Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Blind Spot by Homer Eon Flint and Austin Hall (iphone ebook reader .TXT) 📖
- Author: Homer Eon Flint and Austin Hall
Book online «The Blind Spot by Homer Eon Flint and Austin Hall (iphone ebook reader .TXT) 📖». Author Homer Eon Flint and Austin Hall
“I see. Very interesting. Something I've never seen—and—frankly—something strictly against what I've been taught. Nevertheless, it's not impossible. We are witnesses at least. Would you care if I take this over to the laboratory?”
It was a new complication. If it were not a jewel there was a chance of its being damaged. I was as anxious as he; but I had been warned as to its possession.
“I shan't harm it. I'll see to that. I have suspicions and I'd like to verify them. A chemist doesn't blunder across such a thing every day. I am a chemist.” His eyes glistened.
“Your suspicions?” I asked.
“A new element.”
This gem. A new element. Perhaps that would explain the Blind Spot. It was not exactly of earth. Everything had confirmed it.
“You—A new element? How do you account for it? It defies your laws. Most of your elements are evolved through tedious process. This is picked up by chance.”
“That is so. But there are still a thousand ways. A meteor, perhaps; a bit of cosmic dust—there are many shattered comets. Our chemistry is earthly. There are undoubtedly new elements that we don't know of. Perhaps in enormous proportion.”
I let him have it. It was the only night I had been away from the ring. I may say that it is the only time I have been free from its isolation.
When I called at his office next day I found he had merely confirmed his suspicions. It defied analysis; there was no reaction. Under all tests it was a stranger. The whole science that had been built up to explain everything had here explained nothing. However there was one thing that he had uncovered—heat. Perhaps I should say magnetism. It was cold to man. I have spoken about the icy blue of its colour. It was cold even to look at. The chemist placed it in my hand.
“Is it not so?”
It was. The minute it touched my palm I could sense the weird horror of the isolation; the stone was cold. Just like a piece of ice.
This was the first time I had ever had it in direct contact with the flesh. Set in the ring its impulse had always been secondary.
“You notice it? It is so with me. Now then. Just a minute.”
He pressed a button. A young lady answered his ring; she glanced first at myself and then at the chemist.
“Miss Mills, this is Mr. Wendel. He is the owner of the gem. Would you take it in your hand? And please tell Mr. Wendel how it feels—”
She laughed; she was a bit perplexed.
“I don't understand”—she turned to me—“we had the same dispute yesterday. See, Mr. White says that it's cold; but it is not. It is warm; almost burning. All the other girls think just as I do.”
“And all the men as I do,” averred the chemist, “even Mr. Wendel.”
“Is it cold to you?” she asked. “Really—”
It was a turn I hadn't looked for. It was akin to life—this relation to sex. Could it account for the strange isolation and the weariness? I was a witness to its potency. Watson! I could feel myself dragging under. I had just one question:
“Tell me, Miss Mills. Can you sense anything else; I mean beyond its temperature?”
She smiled a bit. “I don't know what you mean exactly. It is a beautiful stone. I would like to have it.”
“You think its possession would make you happy?”
Her eyes sparkled.
“Oh,” she exclaimed. “I know it would! I can feel it!”
It was so. Whatever there was in the bit of sapphirine blue, it had life. What was it? It had relation to sex. In the strict line of fact it was impossible.
When we were alone again I turned to the chemist.
“Is there anything more you uncovered? Did you see anything in the stone?”
He frowned. “No. Nothing else. This magnetism is the only thing. Is there anything more?”
Now I hadn't said anything about its one great quality. He hadn't stumbled across the image of the two men. I couldn't understand it. I didn't tell him. Perhaps I was wrong. Down inside me I sensed a subtle reason for secrecy. It is hard to explain. It was not perverseness; it was a finer distinction; perhaps it was the influence of the gem. I took it back to the jeweller again and had it reset.
XV. — AGAIN THE NERVINA
It was at this point that I began taking notes. There is something psychological to the Blind Spot, weird and touching on the spirit. I know not what it is; but I can feel it. It impinges on to life. I can sense the ecstasy of horror. I am not afraid. Whatever it is that is dragging me down, it is not evil. My sensations are not normal.
For the benefit of my successor, if there is to be one, I have made an elaborate detail of notes and comments. After all, the whole thing, when brought down to the end, must fall to the function of science. When Hobart arrives, whatever my fate, he will find a complete and comprehensive record of my sensations. I shall keep it up to the end. Such notes being dry and sometimes confusing I have purposely omitted them from this narrative. But there are some things that must be given to the world. I shall pick out the salient parts and give them chronologically.
Jerome stayed with me. Rather I should say he spent the nights with me. Most of the time he was on the elusive trail of the Rhamda. From the minute of our conversation with Kennedy he held to one conviction. He was positive of that chemist back in the nineties. He was certain of the Rhamda. Whatever the weirdness of his theory it would certainly bear investigation. When he was not on the trail over the city he was at work in the cellar. Here we worked together.
We dug up the concrete floor and did a bit of mining. I was interested in the formation.
From the words of Budge Kennedy the bit of jewel had been discovered at the original excavation. We found the blue clay that he spoke of, but nothing else. Jerome dissected every bit of earth carefully. We have spent many hours in that cellar.
But most of the time I was alone. When not too worn with the loneliness and weariness I worked at my notes. It has been a hard task from the beginning. Inertia, lack of energy! How much of our life is impulse! What is
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