"Picture"

[jeffrey-dallas]

With all of the reading that I do, I've found a couple of professional stories involving SW and GTS themes. Enjoy please and thank you!


"PICTURE"
Written: April 1978
A short (no pun intended) story in 2 parts
Rates PG or so
Word Length: 2,130

Robert Bloch (1917 – 1994) was an American fiction writer, primarily of crime, horror, fantasy and science fiction. He is best known as the writer of Psycho (1959), the basis for the film of the same name by Alfred Hitchcock (1960).

Bloch wrote 400 short stories and 25 novels. He was one of the youngest members of the Lovecraft Circle; H. P. Lovecraft was Bloch's mentor and one of the first to seriously encourage his talent. However, while Bloch started his career by emulating Lovecraft and his brand of "cosmic horror", he later specialized in crime and horror stories dealing with a more psychological approach.

He was a contributor to pulp magazines such as Weird Tales in his early career, and was also a prolific writer of film, television, and radio. In the 1960's, he wrote multiple stories for the Thriller series, as well as 3 episodes for Star Trek. In the 1970s, he worked on scripts for Night Gallery, and in the 1980s a couple of his short stories were adapted for Dark Room. He was the recipient of the Hugo Award for his story "That Hell-Bound Train" (like the following story, also a "deal with the Devil" tale).

"Bloch's prose style was straightforward, almost unremarkable; it was his plots, cannily constructed to deliver maximum suspense and chills, often with a twist ending, that hooked me in. And there was his judicious use of graveyard black humour, a form that he made his own. Perhaps no modern writer more than Bloch has understood how close in effect humour and horror can be, nor more memorably exploited that connection." (Writer's Bloch: A Brief Tribute To 'the Author Of "Psycho" by Leigh Blackmore © 1994)

Bloch remains one of my favorite authors. He used dry humor, sarcasm, and his fondness for puns to maximum effect. (I believe he would be Yang Xiao Long's best-loved writer if she read as much as her friend Blake.) HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

[jeffrey-dallas]

(Part 1)

Farley found the Devil through the Yellow Pages.

Of course, he had to make inquiries first. He haunted the reserved section of the public library until he found an old book containing the right spells. Then he shopped around for chalk and candles and a lot of smelly herbs. By the time he drew a pentagram and set the candles out and burned the herbs Farley was pretty beat.

Next he chanted the spells and conjured up Astaroth -– a rather ugly customer who rode a dragon, carried a viper in his left head, and seemed very uptight about being disturbed.

But Farley kept safely inside the pentagram and told him what he wanted.

Astaroth shook his head. “Not my department,” he said. “You’ll have to talk to the boss.”

“And where can I find him?”

“Locally he goes by the name of Dr. Horner. He’s in the book.”

“Can I tell him you sent me?”

“Tell him and be damned,” said Astaroth. “I’m getting the hell out of here.”

And he did.

It took Farley two days just to air out the place afterward, and he had a rough time squaring things with the landlady when she complained about the noise. But finally he picked up the phone book and located Dr. Horner’s name.

Not too surprisingly, he turned out to be a Beverly Hills psychiatrist.

Getting an appointment was a hassle; the receptionist did a number about being all booked up until a year from next Thursday. Then he mentioned Astaroth’s name and it turned out to be the magic word.

“Come in tonight,” she said. “Ten o’clock.”

So finally Farley found himself in the private office, face to face with Astaroth’s boss.

Dr. Horner turned out to be elderly and a bit on the short side. The eyes peering from behind heavy glasses seemed quite normal and there were no unnatural growths sprouting from his forehead.

“You don’t look like the Devil,” said Farley.

Dr. Horner blinked. “You don’t look like a man suffering from delusions,” he said. “But of course when my receptionist mentioned Astaroth I knew it was my professional duty to see you as quickly as possible. Would you like to talk about your problem?”

“I’m frustrated,” said Leo Farley.

“Aren’t we all?” Dr. Horner nodded. “Taxes, inflation, wholesale corruption, retail violence. And on top of everything else, this damned business about malpractice insurance.” He broke off abruptly. “Sorry,” he said. “Suppose you sit down and tell me.”

So Farley told him. About his unhappy childhood –- not making top grades in school, not making the team, not making girls. How the war in Nam kept him from college, and how he couldn’t enroll when he returned. His parents died in a car crash and he had to go to work in a paint store, even though he was allergic to turpentine.

Then he got into his marriage. Margaret wasn’t much for looks and she couldn’t cook anything but TV dinners, and though he wanted kids she turned out to be sterile. She was also frigid, a nagger, and a compulsive folk-singer. This latter affliction brought about her death from hepatitis, following the purchase of a secondhand guitar with an infected pick.

So for the past six months Leo Farley had lived alone, a pudgy, middle-aged man whose hair -– since he was not a politician – was turning gray. He still worked at the paint store, still ate TV dinners, and it seemed as though all he got out of life was older.

“Ever thought about suicide?” asked Dr. Horner.

“Frequently,” said Farley. “Is that your best offer?”

Dr. Horner shook his head. “I’m not suggesting –- just wondering. With all the rotten luck you’ve had through the years, what kept you going?”

“This,” said Farley.

He opened his wallet and took out the picture.

Dr. Horner squinted at it through the thick lenses. The three-by-three photo was obviously old and the color was slightly faded, but even so there was no denying the beauty of its subject. The teen-age girl posing full-length in a brief bikini had a voluptuous figure and a sensual, provocative face framed by an aureole of flaming red hair.

The psychiatrist reacted with an unprofessional but highly appreciative whistle. “Who is she?”

“Linda Duvall,” said Farley. “That’s how she looked when she won the beauty contest back in high school. Actually, she was even prettier. I cut this picture out of the annual.”

“Your girlfriend?”

“I never even met her.” Farley sighed. “She only dated jocks. The football team, the basketball team, the track team, guys like that. And, of course, the substitutes.”

“Promiscuous, eh?”

“I prefer to think of her as democratic,” Farley said. “Though that’s just a wild guess. Like I say, I didn’t know her.”

“But you had a schoolboy crush on her, right?”

“Wrong. A man doesn’t carry a picture of a girl in his wallet for twenty years just because of an adolescent hangup. I’ve looked at it night and day and it still drives me up the wall.”

“I see,” said Dr. Horner. “So that’s why you came to me. You want to get rid of those erotic fantasies.”

“No. I want you to make them come true.”

Dr. Horner stared at Farley for a long moment. “Then you really did see Astaroth?”

“That’s right. And he said you were the boss.”

“Astaroth has a leaky mouth.” Dr. Horner frowned. “But suppose I could help. Are you prepared to pay the price?”

“Anything you ask. Just get me Linda Duvall.”

“What do you intend to do with her?”

Farley explained in detail.

[jeffrey-dallas]

(Part 2) (The Finale)

“My, my,” said Dr. Horner. “I hope you’re up to it! That’s a pretty heavy schedule for just one night.”

“One night?” Farley scowled. “But I was thinking more along the lines of seven years -–”

Dr. Horner shrugged. “Sorry, that’s the old contract. We don’t use it anymore. In the old days, with only a few clients -– people like Faust, you know –- we could afford to give them personal attention. But now there’s just too many deals to keep track of. I’m afraid one night is all I can offer.”

Farley picked up the picture of the red-haired girl and studied it. The sound of heavy breathing filled the room. “I’ve got to have her,” he said. “Got to.”

Dr. Horner smiled. “I understand.”

“Do you?”

“Of course. They don’t call me Old Horny for nothing.” He reached into a desk drawer and produced a parchment covered with crabbed handwriting. “Sign here,” he said.

Farley’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the document. “I can’t read Latin.”

“Too bad. It’s really the only civilized language.” Dr. Horner shook his head. “You needn’t worry, though -– it’s a standard contract. Covers everything except acts of God. We have the services of some pretty big attorneys.”

“That figures,” said Farley.

“What’s bugging you then? If it’s the sight of blood, don’t worry. We can dispense with that formality.” Dr. Horner held out a pen. “Here. All I want is a legal signature.”

Farley took the pen, then hesitated once more.

“Now what?” said Dr. Horner.

“I’ll level. You have a reputation for cheating on your bargains.”

“That’s a damnable lie!” Dr. Horner said. “I’m not a crook.”

“Seems to me I’ve heard that before,” Farley told him.

Dr. Horner shook his head. “You’re getting a fair deal. One night with the girl in the picture, Linda Duvall. How could I cheat you?”

“Lots of ways,” Farley said. “I tried to locate her myself, you know, but I came up with zilch. And then I realized twenty years must have changed Linda as much as they’ve changed me. Suppose you find her and I end up with a fat, middle-aged klutz?”

“She won’t be, I promise you.”

“For all I know she might even be dead. I don’t want a revived corpse, either.”

Dr. Horner chuckled. “Don’t worry. She won’t be dead, and she won’t be a day older or younger than she is in the picture. And to anticipate your other objections, I also guarantee that she won’t be mentally or physically ill, she won’t be frigid, and she won’t be a lez. Tell you what I’ll do -– just to sweeten the deal, I’ll make her a virgin.”

“Yeah.” Farley licked his lips, then frowned again. “But suppose she hates me?”

“I’ll take care of that, too. I give you my word she’ll be just as eager as you are.”

“You won’t make me impotent?”

“What a suspicious mind you have!” Dr. Horner beamed at Farley appreciatively. “I promise you’ll be able to perform indefinitely. And definitely, too.”

“Then what happens?”

“I’ll come for you at dawn.”

“But we’ll have the night together?”

“Assuredly.”

“Just as she is here?” Farley pointed at the picture.

“Exactly.”

Farley gripped the pen and signed.

Dr. Horner picked up the parchment and put it back in his desk drawer. “There we are,” he said.

“But where is she?”

Dr. Horner smiled. “Linda is waiting for you now -– in your apartment.”

Leo Farley smiled then too, for the first time. “I hate to eat and run,” he said. “Or vice versa. But if you’ll excuse me -–”

“By all means.” Dr. Horner waved Farley to the door. “Drive carefully,” he said.

Farley drove very carefully.

One thing he had to say for himself: He was always careful. That’s why he’d taken such pains to make sure about the contract -– he had no intention of being outwitted. As a matter of fact, he was a little surprised that the Devil didn’t have more smarts. The truth was that Farley had cheated him.

Now, driving home, it was his turn to chuckle when he thought of how his life story had gone down so easily. Because it hadn’t really been such a bummer after all.

His childhood was never unhappy; his parents spoiled him rotten and he was always the biggest bully in the neighborhood. The only reason he didn’t do well in school was because he preferred goofing off to studying. He could have been on the football team if he wanted, but he used his time to set up a betting pool instead and made a bundle off his fellow students. His service in Nam was a crock; he’d spent all his time in Saigon as a company clerk by day and a black-market operator by night, which got him an even bigger bundle. And when gambling wiped him out, his parents’ death left him a nice chunk of inheritance after he returned. Sure, he’d worked in the paint store, but actually as a silent partner who got 50 per cent of the take. With the chicks through the years he got 100 per cent of the action. And that’s what really blew his marriage, when Margaret found out. Slipping her the infected guitar pick was his own idea; it solved all his problems.

Except for Linda Duvall. That part -– about the twenty years of frustration -– was true. He had the hots for her in school, he had the hots for her all those years, and he had the hots for her now. She was the only thing he wanted that he hadn’t been able to get -– but he was getting her tonight.

Farley grinned. He’d already damned himself a dozen times over, so there’d been no need for the Devil to make such a bargain. Farley had ripped him off.

Just to make sure, he reviewed the terms of the contract, but he found no loopholes. He was going to get just what he asked for -– Linda Duvall, the way she was in her picture, alive, willing, eager. And then –-

The mere thought of what was going to happen then set his heart pounding as he parked the car, set his hands trembling as he unlocked the apartment door, set his blood racing as he entered.

But the living room was silent and empty.

For a moment Farley wondered if the Devil had lied to him after all. Then he saw the light in the hall, streaming forth from under the bedroom door.

Of course -– that’s where she’d be waiting for him. Well, she wouldn’t have to wait long.

He ran down the hall, flung the door open, entered.

And there she was.

Farley stared at her. Linda Duvall, in the flesh –- a gorgeous redhead, stark naked, sprawled across the bed and smiling up at him in invitation.

The Devil hadn’t lied; she was as pretty as a picture. In fact, she was just like her picture.

Leo Farley turned away with a sob and stood waiting for the dawn. There was really nothing else he could do.

Not with a girl who was exactly two inches tall.

[jeffrey-dallas]

It looks like Leo and/or Mr. Bloch didn't read this forum. Two inches is a little smaller than I prefer, but I'm sure I and many others here could come up with something to do overnight.

Also, since Robert liked puns, another punster I know might have said something like this:

[ensmallen]

“Tell you what I’ll do -– just to sweeten the deal, I’ll make her a virgin.”