Title: The Frightful Ones
Author: Maples, Richard
Language: English
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               What does a boy do when he meets a danger
            from another world? Should he run for help--or
             fight bravely as he comes face to face with--

                          The Frightful Ones

                           By Richard Maples

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                             November 1954
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


Right then he was the scaredest he'd ever been in his life. Yet even as
he watched the spaceship turning within the glow of its flaring jets,
he kept thinking of his father's warning:

"A boy's duty, son, is to keep his eyes and ears open and to give the
alarm. We must be alerted ... or we're doomed."

It had been drummed into him ever since the landing and explosion of
the rockets. He'd been very little then and it was hard to understand.
But they'd explained it carefully--over and over again.

The rockets were a test. They'd been fired by beings on another planet.
Some day the beings themselves would come to invade.

He'd often thought about it--especially at night in bed. And he'd
dreamed about it, too. Horrible dreams. And now the dreams had come
true!

Trembling, he watched the silver hulk aim its jets at the ground and
begin to come down. It slipped past him with a roar. Its fires reddened
the hillside. It settled with a jarring thud. Then all was silence.

Edging forward, he peered down into the glen. The dust and smoke was
clearing and he could see most of the ship gleaming evilly in the
twilight....

Others, he thought, must have seen or heard the landing. Soon they'd
come to fight off the invaders. He'd be found, quivering with fear, and
branded a coward. He must do something....

A sudden metallic clanging made him jump. A light flicked on. He sucked
a deep breath. The beings!

They stood on a platform next to a trap-door. Three of them: squat,
fat, and silvery-white ... like the insects he often found under flat
rocks.

One held the light. The other two carried strange looking boxes. They
made their way down a ladder and began to set up the boxes on the
ground. This was his chance, he told himself. While they were busy, he
could climb to the top of the hill and escape down the other side.

But he'd only taken three steps when he stubbed his toe on a rock,
jarred it loose, and sent it pelting into the glen.

They hurried over to see what it was and he got a better look at them.
Their wrinkled skin hung from their bulgy bodies in thick folds. Insect
feelers waved over their humped backs. Flat expressionless faces
glittered in the light of their lamp.... He shuddered.

After they'd looked at the rock, two of them started climbing in the
direction from which it had rolled. The third stayed behind, beaming
the light to guide the way.

Cringing against the hill, he moved along the ledge to a point where it
curled past a jutting crag. On the other side of that he'd be hidden
from view and could make a run for it.

But as soon as he'd made it, he gasped, horror-stricken.... The vague
shadow of the ledge pinched inward till it became the gulfing black of
a sheer cliff. He was trapped!

His only hope now was the coming of the town people and he listened
for noises of their approach. But all he heard was the scuffle of two
beings cresting the ledge.

Was it possible that he alone knew of the landing? The town people
should have come by now.

As it was, a lot of lives depended on him. His father and mother, the
other kids, and all the people, too. He couldn't let them down!

The beam of light, moving along the ledge ahead of the two beings, now
touched the crag and spilled over to where he stood. Then, almost as
if Fate had taken charge again, his eyes were drawn to the gleam of a
sharp-edged rock....

He was gripping it, poised to strike, when the first of the beings came
around the bend.

Two things made him hesitate. First, size. The being was tiny--fully a
third shorter than himself.

Next, the way the being acted. It had stopped and raised its hand, palm
out, as if trying to make friends.

       *       *       *       *       *

It must be a trick, he told himself. Never had he heard the beings
spoken of as friends--only as vicious destroyers. He took a tighter
grip on the rock.

Now he noticed something that filled him with a new loathing. He'd been
wrong about their appearance. The sagging skin was really a bulky suit.
The big head a helmet. And back of the helmet's face he could see the
actual being. He felt like vomiting.

He bashed the rock against the faceplate. It webbed with a cluster of
tiny cracks. He struck again and again, until the helmet split open and
he was pulping the face itself to a reddish smear....

Suddenly a roaring filled his ears. His side was laced with terrible
pain. He reeled backward. Saw the second of the beings pointing at him
with something long and rodlike. He flipped the rock.

It caught the being in the chest and drove it over the side. He could
see it clawing the air all the way down to the glen.

There, the third being, with the light, took one look at the still
form, turned and raced madly for the ship.

Watching, he was overcome with a peculiar feeling of excitement. The
pain in his side had ebbed and he felt hot and feverish. He wanted to
do something--to act. Without thinking, he scurried down the hill and
took after the fleeing figure.

He caught it on the ladder, just below the trap-door, grabbed its leg,
and jerked. It plunged to the ground and hit with a crash. The light
blinked out.

Now he heard a thin grating noise. Above him the trap-door, dimly
outlined by a light from a cubbyhole beyond, had begun to move. He
swung himself to the platform, dove into the cubbyhole, and heard the
trap clang shut behind him.

Straight ahead was a short length of ladder and overhanging it a second
trap-door which had already begun to gape open. This, he guessed, was
some sort of air-lock--a way of getting in and out of the ship without
losing the built up pressure. It would account for the suits worn on
the outside.

The trap had swung wider and he could see two beings in suits getting
ready to come down. They probably were trying to help their buddies.

He got the first one as it started down the ladder with its back to
him. He just threw an arm around its helmet and pulled until he heard a
snap.

Then he went up the ladder to get at the second one. He hit it, watched
it spin across the chamber, crunch against the bulkhead, and collapse.

Now a third one darted away from a bank of levers and tried to reach
the spiral stairs, rising to the next level. It wore no suit and its
thin body made him think of some horrible creeping plant. He leapt for
it, clutched the skinny neck with one hand, and squeezed.

He rushed to the bank of levers, then, and pushed one after another
until he heard the scraping of the lower trap-door and the hiss of
escaping air.

When he climbed to the upper levels, all the beings were dead except
two. He found a short piece of metal and hit them both on the head.

And now his side had begun to ache and he felt bruised and shaky and
very weary. He must get back to town ... tell them what he'd done ...
bring them to look....

But he should take something back with him to prove the ship was there.
He noticed a bright piece of metal sunk into the bulkhead. It was
covered with symbols ... a sort of nameplate.

Grasping it with the thin, flat part of two hands, he braced himself
against the bulkhead with his other two hands and ripped it loose.

On the way back, he memorized the shape of the symbols. He might want
to draw them sometime to show off:

_Taggert Steel Company, Cleveland, Ohio, U.S.A._



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