Ghost by Henry Kuttner

Author:Henry Kuttner [Kuttner, Henry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Sci Fi Short Story
Publisher: Astounding Science Fiction
Published: 1943-05-19T00:00:00+00:00

Since hairy men crouched in caves there has been fear of the dark. The fanged carnivores roaring outside in the night have not always been beasts. Psychology has changed them; the distorted, terrible sounds spawned in a place of peril—the lonely, menacing night beyond the firelight’s circle—have created trolls and werewolves, vampires and giants and women with hollow backs.

Yes—there is fear. But most of all, beating down active terror, came the passive, shrouding cloak of infinitely horrible depression.

The Irishman was no coward. Since Ford’s arrival, he had decided to stay, at least until the psychologist’s experiment had succeeded or failed. Nevertheless he was scarcely pleased by Ford’s guest, the manic-depressive the doctor had mentioned.

William Quayle looked not at all like Bronson, but the longer he stayed, the more he reminded Crockett of the other man. Quayle was a thin, dark, intense eyed man of about thirty, subject to fits of violent rage when anything displeased him. His cycle had a range of approximately one week. In that time he would swing from blackest depression to wild exultation. The pattern never varied. Nor did he seem affected by the ghost; Ford said that the intensity of the up-curve was so strong that it blocked the effect of the integrators’ downbeat radiation.

“I have his history,” Ford said. “He could have been cured easily at the sanitarium where I found him, but luckily I got my requisition in first. See how interested he’s getting in plastics?” They were in the Brainpan; Crockett was unwillingly giving the integrators a routine inspection. “Did he ever work in plastics before, Doc?” the Irishman asked. He felt like talking; silence only intensified the atmosphere that was murkiest here.

“No, but he’s dexterous. The work occupies his mind as well as his hands; it ties in with his psychology. It’s been three weeks, hasn’t it? And Quayle’s well on the road to sanity.”

“It’s done nothing for…for this.” Crockett waved toward the white towers.

“I know. Not yet—but wait a while. When Quayle’s completely cured, I think the integrators will absorb the effect of his therapy. Induction—the only possible treatment for a radioatom brain. ’ Too bad Bronson was alone here for so long. He could have been cured if only—”

But Crockett didn’t like to think about that. “How about Quayle’s dreams?” Ford chuckled. “Hocus-pocus, eh? But in this case it’s justified. Quayle is troubled or he wouldn’t have gone mad. His troubles show up in dreams, distorted by the censor band. I have to translate them, figuring out the symbolism by what I know of Quayle himself. His word-association tests * give me quite a lot of help.”

“How?”

“He’s been a misfit. It stemmed from his early relationships; he hated and feared his father, who was a tyrant. Quayle as a child was made to feel he could never compete with anyone—he’d be sure to fail. He identifies his father with all his obstacles.”

Crockett nodded, idly watching a vernier. “You want to destroy his feeling toward his father, is that it?”

“The idea, rather, that his father has power.

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