Thirty Degrees Cattywonkus
By JAMES BELL
It doesn't take a heap of leaving
to make any house a nightmare. One
vanishing door will do nastily.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, May 1960.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
It was a tremendous house. And they were newlyweds. And were still amite flighty. And for a while that accounted for the whole thing.
At the moment, it seemed to Ernie Lane that in a house which even thereal estate agent said had "either" eleven or twelve rooms, it wasquite conceivable that he and Melinee had overlooked that extra room.
After all, they had only been living at 1312 Cedar Lane for four daysand had hardly had time to make a complete survey of the place.
Now it was quite different. For Ernie Lane had stopped walkinghurriedly past that extra door, had stopped giving it only casualcuriosity, had even stopped wondering afterward.
This night he had come home a bit tired, gone directly to greet hisloving wife, and then decided to put a stop to the gnawing question.
While Melinee fried the chicken, Ernie walked carefully and wordlesslyto the dim hallway. He went past the staircase, past the telephone, tothe darkest spot between the living room and the study. He stood for astrange moment—there was no extra door.
He felt the refinished wall, his fingertips searching for hiddenpanels. There was none.
"Supper's ready," Melinee called. "Ernie?"
But it had been there last night, the night before, the night beforethat, and the very first night the real estate agent brought them over.In fact, he recalled, that was the reason the agent had been uncertainabout the number of rooms. And why had he passed it off as a joke,simply turning from the extra door without opening it?
Ernie felt again.
It was ceasing to be a joke. He was not a man of hallucinations. He wasnot a victim of superstition, fear or near-sightedness. He only wantedto know why he saw a door one day and didn't see it the next.
He called a comforting word to his wife, then reached for the telephonebook. He found the name of Hartley and Hartley, Real Estate. PLaza0-6633. Without any undue commotion, he dialed. In a moment, a woman'svoice at the other end seemed to barge into his life.
"Special operator. Number, please?"
"PLaza 0-6633."
"Sorry, sir, we have no such number—"
Ernie let a disgruntled voice thunder into the phone: "Then what theheck is Hartley and Hartley Realty doing with it?"
A pause. Then she replied, "Sir, we have no Hartley and Hartley—"
"Don't be silly," he said. "I just found it in the phone book."
She answered, "We have a Hartfield and Hatley, Realtors, Inc., sir, butno Hartley and Hartley. Their number is in the directory."
Melinee was standing behind him. "Who are you calling?"
He was shaken, but he managed to appear calm as he hung up. He evenrelaxed against the wall. "I was trying to get the real estate agent onthe phone—these lights ought to be brighter—and I thought he couldrefer us to his electrician."
"His what?" Melinee asked.
"Elec—" He halted. "Never mind, honey. I'm beat—rough day. I needfried chicken." He hugged his trim, prim wife and they walked towardthe kitchen arm in arm. But it was not until they settled at the tablethat he saw, under the bright electric light, that her hair was red,not blonde, and he immediately felt he'd b