Jimsy and the Monsters

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  Science fiction, in collaboration with the idea-men and technicians of Hollywood, has been responsible for many horrors, dating back to "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" and "The Lost World." But Hollywood has created one real-life horror that tops all creations of fantasy--the child star. In this story we at last see such a brat meet Things from Alien Space.

  jimsy and the monsters

  by ... Walt Sheldon

  Hollywood could handle just about anything--until Mildume's machine brought in two real aliens.

  Mr. Maximilian Untz regarded the monsters with a critical eye. Scriptgirls, cameramen, sometimes even stars quailed under Mr. Untz'scritical eye--but not these monsters. The first had a globelike headand several spidery legs. The second was willowy and long-clawed. Thethird was covered with hair. The prop department had outdone itself.

  "Get Jimsy," said Mr. Untz, snapping his fingers.

  A young earnest assistant producer with a crew cut turned and relayedthe summons. "Jimsy--Jimsy LaRoche!" Down the line of cables andcameras it went. _Jimsy_ ... _Jimsy_....

  A few moments later, from behind the wall flat where he had beenplaying canasta with the electricians, emerged Jimsy LaRoche, theeleven-year-old sensation. He took his time. He wore powder-blueslacks and a sports shirt and his golden hair was carefully ringleted.He was frowning. He had been interrupted with a meld of a hundred andtwenty.

  "Okay, so what is it now?" he said, coming up to Mr. Untz.

  Mr. Untz turned and glared down at the youth. Jimsy returned theglare. There was a sort of cold war between Mr. Untz and Master JimsyLaRoche, the sort you could almost hear hotting up. Mr. Untz pointedto the monsters. "Look, Jimsy. Look at them. What do you think?" Hewatched the boy's expression carefully.

  Jimsy said, "To use one of your own expressions, Max--_pfui_. Theywouldn't scare a mouse." And then Jimsy shrugged and walked away.

  Mr. Untz turned to his assistant. "Harold," he said in an injuredtone. "You saw it. You heard it. You see what I've got to put upwith."

  "Sure," said Harold Potter sympathetically. He had mixed feelingstoward Mr. Untz. He admired the producer's occasional flashes ofgenius, he deplored his more frequent flashes of stupidity. On thewhole, however, he regarded himself as being on Mr. Untz's side in thewar between Mr. Untz and the world and Hollywood. He knew Mr. Untz'smain trouble.

  Some years ago Maximilian Untz had been brought to Hollywood heraldedas Vienna's greatest producer of musicals. So far he had been assignedto westerns, detectives, documentaries, a fantasy of the future--butno musicals. And now it was a psychological thriller. Jimsy played thekiller as a boy and there was to be a dream sequence, a nightmare fullof monsters. Mr. Untz was determined it should be the most terrifyingdream sequence ever filmed.

  Only up to now he wasn't doing so good.

  "I would give," said Mr. Untz to Harold Potter, "my right eye forsome _really_ horrible monsters." He gestured at the world ingeneral. "Think of it, Harold. We got atom bombs and B-29's, bothvitamins and airplanes, and stuff to cure you of everything frombroken legs to dropsy. A whole world of modern science--but nobodycan make a fake monster. It looks anything but fake and wouldn't scarean eleven-year-old boy."

  "It's a thought," agreed Harold Potter. He had a feeling for thingsscientific; he had taken a B.S. in college but had drifted intophotography and thence into movie production. He had a wife and aspaniel and a collection of pipes and a house in Santa Monica with aworkshop basement.

  "I got to do some thinking," Mr. Untz said. "I believe I will changemy clothes and take a shower. Come along to the cottage, Harold."

  "Okay," said Harold. He never liked to say yes for fear of beingtagged a yes-man. Anyway, he enjoyed relaxing in the office-cottagewhile Mr. Untz showered and changed, which Mr. Untz did some three orfour times a day. When he got there Mr. Untz disappeared into thedressing-room and Harold picked up a magazine.

  There was a knock on the door.

  Harold got up and crossed the soft cream-colored carpet and opened thedoor and saw a goat-like person.

  "Yes?" said Harold.

  "Mildume," said the goat-like person. "Dr. John Mildume. Don't ask alot of questions about how I got in. Had a hard enough time as it was.Fortunately I have several relatives connected with the studio. That'show I heard of your problem as a matter of fact."

  "My problem?" said Harold.

  Dr. Mildume pushed right in. He was no more than five feet five buthad a normal sized head. It was domelike. Wisps of tarnished whitehair curled about his ears and crown. He had an out-thrust underjawwith a small white beard on its prow. He was dressed in moderatelyshabby tweeds. He moved across the room in an energetic hopping walkand took the place on the sofa Harold had vacated.

  "Now, then, Mr. Untz," he said, "the first thing we must do is come toterms."

  "Just a minute," said Harold. "I'm Mr. Untz's assistant, HaroldPotter. Mr. Untz is in the shower. Was he expecting you?"

  Dr. Mildume blinked. "No, not exactly. But he can't afford _not_ tosee me. I know all about it."

  "All about what?" asked Harold.

  "The beasts," the doctor said.

  "The _which_?"

  "Beasts, Potter," snapped the goat-like man. "The nightmare monsters.Get with it, lad. And what is a dream sequence without them? Ha!"

  "Uh--yes," said Harold a little uncertainly.

  Mildume's finger shot out. "You fellows understand that I'm nodreamy-eyed impractical scientist. Let's face it--it takes money tocarry on experiments like mine. Good old-fashioned money. I'll need atleast ten thousand dollars."

  Harold raised his eyebrows. "Just what, Dr. Mildume, do you propose togive us for ten thousand dollars?"

  "Beasts," said Mildume. "_Real_ monsters."

  "I beg your pardon?" said Harold. He began to work out strategies inhis mind. Maybe he could casually walk over to the phone and pick itup quickly and call the studio police. Maybe he could get the jump onthis madman before he pulled a knife. The thing to do was to humor himmeanwhile....

  Dr. Mildume said, "I will not deal with underlings. I demand to seeMr. Untz himself."

  "Well," said Harold, "you understand that Mr. Untz is a busy man. It'smy job to check propositions people have for him. Suppose you tell meabout these beasts of yours."

  Mildume shrugged. "Doubt if you'll understand it any better than Untzwill. But it's no more complicated than television when you boil itright down. You're familiar, I take it, with the basic principle oftelevision?"

  "Oh, sure," said Harold, brightening. "Keep things moving. Have amaster of ceremonies who keeps jumping in and out of the act. Givesomething away to the audience, if possible, to make them feel ashamednot to tune in."

  "No, no, no, no, _no_!" said Mildume. "I mean the technicalprinciples. A photo-electric beam scans the subject, translates lightand dark into electrical impulses, which eventually alter a cathoderay played upon a fluorescent screen. Hence, the image. You grasp thatroughly, I take it?"

  "Roughly," said Harold.

  "Well," continued Mildume, "just as spots of light and dark are thebuilding blocks of an image, so sub-atomic particles are the buildingblocks of matter. Once we recognize this the teleportation theorybecomes relatively simple. There are engineering difficulties, ofcourse.

  "We must go back to Faraday's three laws of electrolysis--andChadwick's establishment in nineteen thirty-one of the fact thatradiation is merely the movement of particles of proton mass withoutproton charge. Neutrons, you see. Also that atomic weights are closeintegers, when hydrogen is one point zero zero eight. Thus I usehydrogen as a basis. Simple, isn't it?"

  Harold frow
ned. "Wait a minute. What's this you're talkingabout--_teleportation_? You mean a way of moving matter through space,just as television moves an image through space?"

  "Well, not precisely," said Mildume. "It's more a duplication ofmatter. My Mildume beam--really another expression of the quanta orlight energy absorbed by atoms--scans and analyzes matter. The wavevariations are retranslated into form, or formulae, at a distantpoint--the receiving point."

  Harold lowered one eyebrow. "And this really works?"

  "Of course," said Mildume. "Oh, it's still