force the words between his lips. +"Made no progress. And then, I tried Formula #53." + +The pause indicated Joey was expected to react. "Formula #53?" + +Ewing moved back to the light. "My fifty-third experiment. Radical +departure from commercial developers." + +"It succeeded?" + +"It succeeded, Mr. Barrett, but not in the way I had imagined." The +fish-white hands rested on the photo album. "I developed some film in +Formula #53 and received the shock of my life." His voice was a whisper. +"The pictures on the negative were NOT the pictures I had taken." + +He paused to watch the effect on Barrett. Joey scratched his ear. "You +took one set of pictures and the negatives you got were of another set?" + +"I know what you're thinking," Ewing said. "What I thought at first: +that I'd gotten hold of the wrong film. But that wasn't the answer. The +same thing happened again and again. Whenever I used Formula #53 as my +developer, I produced a strange set of pictures." + +Joey stood up nervously. The old boy was crazier than he had first +guessed. Humoring him seemed the only answer. "That's incredible." + +Ewing nodded excitedly. "I thought I was losing my mind. But, slowly, I +began to realize what had happened." + +"What?" + +The old man sank into the chair by the table. "School of modern +philosophers ... teaches all time is co-existent." + +Joey felt almost sorry for the old boy. He was so much in earnest about +his crack-brained discovery. "Time ... co-existent?" + +"Past, present, future--all simultaneous. Running along in parallel +dimensions." + + * * * * * + +Joey tried a laugh. "Little rough for me, Mr. Ewing," he apologized. +"Look," he went on quickly, "I've been thinking...." + +But Ewing wasn't listening. "Simplify it. At this moment, Caesar +crossing the Rubicon; Columbus is discovering America; you and I are +talking; a man in the twenty-fifth century is rocketing toward Mars." + +"I see what you mean." + +Ewing was holding the old fashioned photo album in his lap. "Well, I +know now that what I've stumbled into with Formula #53 is another +dimension in time." + +"You mean that ... that you can take a picture of what's happening in +another time?" + +Ewing nodded. "I know it's difficult to grasp, Mr. Barrett." He held out +the plush-covered album. "But I have proof." + +Joey stepped toward the old man. "You've got pictures in there--pictures +of this other dimension?" + +"Yes." He fumbled in his vest pocket, found a small key, and with +trembling hand inserted it in the album lock. "I've never shown anyone +these pictures before," he said. + +Despite himself, Joey felt excited. Even as he dismissed Ewing as a +hopeless crackpot, he was disturbingly eager to see the pictures in the +old album. + +Ewing gestured for him to be seated. Joey sat in the chair near the +table and the old man handed him the open album. + +"So far," Ewing said, "I haven't been able to control the process. I +photograph a subject and the picture may be projected ten years into the +future or a hundred years into the past. There must be an infinite +number of dimensions registered on the film, but my developer varies." + +Joey's initial eagerness was quickly dissipated. The photographs in the +album were disappointingly ordinary. True, there were some that seemed +to be trick-shots and a few in which the costuming was unfamiliar, but +certainly nothing to document the old boy's claim. Aside from a few +shots that were interesting because of their violence, there was nothing +in the album. + +Ewing waited for Joey's reaction--the parchment face even more deeply +wrinkled by excitement--the blue eyes blazing. + +"Well, Mr. Barrett?" + +Joey left the album open at the picture of a gruesome accident. +Apparently, two cars had met head-on. The one had been a sleek +convertible. The other was an old sedan. Both were terribly crumpled. +Glass littered the street. Steam spewed from the twisted radiator of the +old wreck. + +A man sprawled from the front seat of the sedan--an elderly man, with a +white beard--a beard spattered with blood. His sightless eyes stared +accusingly at the small cluster of onlookers who surrounded the wreck. +Nearby, thrown from the crushed convertible by the impact, lay a woman. +She wore an extreme evening dress, and a fur cape had fallen not far +from her body. All around her were pearls ... spilled from the broken +strand at her throat. + +Joey looked up at Ewing. He shook his head. "You've got some interesting +pictures, but I can't see that they prove your theory. They could have +been taken any time." He pointed to the photo of the wreck. "This one, +for instance." He smiled up at the old man. "That looks like a shot I +might have made." + +Ewing's entire body seemed shaken by his eagerness to prove his point. +"Mr. Barrett ... that picture is of an accident that hasn't occurred. +One evening, I took a picture of the street out there ... at the corner +... where our street joins the Boulevard." His voice was low, urgent. +"When I snapped that photo, the street was deserted. There were no +cars--no people." + + * * * * * + +Joey took another look at the wreck. He closed the album with finality. +"Mr. Ewing," he said, "I'm not questioning your sincerity. I can see +that you're convinced your developer has extraordinary powers." + +"But you don't believe me." There was despair in the old man's voice. +"What can I say to make you believe that you've just looked at the +picture of an accident that's yet to happen." + +Joey laid the album on the table. "It's an interesting theory." + +Ewing moved to his camera. "It's more than a theory. I can prove it." He +ducked behind the camera. "Let me take your picture, Mr. Barrett, and +I'll prove it." + +"Wait a minute!" Joey half rose from the chair in protest, and then, +with a shrug subsided. "Sure," he said. "Why not?" + +"Thank you," Ewing answered. He focused the camera, cut on extra lights, +posed Joey, took his picture. + +The ordeal over, Joey moved toward the door. + +"You'll see, Mr. Barrett. This picture will convince you." + +Joey nodded. "Sure, sure. You give me a call." + +They were in the entry-hall. "As I said," Ewing continued, "I haven't +much time. That's why I'm very anxious to pass on my discovery. It could +do great good--in the right hands." + +Joey opened the door. "I understand," he said. "You give me a call." + +"I will." + +Joey was outside--the door between him and Ewing's pathetic eagerness. +As he bounded down the steps, he was devising a revenge extreme enough +for Nugent. + +He slipped in behind the wheel. It was surprising that anyone as near +psycho as Ewing should be loose. The old boy had lived too long alone in +the empty house. + +Just as he drew away from the curb, Joey heard the crash. Squealing +rubber, splintering glass, rending metal, perhaps a human scream ... +compounded into an awful discord that ricocheted against the quiet +brownstone fronts, building to a crescendo of metallic anguish. + +After the first moment of surprise, Joey experienced the curious +exaltation he always felt at a scene of violence. The trip wasn't a +waste after all. He'd get a picture, and from the sound of the crash, it +would be a good one. + +As he clambered out of his car, camera ready, people were running down +steps, cars were swinging off the boulevard--the first cluster of the +curious was collecting. + +With professional assurance, Joey brushed people aside and moved in. One +car had been stopped at the intersection and the other had careened off +the boulevard and smashed head-on into it. + +Joey stopped on the crowd's inner edge and stared. + +It was impossible. One car was an old sedan. The other, a sleek +convertible. An old man with blood-spattered white beard half-spilled +from the sedan and on the glistening pavement lay a woman in evening +dress, surrounded by dozens of pearls. + + * * * * * + +From habit, Joey took the picture of the accident and delivered it to +Nugent. By the time he had developed his picture, he was beginning to +enjoy the knowledge that it was an exact duplicate of the photograph in +Ewing's album. + +Only he and Ewing realized the power of Formula #53. It couldn't be +coincidence. The details were too exact. Ewing's explanation was the +only one possible. And that meant the old boy wasn't crazy. The formula +was all he insisted. + +Such a formula could be a great force for good, the old man had said. In +the right hands. In the hands of Joey Barrett. + +Joey decided to keep his secret. This was not a power to be shared with +Leslie Nugent or anyone else. So, when he faced his editor again, he was +careful to dismiss the Ewing interview with just the proper degree of +casualness. + +"There's no doubt about it," he said. "Ewing's a crackpot." + +Nugent scowled impatiently. "Even so...." + +"I tell you, if we run the story he gave me, we'll be laughed out of +business." Joey watched Nugent closely. + +"But surely as a human interest yarn," the editor protested, "we'd be +justified." + +Joey shook his head. "He's an old crank, trying to build up his ego with +these phony claims." + +Nugent leaned back. "There was absolutely no basis for his theory?" + +"None." Joey laughed easily. "You should have seen the obvious trick +photos he tried to pass off as evidence. My advice is: forget Jason +Ewing." + +There was a long pause. Then, Nugent nodded. "All right. Thanks, Joey." +He picked up a glossy of the accident. "You outdid yourself on this +one." + +Joey sauntered to the door. "The master's touch," he called. "I'll hit +you for a raise later." + +Satisfied that Nugent considered the Ewing story dead, Joey left the +paper and hurried to a pay-phone. + +When Jason Ewing answered, there was a note of near-hysteria in his +voice. He seemed frightened by Joey's interest and was extremely +reluctant to give him another interview. + +"I don't blame you for being irritated," Joey said. "I was very rude. +But look, Mr. Ewing, now I see I was wrong. We can't talk about it on +the phone. All I want is a chance to see you again. Maybe tomorrow?" + +There was such a long pause that Joey thought Ewing had broken the +connection. Then, he heard the old man sigh. + +"I ... I don't know what to say," Ewing faltered. "In the light of ... +of recent developments, I think it would be unwise to involve you, Mr. +Barrett." + +Joey laughed. "Listen, this is the break of a lifetime for me. How about +tomorrow morning at nine?" + +"Tomorrow." The one word was neither affirmation nor question. + +But Joey chose to interpret it as agreement. "See you in the morning at +nine, Mr. Ewing," he said, and hung up quickly. + + * * * * * + +Joey slept little that night. He was up early, gulped a hasty breakfast, +and stood on the steps at Ewing's house at five minutes to nine. + +Again, as on the day before, he had to ring the bell twice before the +door opened and the wrinkled face showed itself. He was shocked by the +change in Ewing. The man seemed much older and there was a haunting fear +in the blue eyes. + +"It would have been wiser," the old man whispered, "if you had not come +here again--for us not to have met." + +Joey was determined to be charming. He put his hand on the thin old arm +and gently pushed Ewing into the entry hall. "I don't blame you for +being bitter," he said, closing the door. "I was a fool yesterday." + +Ewing pulled free and moved agitatedly into the living-room. Even the +morning sun made no impression on the shadows there. + +The old man didn't look at Joey. "You were right," he said. "It would be +better to forget the formula." + +Joey fought down his impatience. He tried to move smoothly, keep his +voice calm. "No. You mustn't think that. You can't be selfish. You said +yourself, Mr. Ewing, that this knowledge could do great good." + +The quiet persuasiveness of Joey's approach seemed cause for further +alarm. "I said that, but since then ... I ... I see that it might also +do great harm." + +He tottered away from Joey and slumped tiredly into the chair by the +table. + +"Mr. Ewing," Joey said, following him, "yesterday I saw one of your +pictures come to life." + +Ewing did not look up. "I know. The accident at the corner. I was afraid +you had seen it." + +"Afraid!" Joey laughed. "That was the clincher." He leaned over the old +man. "Listen, Mr. Ewing, the second I saw that wreck, I realized what we +have in Formula #53. I want to help you make use of it--the proper use." + +The old man shook his head. "I'm afraid," he whimpered. + +Joey ignored the interruption. "We'll work this together. If we play it +smart, the sky's the limit. We can be millionaires. Name our own +prices." He laughed in his excitement. "They'll meet our demands when +they see what we've got to offer." + +Ewing had slowly pushed himself to his feet. He regarded Joey with mixed +apprehension and disgust. "You ... you can't commercialize my +discovery," he protested. "I wouldn't permit the formula to be used for +personal gain." + +"Not just MY gain. You and me together." Joey looked at the red-plush +photo album and rubbed his hands. "I'll bet we got pictures in that +album worth a hundred grand." + +Abruptly, Ewing stepped past Joey and seized the album. He cradled it in +his arms. "That's out of the question." He tottered toward the +fireplace. "Mr. Barrett," he pleaded, "I beg you to go now." + +Anger simmered in Joey--anger and frustration. "All right," he said, +forcing himself to be reasonable. "Those are your pictures." He faced +Ewing at the fireplace. "But if I take some, will you give me the +formula so I can develop them?" + +Stubbornly, the old man shook his head. + +"What IS the formula?" Joey demanded. + +"I've never written it down." Ewing clutched the red-plush photo album +with one hand and gestured imploringly with the other. "Mr. Barrett, +every moment you stay here, you jeopardize us both. Leave now. Please. +Forget we ever met ... that you ever heard of Formula #53." + +"Forget!" Joey's hands clenched and unclenched in mounting desperation. +"You can't start a guy on a thing like this, Ewing, and then tell him to +forget it!" For a long second, they stared at each other. Ewing was +breathing heavily and perspiration beaded the parchment face. + + * * * * * + +Joey tried another tactic: "Look ... if you don't want to give me the +formula, at least let me have a few of the pictures in that album. +Whatever I get out of them, I'll split with you." He reached out +tentatively. + +Ewing shrank back. "Go away. Let me alone. There's nothing in the album. +I burned the pictures." + +"You're lying!" The thought of the money the old fool had thrown away +cut into Joey like a knife. "You wouldn't do a crazy thing like that." + +"Only two left. Should have burned them." + +Panic seized Joey. He grabbed at the red-plush album. "I don't believe +you. Let me see." + +Ewing held onto the book with the tenacity of an aged crab. "You +mustn't," he croaked. "You're destroying yourself. Don't." + +But the old man's stubborn and futile resistance stoked the smouldering +fires of Joey's anger. He gripped one corner of the coveted trophy with +his left hand, and with his right, gave Ewing a vicious shove. + +With a rattling cry, the old man staggered back and fell with a clatter +into the fireplace. + +The book was in Joey's hand. He didn't look at Ewing. The clasp was not +locked. Feverishly, he opened the heavy cover. The truth took his breath +away. Ewing hadn't lied. The pages were empty. He had burned the +pictures. The crazy old fool! + +But he had said there were two pictures left. Joey thumbed hastily +through the empty album till he reached the first of the remaining +pictures. + +He cried out. + +It was a self-portrait of Ewing. He lay sprawled on the floor before the +fireplace, blue eyes staring up at the ceiling, blood smearing his +temple and one of the massive brass andirons. + +Joey dropped the album on the table and slowly turned. He closed his +eyes. "Oh, God!" he whispered. "No! No!" + +Like a sleep-walker, he moved to the silent figure, knelt, searched in +vain for pulse or heart-beat. There was none. Jason Ewing was dead. + +Joey stared at the andiron with its tell-tale stain. He pulled himself +up to a half-crouch and looked wildly around the dark living-room. The +camera was an accusing eye. "It was an accident," he murmured. "His +heart. He was an old man." + +The photo album still lay open on the table. + +Ewing had saved two pictures. One of himself. The other.... + +There was a heavy knocking at the front door. + +Joey went shakily to the album. Gripping the table's edge, he turned to +the second picture: + +Joey Barrett sat in a chair. His trousers were slit. His head was shaved +and there were straps and electrodes. + +It was the kind of picture that would sell a thousand extra copies. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Prophetic Camera, by John McGreevey + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PROPHETIC CAMERA *** + +***** This file should be named 32361.txt or 32361.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/3/6/32361/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan 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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