Read The Mind Spider and Other Stories for Free Online

matter between Mr. Cruxon and myself,” Wisant explained, looking around with a smile. He swiftly reached across the table and snagged the scratchpad where Dave had been sitting. Diskrow seemed about to protest, then to think better of it.
    “Very interesting,” Wisant said after a moment, shaking his head. He looked up from the pad. "As you may recall, Mr. Cruxon only used his stylus once—just after Dr. Gline had said something about the awe-inspiring rhythms of the sea. Listen to what he wrote.” He cleared his throat and read:
    “When the majestic ocean starts to sound like water slopping around in the bathtub, it’s time to jump in.”
    Wisant shook his head. "I must say I feel concerned about that young man’s safety . . . his mental safety.”
    “I do too,” Miss Rawvetch interjected, looking around with a helpless shrug. “My Lord, was there anybody that screwball forgot to antagonize?”
    Dr. Snowden looked up quickly at Wisant. Then his gaze shifted out and he seemed to become abstracted.
    Wisant continued: "Mr. Diskrow, I had best tell you now that in addition to my advisement against the Monster Program, I am going to have to issue an advisement that there be a review of the mental stability of IU’s entire personnel. No personal reflection on any of you, but you can clearly see why.” Diskrow flushed but said nothing. Dr. Gline held very still. Dr. Snowden began to doodle furiously.
    A monster is a master symbol of the secret and powerful, the dangerous and unknown, evoking the remotest mysteries of nature and human nature, the most dimly-sensed enigmas of space, time, and the hidden regions of the mind.
    —the notebooks of A.S.
    Masks of monsters brooded down from all the walls—fulllipped raven-browed Dracula, the cavern-eyed domeforeheaded Phantom, the mighty patchwork visage of Dr. Frankenstein’s chamel-man with his filmy strangely compassionate eyes, and many earlier and later fruitions of the dark half of man’s imagination. Along with them were numerous stills from old horror movies (both 3-D and flat), blown-up book illustrations, monster costumes and disguises including an Ape Man’s hairy hide, and several big hand-lettered slogans such as "Accent Your Monster!” “Watch Out, Normality!” “America, Beware!” “Be Yourself—in Spades!” “Your Lady in Black,” and “Mount to Your Monster!”
    But Dave Cruxon did not look up at the walls of his “Mon-sterarium.” Instead he smoothed out the pink note he had crumpled in his hand and read the crimson script for the dozenth time.
    Please excuse my daughter for not attending lunch today, she being detained in consequence of a massive psychosis. (Signed and Sealed on the threshold of Serenity Shoals )
    The strangest thing about Dave Cruxon’s reaction to the note was that he did not notice at all simply how weird it was, how strangely the central fact was stated, how queerly the irony was expressed, how like it was to an excuse sent by a pretentious mother to her child’s teacher. All he had mind for was the central fact.
    Now his gaze did move to the walls. Meanwhile his hands automatically but gently smoothed the note, then opened a drawer, reached far in and took out a thick sheaf of sheets of pink notepaper with crimson script, and started to add the new note to it. As he did so a brown flattened flower slipped out of the sheaf and crawled across the back of his hand. He jerked back his hands and stood staring at the pink sheets scattered over a large black blotter and at the wholly inanimate flower.
    The phone tingled his wrist. He lunged at it.
    “Dave Cruxon,” he identified himself hoarsely.
    “Serenity Shoals, Reception. I find we do have a patient named Gabrielle Wisant. She was admitted this morning. She cannot come to the phone at present or receive visitors. I would suggest, Mr. Cruxon, that you call again in about a week or that you get in touch with—”
    Dave put back the phone. His gaze went back to the