I bought him the drink and he placed the stone in my hand. “Good luck, friend,” he said.
I smiled at him, feeling I had got the best out of the deal. “Tell me, please, if you can remember it, what was your last wish before deciding to give this stone up?”
“Oh, no problem there, sir, none at all. I wished I could find the sucker stupid enough to take the damn thing off my hands.”
It was at that moment that the door to the bar burst open and there was a virtual invasion of people. They were twined with colored ribbons, they carried balloons, they wore silly cardboard hats and they blew on idiotic tin trumpets. Obviously they were an overspill from a nearby party but they flooded the place and, in the crowd, I lost him.
He left me with the odd feeling that I had been cheated but I failed to see how. The cost of the bottle meant nothing to me and I had an interesting curio for my collection. There is no need to stress that I believed not a single word of this alleged magic. I must confess, however, that the stone was unique. It was not cold to the touch and it was not exactly warm, somehow it retained a curious neutrality between the two.
I will be honest; although dismissing these magic stories as rubbish, I fully intended to put them to the test. Maybe an old witch doctor, or whoever had made the damn thing, had pressed some hypnotic thoughts into it before letting it go. It was a theory which might account for my drunken friend’s belief in its powers.
I did see his moral argument; suddenly acquired wealth, it had to come from somewhere even if was from a madman’s imagination.
Twenty minutes later my chauffer was driving me home and my thoughts turned to some sort of test. Something simple, wholly personal but which did not impinge on other people. Hang on, you’re thinking as if there really was some truth in this rubbish.
Something simple, how about that thought which came to you earlier. You wondered where the damn thing came from, you ask the question and wish for an answer.
It had to be in private, I called my manservant, Palmer, and told him I was not to be disturbed under any circumstances. Then I settled down in my favorite chair and made my wish.
It might have been imagination but it seemed to me that the stone moved slightly in my hand. For a few seconds I was disoriented and then became conscious of a beating noise, close and around. Some of the beating was very heavy, almost thunderous, others faint and almost shrill.
I had the impression I was in a huge cavern, lit by a shimmering, green light. Somewhere there were people dancing. I could not see them but their distorted black shadows rose and fell on the cavern walls. Then, abruptly, the drumming and the dancing stopped and a heavy silence fell on everything, even the green light that became thick and murky.
There was a flash and a small sphere of dull green light appeared, in the center of which was the stone. Neither the flash or the sphere were spectacular but what came with them, was a rush of warm heated air which by itself would have been revolting. It stank. It stank of corruption and decay, of something festering and held close to the face.
Worse than this, however, but beyond description, was the feeling of absolute malevolence that made one want to run in terror.
Then, suddenly, I was back in my own room, sitting in my favorite chair. I cannot deny for one minute that I was frightened, terrified even.
I had to fight down something close to sheer panic by logic and rational thinking alone. My earlier assumptions had been right, of course, some old witch doctor or ancient adept had hypno-impressed the stone.
It was a wholly reasonable and logical explanation save, at the time, it failed to convince me. I was still terrified and the smell of decay seemed to cling to me and my very clothing.
I wanted to call up my private plane and get the pilot to fly far out over the ocean. There, from a great height, I would drop this diabolical ball into the deepest part of the ocean.
It was a logical save that I knew I couldn’t do it. In some odd and inexplicable way, I was bound to the bloody thing. The only way I could ever rid myself of it was on its own terms. I had to wish it away. I began to understand now why the drunk had called me a sucker.
It was not easy giving away or even trying to sell a round stone. Most people, lest caught off guard and in the right mood, as I had been, would steer well clear of the offer.
I was slowly regaining my nerve and logic was taking over from past terror. My first assumption had been correct, the experience had been impressed by some old witch doctor into the stone. Those people were still capable of arousing the primitive parts of the mind.
Within an hour I had almost fully convinced myself that the experience had been wholly subjective.
I called Palmer for a drink and, as usual, he was very quick. He poured my favorite concoction right beside me on the small vine tables. As he did so, he sniffed. “My God, Mr. Ventris, has something gone wrong with the air conditioning?”
His words made me go cold inside but I kept a grip on myself.
“No, not as far as I know, Palmer.”
“Sir, the smell! I have a very sensitive nose and I am not mistaken. It’s a veritable reek, sir.”
“Then, perhaps, it’s lucky that I have a slight head cold, Palmer.”
“I would agree there in full, sir. I will get on to the suppliers right away.”
When he had gone, it took a long time for my stomach to stop shivering and to warm up. I had imagined the whole experience to be subjective but this, clearly, was not the case.
In no way could anyone explain how Palmer could register my subjective experience.
Once again, I thought of dropping the damn thing into the depths of the ocean and knew, yet again, that I was hooked. I had to wish it away onto another unfortunate before I could rid myself of it. Worse, deep down, I was half fascinated by its possibilities — where would it lead?
There was another unpleasant factor also which I found out in the first few days — it would not let one alone. It prodded and pulled at the mind continually and demanded to be used.
There was no question of shutting it away some dark place and forgetting it.
I found myself beginning to search desperately for something to wish. It was not easy, a horrible experience like that last one must be avoided at all costs. Even apparently simple and innocuous wishes often adversely affected other people.
It was by pure chance that two news items almost handed me something on a platter. One of my business friends had been badly injured in an air crash. A second, while waiting for his car outside his club, had been mugged and badly beaten up.
The answer seemed obvious and safe. I wished to be protected.
I had thought about it for some hours and had gone into the idea thoroughly. I had remembered to be specific and I think I covered everything. I asked for protection against any conceivable type of accident, man-made or natural, murderers and maniacs, miscarriages of justice and the like. The most important of all to me, which I stressed, was protection against psychic attack.
I did not think I was making myself immune. I fully realized, in purely basic terms, I was the fumbling amateur competing against the professional but, at least, I was able to sleep more soundly.
The repercussions came five days later in the form of a uniformed detective and a constable.
“Mr. Ventris — Mr. Adrian Ventris?”
“Yes, yes — what can I do for you?”
They introduced themselves, then: “You have a thief-proof electronic fence surrounding your estate, sir?”
“Yes, yes, but the voltage is not lethal, deterrent only.”
“Yes, sir, that we already know. These men, however, had broken the circuit and had already cut through part of the steel barrier beyond. These were dangerous and ruthless men, sir, and both were heavily armed. It is unlikely, therefore, that any rival villains would have risked trying to take over.”