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The Doorway By: Evelyn E. Smith (1927-2000) |
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the
doorway by ... Evelyn E. Smith
A man may wish he'd married his first love and not really mean
it. But an insincere wish may turn ugly in dimensions unknown.
"It is my theory," Professor Falabella said, helping himself to a
cookie, "that no one ever really makes a decision. What really happens
is that whenever alternative courses of action are called for, the
individuality splits up and continues on two or more divergent planes,
very much like the parthenogenesis of a unicellular animal ... Delicious
cookies these, Mrs. Hughes." "Thank you, Professor," Gloria simpered. "I made them myself." "You must give us the recipe," said one of the ladies and the others
murmured agreement, glad to get their individualities on a plane they
could understand. "Since most decisions are hardly as momentous as the individual
imagines," Professor Falabella continued, "and since the imagination of
the average individual is very limited, many of these different
planes or, as they are colloquially known, space time continuums may
exist in close, even tangential relationship." Gloria rose unobtrusively and took the teapot to the kitchen for a
refill. Her husband stood by the sink moodily drinking whiskey out of
the bottle so as to avoid having to wash a glass afterward. "Bill, you're not being polite to our guests. Why don't you go out and
listen to Professor Falabella?" "I can hear him perfectly well from here," Bill muttered and indeed the
professor's mellifluous tones pervaded every nook and cranny of the
thin walled house. "Long winded cultist! What is he a professor of, I'd
like to know." "Professor Falabella is not a cultist!" affirmed Gloria angrily. "He's
a great philosopher." Bill Hughes said something unprintable. "If I'd married Lucy Allison,"
he continued unkindly, "she'd never have filled the house with
long haired cultists on my so called day of rest." Gloria's soft chin trembled, and her blue eyes filled with tears. She
was beginning to put on weight, he noticed. "I've been hearing nothing
but Lucy Allison, Lucy Allison, Lucy Allison for the past year. Y you
said yourself she looked like a horse." "Horses," he observed, "have sense." He was being brutal, but he couldn't help it and didn't want to.
Professor Falabella was only the most long winded of a long series of
mystics Gloria was forever dragging into the house. The trouble with
the half educated , he thought bitterly, is that they seek culture in
the most peculiar places . "I'll bet she would have let me have peace on Sunday," he said. "It just
goes to show what happens when you marry a woman solely for her looks."
He drained the bottle; then hurled it into the garbage pail with a
resounding crash. Gloria's shoulders shook as she filled the kettle. "I wish I'd decided
to be an old maid," she sobbed. A very unlikely possibility, he thought. Even now, shopworn as she was,
Gloria could have a fairly wide range of suitors should something happen
to him. She looked sexy, but how deceiving appearances could be! Professor Falabella was still talking as Bill and Gloria emerged from
the kitchen. "I believe that it is possible for an individual who exists
on a limited plane of imagination to transpose from one plane to an
adjacent one without difficulty ... Great Heavens, what was that?" Something had whisked past the archway leading into the foyer. "Don't pay any attention," Gloria smiled nervously. "The house is
haunted." "My dear," one of the ladies offered, "I know of the most marvelous
exterminator " "The house," Gloria assured her coldly, "really is haunted... Continue reading book >>
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Genres for this book |
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Fantasy |
Literature |
Short stories |
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