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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41562 ***
+
+                         THE HANGING STRANGER
+
+                          BY PHILIP K. DICK
+
+                         ILLUSTRATED BY SMITH
+
+[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Science Fiction
+Adventures Magazine December 1953. Extensive research did not uncover
+any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+    Ed had always been a practical man, when he saw something was wrong
+    he tried to correct it. Then one day he saw _it_ hanging in the town
+    square.
+
+
+Five o'clock Ed Loyce washed up, tossed on his hat and coat, got his car
+out and headed across town toward his TV sales store. He was tired. His
+back and shoulders ached from digging dirt out of the basement and
+wheeling it into the back yard. But for a forty-year-old man he had done
+okay. Janet could get a new vase with the money he had saved; and he
+liked the idea of repairing the foundations himself!
+
+It was getting dark. The setting sun cast long rays over the scurrying
+commuters, tired and grim-faced, women loaded down with bundles and
+packages, students swarming home from the university, mixing with clerks
+and businessmen and drab secretaries. He stopped his Packard for a red
+light and then started it up again. The store had been open without him;
+he'd arrive just in time to spell the help for dinner, go over the
+records of the day, maybe even close a couple of sales himself. He drove
+slowly past the small square of green in the center of the street, the
+town park. There were no parking places in front of LOYCE TV SALES AND
+SERVICE. He cursed under his breath and swung the car in a U-turn. Again
+he passed the little square of green with its lonely drinking fountain
+and bench and single lamppost.
+
+From the lamppost something was hanging. A shapeless dark bundle,
+swinging a little with the wind. Like a dummy of some sort. Loyce rolled
+down his window and peered out. What the hell was it? A display of
+some kind? Sometimes the Chamber of Commerce put up displays in the
+square.
+
+Again he made a U-turn and brought his car around. He passed the park
+and concentrated on the dark bundle. It wasn't a dummy. And if it was a
+display it was a strange kind. The hackles on his neck rose and he
+swallowed uneasily. Sweat slid out on his face and hands.
+
+It was a body. A human body.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Look at it!" Loyce snapped. "Come on out here!"
+
+Don Fergusson came slowly out of the store, buttoning his pin-stripe
+coat with dignity. "This is a big deal, Ed. I can't just leave the guy
+standing there."
+
+"See it?" Ed pointed into the gathering gloom. The lamppost jutted up
+against the sky--the post and the bundle swinging from it. "There it is.
+How the hell long has it been there?" His voice rose excitedly. "What's
+wrong with everybody? They just walk on past!"
+
+Don Fergusson lit a cigarette slowly. "Take it easy, old man. There must
+be a good reason, or it wouldn't be there."
+
+"A reason! What kind of a reason?"
+
+Fergusson shrugged. "Like the time the Traffic Safety Council put that
+wrecked Buick there. Some sort of civic thing. How would I know?"
+
+Jack Potter from the shoe shop joined them. "What's up, boys?"
+
+"There's a body hanging from the lamppost," Loyce said. "I'm going to
+call the cops."
+
+"They must know about it," Potter said. "Or otherwise it wouldn't be
+there."
+
+"I got to get back in." Fergusson headed back into the store. "Business
+before pleasure."
+
+Loyce began to get hysterical. "You see it? You see it hanging there? A
+man's body! A dead man!"
+
+"Sure, Ed. I saw it this afternoon when I went out for coffee."
+
+"You mean it's been there all afternoon?"
+
+"Sure. What's the matter?" Potter glanced at his watch. "Have to run.
+See you later, Ed."
+
+Potter hurried off, joining the flow of people moving along the
+sidewalk. Men and women, passing by the park. A few glanced up curiously
+at the dark bundle--and then went on. Nobody stopped. Nobody paid any
+attention.
+
+"I'm going nuts," Loyce whispered. He made his way to the curb and
+crossed out into traffic, among the cars. Horns honked angrily at him.
+He gained the curb and stepped up onto the little square of green.
+
+The man had been middle-aged. His clothing was ripped and torn, a gray
+suit, splashed and caked with dried mud. A stranger. Loyce had never
+seen him before. Not a local man. His face was partly turned, away, and
+in the evening wind he spun a little, turning gently, silently. His skin
+was gouged and cut. Red gashes, deep scratches of congealed blood. A
+pair of steel-rimmed glasses hung from one ear, dangling foolishly. His
+eyes bulged. His mouth was open, tongue thick and ugly blue.
+
+"For Heaven's sake," Loyce muttered, sickened. He pushed down his nausea
+and made his way back to the sidewalk. He was shaking all over, with
+revulsion--and fear.
+
+_Why?_ Who was the man? Why was he hanging there? What did it mean?
+
+And--why didn't anybody notice?
+
+He bumped into a small man hurrying along the sidewalk. "Watch it!" the
+man grated, "Oh, it's you, Ed."
+
+Ed nodded dazedly. "Hello, Jenkins."
+
+"What's the matter?" The stationery clerk caught Ed's arm. "You look
+sick."
+
+"The body. There in the park."
+
+"Sure, Ed." Jenkins led him into the alcove of LOYCE TV SALES AND
+SERVICE. "Take it easy."
+
+Margaret Henderson from the jewelry store joined them. "Something
+wrong?"
+
+"Ed's not feeling well."
+
+Loyce yanked himself free. "How can you stand here? Don't you see it?
+For God's sake--"
+
+"What's he talking about?" Margaret asked nervously.
+
+"The body!" Ed shouted. "The body hanging there!"
+
+More people collected. "Is he sick? It's Ed Loyce. You okay, Ed?"
+
+"The body!" Loyce screamed, struggling to get past them. Hands caught at
+him. He tore loose. "Let me go! The police! Get the police!"
+
+"Ed--"
+
+"Better get a doctor!"
+
+"He must be sick."
+
+"Or drunk."
+
+Loyce fought his way through the people. He stumbled and half fell.
+Through a blur he saw rows of faces, curious, concerned, anxious. Men
+and women halting to see what the disturbance was. He fought past them
+toward his store. He could see Fergusson inside talking to a man,
+showing him an Emerson TV set. Pete Foley in the back at the service
+counter, setting up a new Philco. Loyce shouted at them frantically.
+His voice was lost in the roar of traffic and the murmur around him.
+
+"Do something!" he screamed. "Don't stand there! Do something!
+Something's wrong! Something's happened! Things are going on!"
+
+The crowd melted respectfully for the two heavy-set cops moving
+efficiently toward Loyce.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Name?" the cop with the notebook murmured.
+
+"Loyce." He mopped his forehead wearily. "Edward C. Loyce. Listen to me.
+Back there--"
+
+"Address?" the cop demanded. The police car moved swiftly through
+traffic, shooting among the cars and buses. Loyce sagged against the
+seat, exhausted and confused. He took a deep shuddering breath.
+
+"1368 Hurst Road."
+
+"That's here in Pikeville?"
+
+"That's right." Loyce pulled himself up with a violent effort. "Listen
+to me. Back there. In the square. Hanging from the lamppost--"
+
+"Where were you today?" the cop behind the wheel demanded.
+
+"Where?" Loyce echoed.
+
+"You weren't in your shop, were you?"
+
+"No." He shook his head. "No, I was home. Down in the basement."
+
+"In the _basement_?"
+
+"Digging. A new foundation. Getting out the dirt to pour a cement frame.
+Why? What has that to do with--"
+
+"Was anybody else down there with you?"
+
+"No. My wife was downtown. My kids were at school." Loyce looked from
+one heavy-set cop to the other. Hope flicked across his face, wild hope.
+"You mean because I was down there I missed--the explanation? I didn't
+get in on it? Like everybody else?"
+
+After a pause the cop with the notebook said: "That's right. You missed
+the explanation."
+
+"Then it's official? The body--it's _supposed_ to be hanging there?"
+
+"It's supposed to be hanging there. For everybody to see."
+
+Ed Loyce grinned weakly. "Good Lord. I guess I sort of went off the deep
+end. I thought maybe something had happened. You know, something like
+the Ku Klux Klan. Some kind of violence. Communists or Fascists taking
+over." He wiped his face with his breast-pocket handkerchief, his hands
+shaking. "I'm glad to know it's on the level."
+
+"It's on the level." The police car was getting near the Hall of
+Justice. The sun had set. The streets were gloomy and dark. The lights
+had not yet come on.
+
+"I feel better," Loyce said. "I was pretty excited there, for a minute.
+I guess I got all stirred up. Now that I understand, there's no need to
+take me in, is there?"
+
+The two cops said nothing.
+
+"I should be back at my store. The boys haven't had dinner. I'm all
+right, now. No more trouble. Is there any need of--"
+
+"This won't take long," the cop behind the wheel interrupted. "A short
+process. Only a few minutes."
+
+"I hope it's short," Loyce muttered. The car slowed down for a
+stoplight. "I guess I sort of disturbed the peace. Funny, getting
+excited like that and--"
+
+Loyce yanked the door open. He sprawled out into the street and rolled
+to his feet. Cars were moving all around him, gaining speed as the light
+changed. Loyce leaped onto the curb and raced among the people,
+burrowing into the swarming crowds. Behind him he heard sounds, shouts,
+people running.
+
+They weren't cops. He had realized that right away. He knew every cop in
+Pikeville. A man couldn't own a store, operate a business in a small
+town for twenty-five years without getting to know all the cops.
+
+They weren't cops--and there hadn't been any explanation. Potter,
+Fergusson, Jenkins, none of them knew why it was there. They didn't
+know--and they didn't care. _That_ was the strange part.
+
+Loyce ducked into a hardware store. He raced toward the back, past the
+startled clerks and customers, into the shipping room and through the
+back door. He tripped over a garbage can and ran up a flight of concrete
+steps. He climbed over a fence and jumped down on the other side,
+gasping and panting.
+
+There was no sound behind him. He had got away.
+
+He was at the entrance of an alley, dark and strewn with boards and
+ruined boxes and tires. He could see the street at the far end. A street
+light wavered and came on. Men and women. Stores. Neon signs. Cars.
+
+And to his right--the police station.
+
+He was close, terribly close. Past the loading platform of a grocery
+store rose the white concrete side of the Hall of Justice. Barred
+windows. The police antenna. A great concrete wall rising up in the
+darkness. A bad place for him to be near. He was too close. He had to
+keep moving, get farther away from them.
+
+_Them?_
+
+Loyce moved cautiously down the alley. Beyond the police station was the
+City Hall, the old-fashioned yellow structure of wood and gilded brass
+and broad cement steps. He could see the endless rows of offices, dark
+windows, the cedars and beds of flowers on each side of the entrance.
+
+And--something else.
+
+Above the City Hall was a patch of darkness, a cone of gloom denser than
+the surrounding night. A prism of black that spread out and was lost
+into the sky.
+
+He listened. Good God, he could hear something. Something that made him
+struggle frantically to close his ears, his mind, to shut out the sound.
+A buzzing. A distant, muted hum like a great swarm of bees.
+
+Loyce gazed up, rigid with horror. The splotch of darkness, hanging over
+the City Hall. Darkness so thick it seemed almost solid. _In the vortex
+something moved._ Flickering shapes. Things, descending from the sky,
+pausing momentarily above the City Hall, fluttering over it in a dense
+swarm and then dropping silently onto the roof.
+
+Shapes. Fluttering shapes from the sky. From the crack of darkness that
+hung above him.
+
+He was seeing--them.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+For a long time Loyce watched, crouched behind a sagging fence in a pool
+of scummy water.
+
+They were landing. Coming down in groups, landing on the roof of the
+City Hall and disappearing inside. They had wings. Like giant insects of
+some kind. They flew and fluttered and came to rest--and then crawled
+crab-fashion, sideways, across the roof and into the building.
+
+He was sickened. And fascinated. Cold night wind blew around him and he
+shuddered. He was tired, dazed with shock. On the front steps of the
+City Hall were men, standing here and there. Groups of men coming out of
+the building and halting for a moment before going on.
+
+Were there more of them?
+
+It didn't seem possible. What he saw descending from the black chasm
+weren't men. They were alien--from some other world, some other
+dimension. Sliding through this slit, this break in the shell of the
+universe. Entering through this gap, winged insects from another realm
+of being.
+
+On the steps of the City Hall a group of men broke up. A few moved
+toward a waiting car. One of the remaining shapes started to re-enter
+the City Hall. It changed its mind and turned to follow the others.
+
+Loyce closed his eyes in horror. His senses reeled. He hung on tight,
+clutching at the sagging fence. The shape, the man-shape, had abruptly
+fluttered up and flapped after the others. It flew to the sidewalk and
+came to rest among them.
+
+Pseudo-men. Imitation men. Insects with ability to disguise themselves
+as men. Like other insects familiar to Earth. Protective coloration.
+Mimicry.
+
+Loyce pulled himself away. He got slowly to his feet. It was night. The
+alley was totally dark. But maybe they could see in the dark. Maybe
+darkness made no difference to them.
+
+He left the alley cautiously and moved out onto the street. Men and
+women flowed past, but not so many, now. At the bus-stops stood waiting
+groups. A huge bus lumbered along the street, its lights flashing in the
+evening gloom.
+
+Loyce moved forward. He pushed his way among those waiting and when the
+bus halted he boarded it and took a seat in the rear, by the door. A
+moment later the bus moved into life and rumbled down the street.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Loyce relaxed a little. He studied the people around him. Dulled, tired
+faces. People going home from work. Quite ordinary faces. None of them
+paid any attention to him. All sat quietly, sunk down in their seats,
+jiggling with the motion of the bus.
+
+The man sitting next to him unfolded a newspaper. He began to read the
+sports section, his lips moving. An ordinary man. Blue suit. Tie. A
+businessman, or a salesman. On his way home to his wife and family.
+
+Across the aisle a young woman, perhaps twenty. Dark eyes and hair, a
+package on her lap. Nylons and heels. Red coat and white angora sweater.
+Gazing absently ahead of her.
+
+A high school boy in jeans and black jacket.
+
+A great triple-chinned woman with an immense shopping bag loaded with
+packages and parcels. Her thick face dim with weariness.
+
+Ordinary people. The kind that rode the bus every evening. Going home to
+their families. To dinner.
+
+Going home--with their minds dead. Controlled, filmed over with the mask
+of an alien being that had appeared and taken possession of them, their
+town, their lives. Himself, too. Except that he happened to be deep in
+his cellar instead of in the store. Somehow, he had been overlooked.
+They had missed him. Their control wasn't perfect, foolproof.
+
+Maybe there were others.
+
+Hope flickered in Loyce. They weren't omnipotent. They had made a
+mistake, not got control of him. Their net, their field of control, had
+passed over him. He had emerged from his cellar as he had gone down.
+Apparently their power-zone was limited.
+
+A few seats down the aisle a man was watching him. Loyce broke off his
+chain of thought. A slender man, with dark hair and a small mustache.
+Well-dressed, brown suit and shiny shoes. A book between his small
+hands. He was watching Loyce, studying him intently. He turned quickly
+away.
+
+Loyce tensed. One of _them_? Or--another they had missed?
+
+The man was watching him again. Small dark eyes, alive and clever.
+Shrewd. A man too shrewd for them--or one of the things itself, an alien
+insect from beyond.
+
+The bus halted. An elderly man got on slowly and dropped his token into
+the box. He moved down the aisle and took a seat opposite Loyce.
+
+The elderly man caught the sharp-eyed man's gaze. For a split second
+something passed between them.
+
+A look rich with meaning.
+
+Loyce got to his feet. The bus was moving. He ran to the door. One step
+down into the well. He yanked the emergency door release. The rubber
+door swung open.
+
+"Hey!" the driver shouted, jamming on the brakes. "What the hell--"
+
+Loyce squirmed through. The bus was slowing down. Houses on all sides. A
+residential district, lawns and tall apartment buildings. Behind him,
+the bright-eyed man had leaped up. The elderly man was also on his feet.
+They were coming after him.
+
+Loyce leaped. He hit the pavement with terrific force and rolled against
+the curb. Pain lapped over him. Pain and a vast tide of blackness.
+Desperately, he fought it off. He struggled to his knees and then slid
+down again. The bus had stopped. People were getting off.
+
+Loyce groped around. His fingers closed over something. A rock, lying in
+the gutter. He crawled to his feet, grunting with pain. A shape loomed
+before him. A man, the bright-eyed man with the book.
+
+Loyce kicked. The man gasped and fell. Loyce brought the rock down. The
+man screamed and tried to roll away. "_Stop!_ For God's sake listen--"
+
+He struck again. A hideous crunching sound. The man's voice cut off and
+dissolved in a bubbling wail. Loyce scrambled up and back. The others
+were there, now. All around him. He ran, awkwardly, down the sidewalk,
+up a driveway. None of them followed him. They had stopped and were
+bending over the inert body of the man with the book, the bright-eyed
+man who had come after him.
+
+Had he made a mistake?
+
+But it was too late to worry about that. He had to get out--away from
+them. Out of Pikeville, beyond the crack of darkness, the rent between
+their world and his.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Ed!" Janet Loyce backed away nervously. "What is it? What--"
+
+Ed Loyce slammed the door behind him and came into the living room.
+"Pull down the shades. Quick."
+
+Janet moved toward the window. "But--"
+
+"Do as I say. Who else is here besides you?"
+
+"Nobody. Just the twins. They're upstairs in their room. What's
+happened? You look so strange. Why are you home?"
+
+Ed locked the front door. He prowled around the house, into the kitchen.
+From the drawer under the sink he slid out the big butcher knife and ran
+his finger along it. Sharp. Plenty sharp. He returned to the living
+room.
+
+"Listen to me," he said. "I don't have much time. They know I escaped
+and they'll be looking for me."
+
+"Escaped?" Janet's face twisted with bewilderment and fear. "Who?"
+
+"The town has been taken over. They're in control. I've got it pretty
+well figured out. They started at the top, at the City Hall and police
+department. What they did with the _real_ humans they--"
+
+"What are you talking about?"
+
+"We've been invaded. From some other universe, some other dimension.
+They're insects. Mimicry. And more. Power to control minds. Your mind."
+
+"My mind?"
+
+"Their entrance is _here_, in Pikeville. They've taken over all of you.
+The whole town--except me. We're up against an incredibly powerful
+enemy, but they have their limitations. That's our hope. They're
+limited! They can make mistakes!"
+
+Janet shook her head. "I don't understand, Ed. You must be insane."
+
+"Insane? No. Just lucky. If I hadn't been down in the basement I'd be
+like all the rest of you." Loyce peered out the window. "But I can't
+stand here talking. Get your coat."
+
+"My coat?"
+
+"We're getting out of here. Out of Pikeville. We've got to get help.
+Fight this thing. They _can_ be beaten. They're not infallible. It's
+going to be close--but we may make it if we hurry. Come on!" He grabbed
+her arm roughly. "Get your coat and call the twins. We're all leaving.
+Don't stop to pack. There's no time for that."
+
+White-faced, his wife moved toward the closet and got down her coat.
+"Where are we going?"
+
+Ed pulled open the desk drawer and spilled the contents out onto the
+floor. He grabbed up a road map and spread it open. "They'll have the
+highway covered, of course. But there's a back road. To Oak Grove. I got
+onto it once. It's practically abandoned. Maybe they'll forget about
+it."
+
+"The old Ranch Road? Good Lord--it's completely closed. Nobody's
+supposed to drive over it."
+
+"I know." Ed thrust the map grimly into his coat. "That's our best
+chance. Now call down the twins and let's get going. Your car is full of
+gas, isn't it?"
+
+Janet was dazed.
+
+"The Chevy? I had it filled up yesterday afternoon." Janet moved toward
+the stairs. "Ed, I--"
+
+"Call the twins!" Ed unlocked the front door and peered out. Nothing
+stirred. No sign of life. All right so far.
+
+"Come on downstairs," Janet called in a wavering voice. "We're--going
+out for awhile."
+
+"Now?" Tommy's voice came.
+
+"Hurry up," Ed barked. "Get down here, both of you."
+
+Tommy appeared at the top of the stairs. "I was doing my home work.
+We're starting fractions. Miss Parker says if we don't get this done--"
+
+"You can forget about fractions." Ed grabbed his son as he came down the
+stairs and propelled him toward the door. "Where's Jim?"
+
+"He's coming."
+
+Jim started slowly down the stairs. "What's up, Dad?"
+
+"We're going for a ride."
+
+"A ride? Where?"
+
+Ed turned to Janet. "We'll leave the lights on. And the TV set. Go turn
+it on." He pushed her toward the set. "So they'll think we're still--"
+
+He heard the buzz. And dropped instantly, the long butcher knife out.
+Sickened, he saw it coming down the stairs at him, wings a blur of
+motion as it aimed itself. It still bore a vague resemblance to Jimmy.
+It was small, a baby one. A brief glimpse--the thing hurtling at him,
+cold, multi-lensed inhuman eyes. Wings, body still clothed in yellow
+T-shirt and jeans, the mimic outline still stamped on it. A strange
+half-turn of its body as it reached him. What was it doing?
+
+A stinger.
+
+Loyce stabbed wildly at it. It retreated, buzzing frantically. Loyce
+rolled and crawled toward the door. Tommy and Janet stood still as
+statues, faces blank. Watching without expression. Loyce stabbed again.
+This time the knife connected. The thing shrieked and faltered. It
+bounced against the wall and fluttered down.
+
+Something lapped through his mind. A wall of force, energy, an alien
+mind probing into him. He was suddenly paralyzed. The mind entered his
+own, touched against him briefly, shockingly. An utterly alien presence,
+settling over him--and then it flickered out as the thing collapsed in a
+broken heap on the rug.
+
+It was dead. He turned it over with his foot. It was an insect, a fly of
+some kind. Yellow T-shirt, jeans. His son Jimmy.... He closed his mind
+tight. It was too late to think about that. Savagely he scooped up his
+knife and headed toward the door. Janet and Tommy stood stone-still,
+neither of them moving.
+
+The car was out. He'd never get through. They'd be waiting for him. It
+was ten miles on foot. Ten long miles over rough ground, gulleys and
+open fields and hills of uncut forest. He'd have to go alone.
+
+Loyce opened the door. For a brief second he looked back at his wife and
+son. Then he slammed the door behind him and raced down the porch steps.
+
+A moment later he was on his way, hurrying swiftly through the darkness
+toward the edge of town.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The early morning sunlight was blinding. Loyce halted, gasping for
+breath, swaying back and forth. Sweat ran down in his eyes. His clothing
+was torn, shredded by the brush and thorns through which he had crawled.
+Ten miles--on his hands and knees. Crawling, creeping through the night.
+His shoes were mud-caked. He was scratched and limping, utterly
+exhausted.
+
+But ahead of him lay Oak Grove.
+
+He took a deep breath and started down the hill. Twice he stumbled and
+fell, picking himself up and trudging on. His ears rang. Everything
+receded and wavered. But he was there. He had got out, away from
+Pikeville.
+
+A farmer in a field gaped at him. From a house a young woman watched in
+wonder. Loyce reached the road and turned onto it. Ahead of him was a
+gasoline station and a drive-in. A couple of trucks, some chickens
+pecking in the dirt, a dog tied with a string.
+
+The white-clad attendant watched suspiciously as he dragged himself up
+to the station. "Thank God." He caught hold of the wall. "I didn't think
+I was going to make it. They followed me most of the way. I could hear
+them buzzing. Buzzing and flitting around behind me."
+
+"What happened?" the attendant demanded. "You in a wreck? A hold-up?"
+
+Loyce shook his head wearily. "They have the whole town. The City Hall
+and the police station. They hung a man from the lamppost. That was the
+first thing I saw. They've got all the roads blocked. I saw them
+hovering over the cars coming in. About four this morning I got beyond
+them. I knew it right away. I could feel them leave. And then the sun
+came up."
+
+The attendant licked his lip nervously. "You're out of your head. I
+better get a doctor."
+
+"Get me into Oak Grove," Loyce gasped. He sank down on the gravel.
+"We've got to get started--cleaning them out. Got to get started right
+away."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+They kept a tape recorder going all the time he talked. When he had
+finished the Commissioner snapped off the recorder and got to his feet.
+He stood for a moment, deep in thought. Finally he got out his
+cigarettes and lit up slowly, a frown on his beefy face.
+
+"You don't believe me," Loyce said.
+
+The Commissioner offered him a cigarette. Loyce pushed it impatiently
+away. "Suit yourself." The Commissioner moved over to the window and
+stood for a time looking out at the town of Oak Grove. "I believe you,"
+he said abruptly.
+
+Loyce sagged. "Thank God."
+
+"So you got away." The Commissioner shook his head. "You were down in
+your cellar instead of at work. A freak chance. One in a million."
+
+Loyce sipped some of the black coffee they had brought him. "I have a
+theory," he murmured.
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"About them. Who they are. They take over one area at a time. Starting
+at the top--the highest level of authority. Working down from there in a
+widening circle. When they're firmly in control they go on to the next
+town. They spread, slowly, very gradually. I think it's been going on
+for a long time."
+
+"A long time?"
+
+"Thousands of years. I don't think it's new."
+
+"Why do you say that?"
+
+"When I was a kid.... A picture they showed us in Bible League. A
+religious picture--an old print. The enemy gods, defeated by Jehovah.
+Moloch, Beelzebub, Moab, Baalin, Ashtaroth--"
+
+"So?"
+
+"They were all represented by figures." Loyce looked up at the
+Commissioner. "Beelzebub was represented as--a giant fly."
+
+The Commissioner grunted. "An old struggle."
+
+"They've been defeated. The Bible is an account of their defeats. They
+make gains--but finally they're defeated."
+
+"Why defeated?"
+
+"They can't get everyone. They didn't get me. And they never got the
+Hebrews. The Hebrews carried the message to the whole world. The
+realization of the danger. The two men on the bus. I think they
+understood. Had escaped, like I did." He clenched his fists. "I killed
+one of them. I made a mistake. I was afraid to take a chance."
+
+The Commissioner nodded. "Yes, they undoubtedly had escaped, as you did.
+Freak accidents. But the rest of the town was firmly in control." He
+turned from the window. "Well, Mr. Loyce. You seem to have figured
+everything out."
+
+"Not everything. The hanging man. The dead man hanging from the
+lamppost. I don't understand that. _Why?_ Why did they deliberately hang
+him there?"
+
+"That would seem simple." The Commissioner smiled faintly. "_Bait._"
+
+Loyce stiffened. His heart stopped beating. "Bait? What do you mean?"
+
+"To draw you out. Make you declare yourself. So they'd know who was
+under control--and who had escaped."
+
+Loyce recoiled with horror. "Then they _expected_ failures! They
+anticipated--" He broke off. "They were ready with a trap."
+
+"And you showed yourself. You reacted. You made yourself known." The
+Commissioner abruptly moved toward the door. "Come along, Loyce. There's
+a lot to do. We must get moving. There's no time to waste."
+
+Loyce started slowly to his feet, numbed. "And the man. _Who was the
+man?_ I never saw him before. He wasn't a local man. He was a stranger.
+All muddy and dirty, his face cut, slashed--"
+
+There was a strange look on the Commissioner's face as he answered.
+"Maybe," he said softly, "you'll understand that, too. Come along with
+me, Mr. Loyce." He held the door open, his eyes gleaming. Loyce caught a
+glimpse of the street in front of the police station. Policemen, a
+platform of some sort. A telephone pole--and a rope! "Right this way,"
+the Commissioner said, smiling coldly.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+As the sun set, the vice-president of the Oak Grove Merchants' Bank came
+up out of the vault, threw the heavy time locks, put on his hat and
+coat, and hurried outside onto the sidewalk. Only a few people were
+there, hurrying home to dinner.
+
+"Good night," the guard said, locking the door after him.
+
+"Good night," Clarence Mason murmured. He started along the street
+toward his car. He was tired. He had been working all day down in the
+vault, examining the lay-out of the safety deposit boxes to see if there
+was room for another tier. He was glad to be finished.
+
+At the corner he halted. The street lights had not yet come on. The
+street was dim. Everything was vague. He looked around--and froze.
+
+From the telephone pole in front of the police station, something large
+and shapeless hung. It moved a little with the wind.
+
+What the hell was it?
+
+Mason approached it warily. He wanted to get home. He was tired and
+hungry. He thought of his wife, his kids, a hot meal on the dinner
+table. But there was something about the dark bundle, something ominous
+and ugly. The light was bad; he couldn't tell what it was. Yet it drew
+him on, made him move closer for a better look. The shapeless thing made
+him uneasy. He was frightened by it. Frightened--and fascinated.
+
+And the strange part was that nobody else seemed to notice it.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Hanging Stranger, by Philip K. Dick
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41562 ***