Today is January 30th and I’m going to try and sneak in another blahg before the end of the month and no, before you ask, I have not finished writing “HOW ABOUT YOU, DELBERT ROBINSON?” I’ve stalled on that story but then again I’ve picked up on stories sometimes a year and half later or even ten years later. I’ll get there eventually. When I was driving to work today, I glanced at the temperature display and saw it was -21c and that converts to -5.8 Fahrenheit or, in other words, it’s damn cold out there. I don’t usually dream about warmer climates at this time of the year but I like to listen to some music that warms the soul. This blahg is going to offer up some music that always takes my mind off the cold. I hope it does it for you, too.
First, let me show you a video I filmed three days ago that shows you what it looks like in my neck of the woods:
I was also suffering from a headache that afternoon, which was worse the next day. I took the 28th off and slept and stayed warm. I was back at work yesterday and today and I’ll tell you it’s hard to get motivated when it’s this cold. In my bathroom, I have an old iPhone I’ve converted to a music player and listen to it when I’m showering and shaving in the morning. I keep everything on shuffle so you never know what you’re going to hear. This morning, in the rotation, I heard two great songs from Bing Crosby that made my mood better. One was from the album, “Bing With A Beat” that also featured the great Bob Scobey and his band. I mentioned this album in a blahg I did about Bob Scobey with the title WHAT ON EARTH IS SCOBEYFAN? I’m going to offer up two peppy songs from this great record. The first is “Last Night On The Back Porch.” It’s a swinger.
Another great song from this album that will get your feet tapping is “Mama Loves Papa:”
I mentioned that I heard two songs on my iPhone from Bing. The second was from the album “Fancy Meeting You Here” that he recorded with Rosemary Clooney. Here’s the title track:
Another great song from this album, and a rocker, is “You Came a Long Way from St. Louis”:
Both of these albums are available on CD and probably as digital purchases. Before I move off of Bing, I’ve been thinking about the song “June In January.” Oh, wouldn’t that be nice. Here’s a video someone posted of that song. Here’s the description: “Bing Crosby duets on “June in January” with…Bing Crosby in this clip from Here Is My Heart (1934). Bing also sings the song as the film’s opening number.”
I started to think about the topic of warming songs on my drive in this morning. One of the songs I thought of was “I Was Made For Sunny Days” by The Weepies. I used to hear this song a lot playing in the background when I was shopping at a local thrift store. I always found it infectious and would always sing along. Instead of offering the recorded version, I thought I would post a live version. Here are The Weepies (Deb Talan, Steve Tannen, Jon Flaugher) performing “I Was Made for Sunny Days” on a beautiful summer evening at the Britt Festival, Southern Oregon – August 23, 2011.
Of course, if I’m talking about The Weepies and songs to get you moving, I’d also have to offer up “Be My Thrill.” Later live versions of this song had The Weepies performing it as a slowed down ballad version. Both are wonderful but the original album version will get your blood pumping:
If you’ve read any of my previous blahgs (and if you haven’t then get going on that) then you’ll know I’m not a fan of most modern music. Now that The Weepies have divorced and broken up, I’ve turned to listening to Scott Mulvahill. I talked about seeing him live in Toronto and getting the picture below, taken with him. You can check that out in my blahg, ANOTHER CLASS ACT.
One of Scott M’s most infectious songs, to me, has to be “Joy.” The music video makes you want to sing along or dance along or something along…your choice.
I recently came across a version of this song that Scott actually performed on a January date. This is “Joy” from Paste Studio ATL – Atlanta, GA, on January 22, 2020:
Another song by Scott Mulvahill that I enjoy is from a video where he performed “Never Going Back Again” with the duo Striking Matches. I don’t know if it appears on an album anywhere but the video is a great distraction on a cold day.
Jumping back to some older music, I want to post something from a recent album I received as a late Christmas present. In a previous blahg, ANOTHER BAKER’S DOZEN MORE FOUND VINYL RECORDS I mentioned that I was hoping to acquire the album, “The Music Man Goes Dixieland” by Jimmy McPartland and his All Stars. Well, my wife ordered a copy for me for Christmas but it arrived later. Still, it’s a great record and I really enjoy Jimmy’s vocal on “Ya Got Trouble”:
The first track on the album is one of the jazziest songs. It’s “Seventy-Six Trombones.” Unfortunately I couldn’t find a video of just that song but there is a video on YouTube of the full album and I’ll link it below to start at that particular track (I hope):
I have also been listening to a lot of Pat Suzuki lately. I had a few songs on my iPhone already but I was recently reading about a 2018 release of the Complete Album Series that comprises all of the tracks from her four albums, “The Many Sides of Pat Suzuki,” “Miss Pony Tail,” “Pat Suzuki’s Broadway ’59,” and “Looking at You.” Here’s the information about the release: https://www.stagedoorrecords.com/patsuzuki.html. There are a couple of extra tracks from the Broadway Cast album of Flower Drum Song. There is also another CD release of Pat Suzuki Singles and Rarities. I really enjoy her singing and it’s hard to select a single favourite. “From This Moment On” from her first album, “The Many Sides of Pat Suzuki”, is well worth a listen.
If you want to see a live performance of Pat Suzuki, check her out on this 1958 Frank Sinatra Show clip. Again, it’s the full show but I’m trying to set the video start where she comes in.
I’m going to close out this blahg with something more modern, although the band I’m going to feature broke up in 2013. I’m a huge fan of the Canadian band Great Big Sea and they had some very lively songs. If you can’t warm up listening to one of their songs then you’re not listening close enough. The following video is for their song, “Shine.” One of the comments posted about the video sums it up: “Who can’t hear GBS sing without smiling?” Go ahead and smile!
The last video is also from Great Big Sea. It’s “When I Am King.” It’s an uplifting and positive song.
If you can’t smile after any of these songs then wait a few days until February 2nd and maybe the groundhog will have good news about spring. We live in hope!
I’m going to break my own record in this blahg. I posted the 2026 False Ducks New Year’s Day Video Ramble on January 1st of this year and I’m going to start unpacking it today. Last year, I posted the 2025 Ramble on January 2nd and then didn’t get around to breaking it down until March 13th. Well, I’m two months ahead of the game, being only January 11th today. It might take me a few days to get this finished and published but it should still be up officially in the same month as the 2026 ramble. Well, that’s enough of that ramble for now. Let’s get to it.
In case you didn’t view the 2026 False Ducks New Year’s Day Video Ramble, here it is:
Again, I should stress that it’s chocolate on my upper lip in the video and not a scab or some sort of post holidays sore. I watched the video again and made note of some things I mentioned in the Ramble and added some things I wanted to discuss but forgot about. Here’s my list of things I want to unpack:
Polar dip didn’t happen
Keys of hiram crenshaw
Pocket pal’s guide to murder
the soda machine
The private investigator of earth
The two and ten Christmas gift exchange
Delbert Robertson
William Morrison short stories sf
100 1939 films
Daryl Brock
Barbara Villy Cormack – Local Rag
Hans Conreid Book
Christmas tree launch
Fell out of the bathtub
Politics: Trump, Ford, Polievre, Carney
See the kids
Write more stories.
Mention Paul McCartney Concert
Renovations and photo of Zoey on new flooring
Expand my funkos
New funko sodas
Digging out inflatables
Let’s start with the Polar Dip that didn’t happen. We had 7 inches of snow New Year’s Eve. In the past when I’ve done the Dip, I’ve driven out to North Beach here in beautiful Prince Edward County. Unfortunately, North Beach is a day use only Provincial Park that is closed in the winter. We have to park on the road that leads to the entrance of the park, walk around the gate (low security because everyone does it) and then walk about half a kilometre out to the beach area. My wife didn’t want to walk through that half kilometre of snow so she suggested we go to the beach in Wellington, Ontario as we can drive right up to the beach front. I went swimming a few times there this year. Here’s a photo of me in the water on October 4th of last year:
Unfortunately that’s not how the beach and water looked on January 1st of this year. Here’s the video that show’s why the 2026 Polar Dip didn’t happen:
Oh well, I’ll try again in 2027.
I wrote 21 blahgs in 2025. It’s probably not a record for me but it was one more than 2024 when I wrote 20 blahgs. Sometimes the blahgs were a means to an end. If I had written a new short story, I would debut it in a blahg with the title of story and a little write-up. THE KEYS OF HIRAM CRENSHAW was one of those short story and short blahgs. Click on the link to read both.
I wrote another story in June of 2025. I thought it was an interesting premise and certainly something different for me. The story and the blahg had the title THE POCKET PAL’S GUIDE TO MURDER. Again, click the link to read it.
In April, before I wrote and posted “The Pocket Pal’s Guide To Murder,” I finally got around to finishing a short story I had started in July of 2023. It’s a full on science fiction story called, THE SODA MACHINE. I had set it aside for a year and a half and when I got back to it, I wasn’t sure where to start again. I threw this funny line in as a placeholder: “what Elvis would do” and then the words came and I kept the line. It also came around and helped me complete the end of the story.
“The Pocket Pal’s Guide To Murder” and “The Soda Machine” had science fiction tones to them. So did two stories, I wrote in 2024, HOW GRANDPA PUT DOWN THE ROBOT UPRISING and THE HOHNER COMET. We had been doing some renovations at home and I was downsizing my desk and the contents. I came across the first short science fiction story that I ever wrote, PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR OF EARTH. It’s not great but in the blahg, I post the story and how I let Chat GPT write a sequel to it. That’s all I’ll probably do with that story.
Every year, well at least since 2013, I have written a Christmas themed story. Most have been works of fiction but I think there was a Christmas observational piece in there somewhere. This past Christmas, I decided to write a fictional story based on our Christmas traditions at my home. It turned out well, THE TWO AND TEN…A CHRISTMAS GIFT EXCHANGE is a moving story and became my second last blahg of 2025.
The one blahg I didn’t get around to writing in 2025 was “How About You, Delbert Robinson.” It’s a short story that I have struggled to finish for the past few months. I know the ending but getting from the middle to there has been challenging. I hope to finish it this year and post a blahg with the completed story. I also discovered today that I started writing a short observational piece back in April of last year. I didn’t finish it either but I think I will try and get back to it. Here’s what I have written so far:
MY GREEK HISTORY
By
Scott Henderson
This is a history that I have left for myself. It’s all true or most of what I have remembered. Every now and then I pull out the memories and shake them up like a snow globe and watch this beautiful scene I’ve kept wrapped in a protective bubble. It’s nothing embarrassing but until now I have never felt it necessary to put this to paper.
Even now, this history is a like an archaeological site where you have to carefully peal back the layers to get at the true story underneath. My Greek history is almost forty years old and parts of it, the underlying layers, are even older than that.
I could begin with my first year of University but that part of the history will remain concealed. Let me summarize by saying I made some mistakes and had to move out of my University residence and drop down to part-time studies. That’s the only fossil that pieces together with the almost forty years story but it’s not the only part that has been buried in this account.
In my last year of University I moved back into residence and parts of this story begin to reveal themselves. When you’re a third year student and you move into a dormitory of sorts with people younger than you then you can draw on those previous experiences to guide you as a mature adult among the newbies. The problem was, I had no experience. I had, like this history, buried myself away and had no friends and no experiences. Academia had been my focus and the socialization aspect of higher education had eluded me. I felt something was missing and advocated to return to residence life. I had to really convince myself as much as I did the University. For two years, I had kept a low profile and that in itself was enough to convince the administration that I deserved a second chance.
This is where I take liberties and sift through minutiae and only gather the important bits. My studies get sorted and set aside. They are not important in this other than to say I did well in my courses and they were not a burden to the rest of this history. That socialization I spoke of, and specifically the lack of it, came more into play than the studies. I made friends. It’s as simple as that but a core piece of that is brought to the front. I made a girl friend.
The fact that I was an English studies major should challenge me to correct that statement that I made a girl friend. Indeed, she wasn’t manufactured. She wasn’t made up or fictionalized. She was a girl who became a friend and later…but I’m getting ahead of myself.
I’d like to jump forward in time and say that the non-constructed girl friend and I have been married for almost thirty-eight years. I don’t know why I say “almost thirty-eight years” as if there’s some doubt that we’ll achieve that goal but it’s easier to round up than down and it’s important to highlight the fact that we’re still together despite the summer of my Greek history. That, too, is getting ahead of myself.
Let’s summarize in an effort to get the important fragments into the light where they will have significance. I had dropped down to part-time studies in my first year, moved into residence again in my third year, made friends, and made a girl friend. That’s what falls out when you sieve through the totality.
The building I lived in during that third year had a first and second floor as well as an east side and a west side. I think in total, there were 25 students living throughout the building. Despite taking numerous English studies courses, I never got around to studying Rudyard Kipling or I might have been disheartened by his poem “The Ballad of East and West” containing the iconic phrase “East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet.” In my narrative East and West did meet however and the rest is history. Well, at least the rest is pre-history because I have yet to get the Greek history portion.
There were only two females on the first floor of the east building and five males. Of those, only one of the females ranks in this chronicle and four of the males, including myself, have any significance. Although I’d like to think I ranked more than enough significance.
Speaking of short stories, with a reference to ones that were not written by me, I made a concerted effort to read all 79 short science fiction stories written by the forgotten author, William Morrison. This was inspired by re-reading one of my all time favourite short science fiction stories, “The Sly Bungerhop.” I manged to pen four blahgs about my effort, THE SLY BUNGERHOP ET AL, WILLIAM MORRISON…HALF-WAY THERE, WILLIAM MORRISON AGAIN…NOT DONE YET, and WILLIAM MORRISON, THE FINAL 10…LET THE COUNTDOWN BEGIN! I still have some non-science fiction stories of his to read, mystery, detective, and western themed and a few others I haven’t tracked down. I highly recommend reading some of Morrison’s science fiction stories. Here’s a reprint of a biography of Morrison published in “Startling Stories” September 1942:
Another lofty goal I had set for myself last year was to watch 100 films from 1939. That year is considered one of the greatest in film history. Just look at a short list of films from that year:
Gone with the Wind Stagecoach The Wizard of Oz Wuthering Heights Mr. Smith Goes to Washington Goodbye, Mr. Chips Ninotchka Destry Rides Again The Hunchback of Notre Dame Dark Victory Young Mr. Lincoln Of Mice and Men The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes Babes in Arms Beau Geste
I didn’t watch all of those films but here’s the list I did get through, managing to get to 101:
Now, for books I read last year. I discovered that there was sequel to Darryl Brock’s 1990 novel, “If I Never Get Back”
The Wikipedia entry for this book is “in the novel, a modern-day San Francisco journalist named Sam Fowler steps off an Amtrak train and finds himself in 1869. He joins the Cincinnati Red Stockings baseball team, meets Mark Twain, and falls in love with a woman of the times.” It’s one of my favourite books and I reread it so I could read the sequel, “Two in the Field.“
It was a great read but the original is the best. I also discovered that Brock wrote another baseball themed story, “Havana Heat”
This book takes place in the early 1900s and is told from the viewpoint of a hearing impaired baseball player with connections to the New York Yankees. Great book. All three are definitely worth reading.
In the 2026 Ramble video I also mention two books on my list to read this year. I couldn’t remember the full author’s name and stumble trying to say Barbara Villy Cormack. The novel she wrote is called “Local Rag” and was published in 1951. It’s set in a small town in Alberta, Canada and is about a local newspaper and the comings and goings in the small town.
The other book I want to read this year is about the comic actor Hans Conreid.
I hope to get to them in the next few months.
Yesterday, January 10th, I got around to my annual Christmas Tree launch. I drag our annual tree down to the creek at the bottom of my yard and launch it and watch it float away. This year was a success:
I fell out of the bathtub. True story! Here’s what I wrote about it:
Here’s a cautionary tale for you.
Yesterday, I fell out of the shower and went ass over tea-kettle onto the floor. Still don’t know how it happened. I slipped somehow and went out the back side onto my backside.
We have a clawfoot tub with an oval shower surround so there’s shower curtains on both sides. Our tub goes across diagonally so there’s very little space behind the tub and up to the wall. You can look at the two photos below. Sometimes one of our cats likes to crap back there and we have to climb over into the space and clean it up. Yesterday, the shower curtain slowed me down but I fell into that small space on the other side of the tub with the shower curtain between me and the inevitable cat crap left by our cat. I was in lots of pain and screaming and yelling for Jeanette. She was asleep in another part of the house and couldn’t hear me.
I managed to wriggle out behind the back of the tub; all the while screaming my head off. I got out to the front side where my metal clothes hamper was sitting and started banging on that and eventually Jeanette heard that and came to my rescue. She helped me up and then helped clean the cat litter off me so I could get dressed and go to the hospital. I thought my neck was going to snap off and felt every bump on the way to Picton. Two rounds of X-rays in Picton and then sent to Belleville for a cat scan. Nothing broken but if they’d done a cat crap scan they might have found some on my side or back.
I had to wear a neck brace all day but 8 hours later, I was back at home without the brace. Advil and Blue Ice gel and I’m back to work today but my neck is still really sore. I can’t watch any tennis matches for a while.
What’s the lesson here? I don’t know. Don’t shower alone? I’m not going to admit getting old and needing grab bars. It was a fluke. I showered this morning and was fine but very cautious. I could have imagined what would have happened if I couldn’t get out from behind the tub and the paramedics had to come. I know they’d have taken pictures and posted it on their secret online site where they talk about what stupid humans get up to.
Here’s my memento photo of the event:
As I said in the Ramble, my wife still gets up when I get up so she can listen and hear if I’ve fallen again. That’s love for you.
I’ve decided to skip over the Politics section. The world’s crazy enough without adding my opinion, except I’ll re-post here something I posted on Facebook last April
As time went by, that changed. See, the Meisterburgers kinda died off and fell out of power. By and by the good people realized how silly the Meisterburger laws were. Well, everyone had a wonderful laugh and then forgot all about ’em.
All of our children, Emily, Noah, and Abbie as well as Emily’s husband Charlie and Noah’s girlfriend, Robin, were all down for Christmas. My goal is to see more of them. The issue is that they all live in Toronto so we only get together a handful of times during the year and video chat when we can. The other issue is that I didn’t take any photos of everybody when they were here over the holidays. I decided to scan our group chats and Facebook feeds to see if I could find various photos last year of the children either together or with me. Here’s what I found:
Emily and I when we attended one of her roller derby games on April 26, 2025:
Noah and I at the Nathaniel Rateliff concert in Toronto on March 21, 2025
Abbie and I at the Transformers TFCon on July 12, 2025:
On the same day that Abbie and I were at TFCon, Emily and Charlie went to see Superman:
Four days later, on July 16, 2025, Jeanette and I went to see Superman:
On September 26th, Emily and Abbie came in first at the pairs speed puzzle event they went to:
Separate photos of Noah and Robin opening their Christmas presents early in Toronto:
Hopefully, we’ll get some group family photos taken this year.
Write more stories. Haven’t I written enough? I know, I need to finish “HOW ABOUT YOU, DELBERT ROBINSON?” and there’s that “Odd Ducks” story from 25 years ago to finish. Give me time. I’ve got to finish this blahg first.
Mention Paul McCartney Concert. Oh year, I might have forgotten to mention that. On November 21, 2025 I drove down to Hamilton to the newly refurbished TD Coliseum to see Paul McCartney with Jeanette, Noah, and Robin. It was a fantastic concert. Here’s what I posted on my Facebook at the time:
Jeanette and I went to Hamilton last night and saw the greatest concert we’ve ever seen. Paul McCartney performed for two hours and fifty minutes and didn’t miss a beat. At one point a small stage rose in the air and he sang “Blackbird.” He came out for an encore waving a Canadian flag while members of the band waved the Union Jack and the pride flag. One of his encores was Mull of Kintyre with a Port Dover Scottish marching band joining him on stage. The guy is class and still has the chops. We went with our son Noah and his girlfriend Robin. We had an amazing time. The pyrotechnics on “Live and Let Die” were mind blowing!
Here’s the photo I posted at the time:
Noah had purchased the tickets but he couldn’t get 4 seats together so Jeanette and I had seats on the other side of the Coliseum. Here’s a photo I posted to our Family group chat asking “Where’s Waldo? In this case Robin and Noah.
Abbie posted back the reply, “Found Them.”
Here’s a photo of Jeanette and I at the concert:
On the way out of the concert, they were giving out the following poster:
Jeanette gave ours away to someone who didn’t get one but Noah and Robin got two so we ended up with one for ourselves. We had Noah and Robin’s poster framed for Christmas.
Someone has posted the entire concert on YouTube. It’s well worth watching:
In the Ramble, I also mentioned the renovations Jeanette and I did last year. I want to post two photos. The first shows what our 20 plus year old flooring in our living room looked like:
Here’s what it looked like after, and that’s our cat Zoey enjoying the sunshine.
We have no major renovations planned for this year but I do want to restain my deck and possibly change out our garage doors. That sounds like another blahg.
I’m going to combine two topics. This is all about my Funko collection. Here are some photos of some of my Funkos (certainly not all):
There’s also the Plastic Man soda that I posted above with the photo of the Plastic Man Funko Pop. I’ll try and post a more detailed blahg later this year showing off everything. 269 is quite a number.
Digging out my inflatables. I think there’s a shot of them in the Ramble video. They’re all out now. Here’s what they looked like before Christmas:
I might have to do some repairs on some but I’ve put them away until a warmer month. We hope to inflate them all again in June and July. I’ll post those pictures when we get around to it. Christmas in July!
That’s it, I think, for this Ramble Unpacking. I covered a great deal but I closed with the wish for World Peace. Maybe if everyone else decides to wish for it, we’ll finally get closer to making it happen.
It’s January 1st, 2026 and time for my 2026 False Ducks New Year’s Day Video Ramble. I recorded the ramble earlier today after I drove out to Wellington, Ontario to do a Polar Dip. That didn’t happen because I couldn’t get to the water. The first video shows the water and the ice ridges today in Wellington:
Here’s the 2026 video ramble. I will unpack it all in another blahg on another day. By the way, that’s chocolate on my upper lip. No resolution to give that up!
Ho, Ho, Ho Good Neighbours, I’m back with another quick blahg before Christmas. I know I said I probably wouldn’t get around to one but I had an idea yesterday and instead of letting that idea die of loneliness, I’m acting on it. In my previous blahg, THE TWO AND TEN…A CHRISTMAS GIFT EXCHANGE, I presented my newest short story that is also the title of the blahg. In this current blahg, I decided to revisit some old Christmas poems that I have written over the years. Many of these are over 30 years old. Others are bizarre, I have to admit, but I’ll present them as written. In between, I’ll post some pictures of our Christmas decorations this year.
First up is a poem I wrote on December 4, 1985. I was playing around a lot with style and indentations back then. I’ll present it as written:
CHRISTMAS IN ATLANTIC CITY
Craps! – You lose!
I’ve never been
to Atlantic City;
never been
to Vegas;
never seen
the big names in lights
but
I’ve woken on Christmas day
and found what I’ve needed
dancing on our tree
That last line speaks of a Christmas Tree. Below are two pictures of our tree this year. The first has the starburst tree topper and the second has the newly purchased star that is the exact same as one we used to have:
This next poem was published on December 20, 1985. Again, I was experimenting with margins and design. Make your own conjecture what the symbolism and meaning was of the poem:
CHRISTMAS IN THE ASYLUM
They’ve gone out
and pulled down
the Christmas Star –
–said they wanted to know…
needed to know—
–and so it’s all empty up there now.
They’ve gone about
and messed it all up
and so the whole day’s ruined
but they contend
the Star had nothing to do with it.
Christmas is a lot more
than that old satellite
and we’ll all find out
as soon as they’re finished tossing away
the wrapping;
we’ll find out
and admit to ourselves
the gift is still there inside
and we don’t really mind
getting the same thing
every year…
but we wish we knew how
to use it.
The reference to the star prompts me to post a picture of our tree in 2020 when our old five pointed star was stilled nestled at the top:
The next Christmas poem, was actually featured in a blahg I published on December 1, 2011 with the title, DAVID LETTERMAN BROKE MY COOKIE. The poem was originally written on December 3, 1986 and deserves a reprint.
dear Santa
I was maybe nine
when my parents
up and told me
there’s no Santa Claus
and I suspected
at the time
that they weren’t
bein’ truthful ‘bout that
but now
I’m pretty sure
they were
mistaken
‘cause I saw old Nick
the other day
at the mall
and I can’t help wonderin’
if he knows
parents are tryin’
to suppress
his existence
all over
and why is that?
what have parents got
against Santa?
ya know it just might be
that Nick’s too powerful
fer the average parent
‘cause all year long
moms and dads
try to discipline
their kids
without success
but ya mention
Santa
anywhere near Christmas
and control is
immediately established
and maybe that’s it!
maybe parents
get their egos bruised
by the idea
of some
white bearded old goat
havin’ more clout
than them
and maybe that’s why
after eight or nine years
the kids are told
this lie
about St. Nicholas
bein’ a myth
so’s parents can say
“LISTEN UP,
WE’RE THE BOSS.
THERE’S NO SANTA
JUST US
AND YOU EITHER
LIKE IT
OR LUMP IT!”
but I’m not sayin’
I disagree with
this method
‘cause at some point
ya gotta outgrow
the need for Santa Claus
and ya gotta depend
on the family
and what they can do
fer ya
and ya’ll be
a better person
more rounded
not in the gut
like Santa
but in yer outlook
sure, the method’s okay
but what if
ya reversed the order
and said right off
right at birth
“KID YOU’RE GONNA HEAR A LOT
ABOUT THIS
SANTA CLAUS
BUT DON’T BELIEVE IT.
WE’RE THE ONES
YOU HAVE TO RESPECT.
WE’RE THE ONES
WHO ARE
LOOKING OUT FOR YOU.”
and maybe later
when the kids are older
and have lost
all faith
in mankind
and have given up
on anything magical
ya set ‘em straight
‘bout Nick
ya tell ‘em
ya lied
and there really is
this St. Nicholas guy
and he’s alright
and as long as
they believe in him
they’ll be alright too
and wouldn’t it be easier
that way?
wouldn’t it be nicer
to know
ya haven’t ruined
yer kid’s entire life?
sure tell ‘em ‘bout Santa
and they’ll pass the word
and they’ll believe
and behave
and ya’ll have
no more problems
in discipline
if ya use Nick’s name
‘cept maybe ‘round Easter
when his moniker
brings no pull
whatsoever
I guess, because there was a reference to Santa, I can post some of my yard decorations that feature many Santas:
The following poem was also written in 1986, on December 23rd:
about Xmas
now I don’t expect
ya’ll get the meaning
of that
till sometime
in mid-july
and ya’ll be sittin’
in the cab
of a half ton truck
stopped at a railroad crossin’
and ya’ll look up
at that big X-sign
and ya’ll remember
mid-december
in yer winter parka
at the Kmart checkout
behind someone searchin’
through her purse
fer the correct change
I have no symbolic pictures to go along with that one but at least you know now why it’s called Xmas. Let me post a picture of my mantel ornaments display instead. Click on any of the pictures in this blahg to get a bigger view and to zoom in.
Six years would pass before I would write another Christmas poem. This one was penned on December 21, 1992:
A Christmas entertainment
in da few days before Christmas I realize
dere’s a soft front tire
(on my wife’s car)
dat a book store’s not da place
fer last minute shoppers
with alphabetized sections not
dat holidays aren’t holly days
‘cause da nurseries are out
dat ‘tis da season of Xmas spirit
is full of mean spirited
‘cept da older lady
who whispered “jewellery counter”
in my ear
at da end of a thirty person ‘cash only’ line
in Kmart
I guess I really liked Kmart back then because it gets referenced twice. Here’s my last photo I’ll post for Christmas this year. Here are all of our Nutcrackers (although I think I’ve added at least one more since this photo was taken):
My Christmas poetry output definitely slowed down as I entered the 1990s. The last holiday themed poem was written December 20, 1995. Jeanette and I had been married eight years and we had two children by Christmas 1995. I guess I was busy with other things. That was definitely the inspiration for this poem
the miracle
I don’t believe the birth was the miracle
rather the extension of family
from couple to couple plus
might be the cause for celebration
wrapped in swaddling
dressed in disposable
indispensable
indisputable
those wise men
giving council perhaps
this is how you were
this is how you will be
no more you and him or you and her
now mother and father ad infinitum
this christmastide now reviewing the nativity
and casting credence to a bearded man
who might be a throwback to the magi
I wonder if mary and joseph had only known
they might have taken more time for themselves
en route to bethlehem
I thought that would be the last poem but I decided to write a new one, today, December 22, 2025.
this one day
this one day
not twelve
comes
like a freight train
or a sleigh ride
in keeping with the season
softly creeping
or ever-present
until ‘what Christmas, already?’
utters the inevitability
decorated with glitter and tinsel
adorned with words not heard at other times
yule, nativity, frankincense and myrrh,
Scrooge, Grinch, Santa
pick your embodiment
yet there’s something else
good will
good intentions
glad tidings
a wrapping for the masses
this one day
crammed with holy holy holy
or holly holly holly
jingling over a blanket of white
or green in different hemispheres
welcomes most
invites the least
celebrates with feast
this one day
no sharper or gentler than others
is gone too soon
with all the potential
leaving hopes or dashed dreams
but anticipation of better days
for another day
one more day
if not once again
this one day
Have I still got it or what? That’s my self-inflation for today. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year if you celebrate it. If not, take it in the spirit it’s offered.
Well, it’s December 20th, 2025 and I might not write another blahg before Christmas. I guess I better make this one count. I’m going to debut a new Christmas short story. It has the distinct title of “THE TWO AND TEN…A CHRISTMAS GIFT EXCHANGE.” I think I did a good job with it but then I’m biased.
This story relies heavily on some real traditions and real items in my house or events that have happened over recent Christmas or some when my children were younger. None of the conflict with the Father and his Brother are based on fact but we really do have a two and ten Christmas gift exchange in our house. We draw names twice. The first person selected, you purchase a gift up to a value of two dollars. Of course that amount has risen to five dollars this Christmas. The second amount is no more than ten dollars. You can’t draw yourself and you can’t draw the same name for both the two and ten.
Other items mentioned in the story rely on real events. The following five pointed star was our tree topper up to a few years ago when it failed and couldn’t be repaired:
It was replaced by a eight pointed starburst version which is nice but wasn’t the same:
Recently I found the exact same five pointed store at a thrift store and it was in the original box. Here it is now, atop our tree:
Other items incorporated in my story include our mantel display. Here’s our 2025 Christmas mantel Christmas display and if you zoom in you can see some of the unique items:
One of the favourite items also mentioned are the carolling bears atop a book:
A second mention goes to the naked Santa:
Again, even though there are some real elements in my story, it is not reflective other real events. Here’s the story, enjoy!
THE TWO AND TEN…A CHRISTMAS GIFT EXCHANGE
BY
SCOTT HENDERSON
Truth be told, it didn’t start out as two and ten. In fact, it could have been one and done in the beginning but there was no second amount back then so one stood alone. Lately, however, it had risen to five and a second amount of fifteen or what the son had conjectured that the market could bear.
It was a family gift exchange and the two and ten referred to the dollar amount each person was allowed to spend on the family member whose name they randomly selected in the draw. By the end of October the selections would be made and a corresponding list was pinned to the refrigerator. By early December everyone had forgotten for whom they were to have purchased a five dollar gift and who was the secondary at fifteen. The list would be referred to and poked at and smudged by fingerprints until the presents were all purchased and wrapped; with the list eventually recycled.
Dad always claimed it was based on a family custom but there was little fact in the legend. Dad had said when he was younger, he didn’t have the wherewithal to buy his brother a gift but one Christmas he found a quarter and turned it over to his brother with nothing expected in return. Lore had it that the brother was so touched he gave his younger sibling a baseball card which would have been worth forty-eight dollars today if dad hadn’t mislaid it over the years. Father sometimes also offered a different version of the story. Yes, he had found a quarter but it had belonged to his brother and he had had no intention of giving it up. Forced by his parents to return it, he did so reluctantly; all the while vowing and plotting his revenge. The brother immediately bought himself a package of hockey cards and quickly consumed the solitary gum in the pack lest he be forced to share. Father, even more incensed by the lost opportunity of sharing in the gum than the loss of the rightful finders-keepers-losers-weepers quarter eventually got even. In the spring, he liberated one of the cards from the pack and attached it to a spoke in the rear wheel of his bicycle with a clothes pin and rode around the neighbourhood until he could no longer hear the clacking sound. The card was lost for all time and the legend grew of a rookie card worth several hundred dollars floating among the sewers, devoured by a stray canine, or mulched among the leaves by a gas powered mower. One and done.
Father carried the spirit of the exchange forward with his own children. He couldn’t remember how old they were when the practice started anew. He remembered well, however, that none of his three children, when they were younger, ever really had much pocket money so the parents were often called upon to bankroll the two and ten. Mom and Dad both found it oddly strange to subsidize their own gifts when either of the two daughters or the son drew their parents’ names. Father also recalled walking through thrift stores with the children and pointing out items he thought were suitable ideas for the exchange. He’d often had to put on a very surprised face when he was one of the recipients of an article he himself had pointed out days or weeks earlier.
The girls were always thoughtful with their time and gifts; even if they had needed financial support when they were younger. The son needed a little more coaching. Father remembered once pointing out to the lad a ceramic ornament in a second hand shop of three small bears caroling while balanced atop a stack of books. He commented how nice it would look seated atop their mantel. He wasn’t surprised when the son immediately asked for the loan of two dollars and the decoration found itself wrapped beneath the tree. The item had only cost half of that which Father had spotted his son and the boy might have pocketed the difference. Still, Father, observed later, it was the thought that counted.
Sometimes the son could be full of other surprises. Father would often comment about a book he’d like to read or an album he’d like to own and then be pleasantly stunned to receive it labeled from the boy to him. He often thought that Mother had lent a hand on those occasions but it was Christmas and he preferred to give his son the credit.
The mantel items grew through the gift exchange every year and annually the process of cleaning off the yearlong items from above the fireplace, and replacing them with Christmas themed notions, lengthened. Soon there wasn’t a space left. That didn’t stop the items from coming and older curios removed to make room for new ones.
Father also loved nutcrackers and these ranged in size from the handheld versions to ones that dwarfed two feet or more. The whole family indulged him and they spent the whole year looking for unique nutcrackers to add to the collection. Ones purchased after the holiday season would sit atop a book shelf in the living room and then be added to the main assortment the following Christmas. It wasn’t uncommon to spot seven or eight new figures grouped together even in the middle of summer. By the following Christmas there would be another dozen and a half new acquisitions. The mantel soon became a nutcracker free zone as the collection grew and they required relocating in another part of the living room. Father built a special shelf to house them all but this too, like the mantel, required adjustments and additions to the shelving to accommodate the growth of the nutcracker family.
Not all of the nutcrackers were new and some had suffered damages even before they found their new home. There was a pirate version that was missing his eye-patch. A couple had lost their swords or walking sticks while others were missing their beards, appendages, or other items they once held in their hands. There was one missing a hat and another a boot. Father would joke about these and talk about the nutcracker wars and how these veterans had not made it through unscathed.
The mantel menagerie continued to grow as well. There were more than a hundred items crammed across the ledge above the hearth. There were numerous Santas and snowmen. There was a trio of ice-skating penguins. Christmas trees festooned with colored lights and trifles were surrounded by angels and other holiday themed characters. There were cats and dogs and birds and polar bears and reindeer and other sundry animals in festive costumes or holiday scenes.
“Why are there no Christmas monkeys?” Dad would ask every year when they worked to put up the display. He would often add “this mantel is getting too full. It needs another tier. Is there such a thing as a bunk mantel? You know, like bunk beds?” He was the only one who would laugh at this joke.
Front and center was always the little caroling bears ornament given by the son years before. It was a favourite of Father’s as was the comical trinket that stood next to it. The youngest daughter had gifted Father a ceramic outdoor shower with a door that swung open to reveal Santa in the altogether with only a stocking strategically placed to cover Santa’s nether-region. The youngest daughter had a wry sense of humour when it suited her.
On Christmas Eve there was always a fire in the grate. Mother would turn off all of the lights except those dancing on the tree. The family would stand back and look over the mantel display and enjoy the warmth of the room. Usually one of the daughters would rearrange certain items to bring forward a favoured treasure. Father would smile and watch and then think to himself that huge delights came in small wonders.
The family would inevitably turn and take in the Christmas tree. A real one always stood in the corner. Father did not believe in artificial replacements. In addition to the lights it would always be decked from top to bottom in items of various sizes and array. Old baked dough ornaments, crudely hand-painted by younger hands, nestled in the tree. Newer decorations lurked behind valued items. Some of these had been gifts for the two dollar amount before it gave way to the new five dollar base expense. Wrapped around the entire fir tree was a string of gold garland that had been patched and lengthened over the years. Splices were strategically hidden by balls and baubles and, in one particular spot, by the figure of a robin who Father quipped refused to fly south for the winter.
Above everything perched the star. For Mother, it was the one thing that cast a shadow on all their Christmas traditions. Gone was the original five pointed version, purchased many years before she and Father had expanded their family. It had been supplanted by a newer starburst design. It was beautiful but not the same. The cherished heirloom had burned out and Father could not repair it. The wiring had become faulty with age and even the plastic peg that held it to the tip had become brittle and broken. For the last two years of its life it had been held aloft by a green hair clip.
When the children were younger, after viewing the mantel arrangement and the tree in turn, they’d ask Father to tell them the tale of the nutcracker wars and the myth of the original gift exchange with his brother.
The story of the nutcracker wars had grown over time and Father would delight in grabbing up some of the figures in turn and moving their mechanisms while he voiced their opinions.
“I don’t know how it started,” one black bearded character would begin, “but I know it was the fault of the white beards.”
“It all had to do with the dark beards,” a white beard would counter.
Different crackers were swapped out and different parts of the story were carried on with Father bringing in accents and modulated voices to embellish the mythology. Representatives of the injured class would speak of how they lost limbs or accessories.
“I miss my arm,” one would recall. “I lost it in a sword fight to a beardless trooper with a gold crown. I thought he was taking on airs and so I challenged him to a duel.” There was a beardless crown adorned soldier in the collection that would be called upon to comment but would always feign off by stating “I have no recollection of the event.” There was never an explanation on how he lost his beard.
The fable of the original gift exchange and the loss of the sports card was a more difficult saga for Father to recount. He had not spoken to his brother in some time and the memory of their youth was too painful now to try and spin into a Christmas convention. Father preferred to expand on the nutcracker wars and would beg off expounding on his family drama until the children stopped asking about it. Eventually both parables ceased to be requested by the children as they aged.
Father and the Uncle had become estranged since the death of the children’s Grandfather. Old hatreds loomed and bitterness festered between the brothers after their own Father’s passing. Responsibility for their Mother didn’t seem to be equally shared. The Uncle, being the oldest, didn’t feel the obligation. He wasn’t a family man. He’d never married and he didn’t have children. He deferred to his younger sibling saying he was obviously better qualified. Gradually the need to exchange pleasantries dwindled to no contact whatsoever. There were no calls or cards or letters. The elder took a job and moved further away. His distance became another excuse for commitment to his surviving parent. Father heard news of him occasionally from his Mother. He struggled to give proper interest to his brother’s doings. His Mother didn’t interfere but Father knew it hurt her nonetheless to see the remoteness between her sons.
It was his own son who asked this Christmas for the retelling of the original gift exchange. The request was unexpected. Father was taken aback. His first reaction was to respond in the fashion of the crowned beardless nutcracker and reply that “I have no recollection of the event.” Instead, Father looked thoughtful and then began to speak.
“Let me tell you the story of the first gift exchange. It took place a long time ago, long before even the nutcracker wars. Three kings, crowned but bearded, followed a star to Bethlehem. They took with them precious gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. There was no value implied. In fact, it wasn’t much of a trade because the kings expected nothing in return. They sought only to worship the child born in a manger but were rewarded with a profound feeling of peace, love and understanding. The exchange had been fulfilled.”
Father looked around. Mother had tears in her eyes. The children were speechless. If any of them thought he had deliberately avoided telling of the alleged tradition with his brother then none felt it necessary to speak up.
Uncomfortable with the sudden quiet, Father decided to bring everything back to the present.
“Who’s ready for the two and ten?” Father asked.
“The five and fifteen, you mean,” the eldest daughter said.
“Or whatever,” the son chimed in. Father didn’t offer his own correction to the son’s thoughts. He was still pondering on the son’s odd request for the retelling of the family gift exchange.
Christmas Eve was always reserved for the gifting of the denomination presents. If someone was satisfied with their bounty it sent them to bed with pleasant dreams. If displeasure was felt, it left hope for better offerings to be received in the morning.
This night there was no disappointment. All of the gifts had registered appreciation and delight in every member of his family. Maybe it was truly felt or maybe the impact of Father’s retelling of the gifts of the magi had made everyone think twice about even displaying dissatisfaction.
Father, himself, had cheated this year when it came to the gift exchange. He had drawn his youngest daughter’s name but had swapped with his eldest daughter when the list revealed she had drawn her Mother. It still gave time for the older sister to find something suitable for her younger counterpart.
“I drew Mother,” Father exclaimed in turn after all the others had received their five dollar gift. The opening always worked from youngest to oldest when it came to the lower amount and then reversed order for the slightly more expensive. Father cast a knowing eye in the direction of his first born. He had had to let her in on the secret in order to make the trade.
Motherly gingerly unwrapped her gift. When finished, she stared intently at the contents and began to weep. Here was the five pointed star in its original box.
“How?” was all she could say through her tears.
Father told of his second-hand store find. He had walked alone among the Christmas shelves, looking to add to his nutcracker ensemble, when he spotted the star tucked behind a row of holiday themed mugs. The fact that it was still in its original box made it all the more special.
Mother silently detached the star from its case and handed it to Father. He removed the starburst version and placed the original, but newly acquired one on top of the tree and plugged it in. He had made sure it lit properly before he had made his purchase. It didn’t shine any brighter than the starburst variety but it seemed to fill the room with an indefinable brilliance.
“Can I have the starburst one?” the oldest asked. “I’ve gotten used to it. I’d like to have it for my own tree when I move out someday.”
Father retrieved a towel and gently wrapped the topper and placed it in cardboard box. He taped it closed and wrote “starburst” across the lid and the name of his daughter underneath. He did not look forward to his daughter leaving the nest one day but he’d safeguard the star for her against the inevitability.
Father’s five dollar gift was a ceramic monkey gifted to him by his youngest daughter. It wore a red Santa Claus coat and held out ceramic cymbals.
“I made it during our pottery segment in art class. My costs were the paints and a new brush. It’s your Christmas Monkey!” She beamed with pride.
Father chuckled and then hugged his daughter. He went to the mantel and pushed apart the caroling bears and the showering Santa. The Christmas Monkey would forever be front and center.
“It looks like we’re going to need a bunk mantel,” the son observed. Everyone laughed.
It was Father’s turn again to receive a present as the order was reversing again for the ten dollar gifts. The son plucked one from under the tree and handed it to his parent.
Father made a big deal of feeling the wrapping all over. It was flat and thin and hard when tapped on what he perceived to be the front.
“I’ll bet it’s a basketball,” he mused. The son just stood pensive and waited for his Father to open the present.
The wrapping came away easily and revealed an old photo. It had been digitally enhanced and enlarged and the colours were more vibrant. It was a picture of Father and his brother from younger days.
Before Father could find the words to ask about it, the son spoke up.
“Grandma let me go through all of her old photo albums and other things in her attic. This one was actually found at the bottom of a box of Christmas decorations she had pulled out. She couldn’t explain how it had gotten there.”
Father knew. In fact, it was from an old Polaroid taken on a long ago Christmas morning when Father was nine and his brother, eleven. That year they had both received matching plastic torpedo run sleds. Brother’s had been blue and the other was black. They had gone out that holiday afternoon and tobogganed until it was dark outside. They both had completely missed Christmas dinner. Their Dad had given them a stern look on their return but their Mother had understood and kept their plates warm in the oven. Boys would be boys.
Their Mother had taken the photo in the morning and had placed it among the Christmas tree branches. It had been taken down with the decorations after New Year’s and languished all these years. Father hadn’t seen it since. The picture may have been long forgotten but the memory of the yule sledding still resonated.
Father looked up to see his own son’s face. There was worry or confusion in the boy’s look.
“Wrong?” was all the son could think to ask.
“Absolutely not,” was Father’s short reply. He felt like Mother after she had opened the five pointed star. He didn’t weep but his eyes were moist and he lowered his head to look at the photo again.
His male offspring had put a great deal of time and effort to make the two brothers from the snapshot look like they’d just had their photo take that morning. The son had not chosen an inexpensive frame either. If Father could have squeezed it up on the mantel next to the ceramic Christmas monkey he surely would have tried. Instead he held it tightly with white knuckles and vowed to put it above the fireplace after Christmas with the other pictures and items that had been removed to make place for the holiday display.
The rest of the family opened their gifts. Father stared intently at his younger self and his now estranged brother. How could two close members of a family have drifted so far apart? He thought on that for the rest of the evening. He lay awake long in the night ruminating on the question. In the morning he still continued to ponder the issue.
After the Christmas day gifts had been opened and the festive brunch had finished, Father slipped away quietly and made two telephone calls.
The first was to his Mother to confirm that Christmas dinner was at two and he would drive over and pick her up at one. That way she’d have time to visit with the children. He told her about the photograph. She knew what was on his mind and was forthcoming with her other son’s number.
Father’s second phone call in private was to his brother. It was all kinds of awkward but the memory of the Christmas sleds urged him on. It became easier and the reminiscence of that all day toboggan ride was only one of the memories they shared.
Brother was in a relationship now. He was dating a woman with two sons of her own. He’d like to bring her and come for a visit in the New Year. Father said he’d like that. Old prejudices stayed buried. Brother provided his new address. Maybe Father and his brood could make it that way sometime? Father said he’d see.
Later when he picked up his Mother, Father helped her into his car and told her about the phone call to her other son. Mother patted him on the head and smiled. He was nine again and all was forgiven. This time he was keeping her dinner warm in the oven.
That evening, Father slipped away again. He closed his bedroom door and rooted out an old tin box from under the bed. Inside were many objects he once held special and dear.
There was the yo-yo he always longed to dominate. Beside that was a Hohner Comet harmonica one of the children had gifted him once on a Father’s Day. That, too, he still hoped to master. There were other things tossed loosely in the box, along with a handful of change of different denominations. Every coin was something he once thought important for some reason or other. Now, he couldn’t recall why.
At the very bottom of the box lay a single article wrapped in aluminum foil. It was the hockey card he had liberated from his brother’s pack. That part of the legend was true but he’d never attached it to his bicycle. He’d used a playing card instead. The card had been held and treasured by Father. The image of the player was not familiar. He only recognized the name of the team. It probably held no value…except to him.
Father gently removed the card and took it to the kitchen table. There were some unused festive cards in a box on top of the refrigerator. He wrote one out to his brother and wished him a Merry Christmas and then signed his name. He enclosed the card and then scribbled his sibling’s new address on the envelope. Two days later he took it to the post-office and dispatched it on.
Early in January, Father received a reply. The holiday card inside was from his brother. He had scratched out Merry Christmas and penned in Happy New Year. He’d signed it with love. Enclosed was a quarter. Father eventually placed the coin in his metal box. He’d always remember where this one came from and why he kept it.
Well, it’s done! In case you don’t know or haven’t been following along, I had committed to reading all 79 short science fiction stories of the virtually forgotten author, William Morrison. I started talking about this in a previous blahg, THE SLY BUNGERHOP ET AL, and provided updates in the subsequent blahgs WILLIAM MORRISON…HALF-WAY THERE and WILLIAM MORRISON AGAIN…NOT DONE YET. At the end of that last blahg, I had reached the 69 out of 79 mark with ten to go. With only ten left, I thought it would be clever to do a countdown for that last 10.
First, let me recap what stories I had left:
Unwelcomed Visitor, If, October 1954
Music of the Sphere, Fantasy and Science Fiction, October 1954
The Ardent Soul, The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, December 1954
The Hollywood Habit, Fantastic Universe, April 1955
Hiding Place, Fantastic Universe, June 1955
Picture Bride, Galaxy, June 1955
Spoken For, Galaxy, July 1955
The Head Hunters (with Frederik Pohl), Fantastic Universe, January 1956
Star Slugger, The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, June 1956
Stepping Stone, The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, December 1957
This batch of stories are full of the Morrison humour and some of that borders on the dark side. One of the stories also appears to be out of place. As a reminder, I started reading in alphabetical order before switching to chronological order. The very last published William Morrison short science fiction story was “A Feast of Demons” published in Galaxy magazine in March of 1958 but I read that earlier on. The final 10 were published, as you can see, from October 1954 to December 1957. Let’s get into it.
#10) Unwelcomed Visitor, If, October 1954. This is a fun story. An alien comes to Earth and no one pays him any attention. He eventually learns that with books, radio, television, and movies, the citizens of Earth have seen it all when it comes to stories of visitors from outer-space so when it finally happens, no one is surprised!
9) Music of the Sphere, Fantasy and Science Fiction, October 1954. A scientist comes back to Earth after spending two years in isolation on an asteroid. When he comes back, everyone he encounters is caught up a contest to see who can play a strange tune. It drives the scientist nuts and he has to find out what’s behind it all. It was an interesting premise but it lacked humour and I think that would have put this one over the top.
8) The Ardent Soul, The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, December 1954. If “Music of the Sphere” was missing the Morrison humour then “The Ardent Soul” makes up for it. It’s an updated Cinderella story where the main character, a male, is a descendant of St. George of the St. George and the Dragon fame. Yes, there’s a twist of there being a step-father and step-brothers in this story. What did our hero inherit from St. George? Or did he inherit it from the Dragon? This was a very funny read and the story title got a mention on the cover.
7) The Hollywood Habit, Fantastic Universe, April 1955. This was a very short story, running about five and half pages. Yes there’s humour but there’s a tinge of darkness to this one. A Hollywood actor keeps going through wives until someone discovers maybe each wife is not different but a variation of the first wife. What happens when the newest wife catches on? What’s her revenge?
6) Hiding Place, Fantastic Universe, June 1955. A Chemist turned Detective has to find out where a scientist has hidden a secret formula. Once he finds the location, what’s he to do with it then? Not a humorous story but a moral laced one that reads well.
5) Picture Bride, Galaxy, June 1955. A man says he’s in love with a woman on his television screen. The thing is, she’s real and lives in the distant future. What’s a guy to do? Interesting premise and a good read.
4) Spoken For, Galaxy, July 1955. This one is similar to “Picture Bride.” Both are sweet stories that make for interesting reading. On one of Jupiter’s moons a woman discovers a man searching for his family. She becomes enamoured of him but can she really help someone who has woken up in a distant future and doesn’t realize his family is long gone?
3) The Head Hunters (with Frederik Pohl), Fantastic Universe, January 1956. This is a rough and tumble story on the dark side. Again, no humour in this one. A male and female scientist try to escape the murderous wrath of a second male scientist on a remote planetoid. They’re not alone because there are worker robots. What happens when the robots are taught that the evil scientist is defective? What do you do with a defective robot after all? Again, another darker tale. William Morrison co-authored this one with Frederik Pohl.
2) Star Slugger, The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, June 1956. This is a story that I found out of place…or maybe out of time. It is suited more to an early or mid-1940s type of story. A group of Earth baseball players have to find a way to win a game against another team when they play on Mars. Interesting but suited to an earlier decade.
1) Stepping Stone, The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, December 1957. This is another story that William Morrison co-wrote with Frederik Pohl. What an interesting story to finish off with as the last William Morrison short science fiction story I had to read. I don’t know if this a parody or mockery of Nazi takeover from the 1940s. An alien comes to earth and proclaims himself the new Viceroy. A Chemist, nagged by his wife, has to work in the new order and try to work his way up the ranks. He eventually finds a way to take down the Viceroy. Mild humour but it definitely makes you think what some European countries had to do under the oppressive thumb of Hitler. The story also got a mention on the cover but the cover art is not representative of this story.
That’s it. I have read all 79 short science fiction stories by William Morrison. It’s sad that very few people have heard of him. He wrote some very good short stories. I think my favourites from this last batch were “Unwelcomed Visitor” and “The Ardent Soul.” Both had the Morrison sense of humour. So, what’s next? There are a couple of longer stories that he wrote under the name Brett Starling, “Worlds To Come” in “Captain Future, Spring, 1943,” and “Days of Creation” in “Captain Future, Spring, 1944.” “World To Come” is listed as “A Complete Book-Length Scientifiction Novel” and runs 63 pages. “Days of Creation” runs 68 pages and is also noted as “A Complete Book-Length Novel.” I didn’t include them in the 79 I read as they were written under the name Brett Starling while the 79 were published as William Morrison stories. Of course William Morrison was a pseudonym for Joseph Samaschon. There’s also Morrison’s novel ”Mel Oliver and Space Rover on Mars” published by Gnome Press in 1954 and a bunch of Detective and Western stories also published under the name of William Morrison. I don’t have all of those yet but I’ll get a start on them soon and will post about it here. Do yourself a favour, track down the Morrison science fiction stories. There’s great reading in store for you, if you do.
A couple of blahgs back, WILLIAM MORRISON…HALF-WAY THERE, I posted an update on my attempt to read all 79 short science fiction stories written by Morrison. At that point, I had read 43 stories and provided a bit of a review for some of them. I had read up to “The Joker” that had been published in Fantastic Adventures, December 1951. As I had noted in that previous blahg and the one before that, THE SLY BUNGERHOP ET AL, that very few of Morrison’s short science fiction stories had been published in anthologies and the only other place to read them was by tracking down the original publication, like the Fantastic Adventures from December 1951. That’s what I’ve been doing. I’ve found a few online sources to download and read the stories and this is an update on my progress to finish reading the remaining 36 stories.
The title of this blahg should explain that I’m not quite finished reading the rest of the stories. As of the writing of this blahg, I have read 69 of the 79 short science fiction stories. Here’s a list of what I’ve read in the past few weeks:
1944:
The Companions of Sirius – Captain Future, Winter 1944
1952:
The Addicts — Galaxy, January 1952
Asylum — Marvel Science Fiction, May 1952
The Luckiest Man Alive! — Science Fiction Quarterly May 1952
Shipping Clerk — Galaxy Science Fiction June 1952
New Universe — Startling Stories July 1952
Temptation — Fantastic Adventures – July 1952
Runaway — Galaxy Science Fiction November 1952
Scent Of Danger — Science Fiction Quarterly – November 1952
Dragon Army — Fantastic Adventures, November 1952
Revenge — Space Stories December 1952
1953:
Forgotten Danger — Science Fiction Adventures February 1953
The Hunters — Space Science Fiction – February 1953
The Gears Of Time — Space Stories – April 1953
The Haters — Rocket Stories, April 1953
Long Life to You, Albert! — Science Fiction Adventures July 1953
Task of Kayin — Planet Stories July 1953
The Weather on Mercury — Galaxy July 1953
The Model of a Judge — Galaxy – October 1953
1954:
Split Personality — Fantastic Story – Winter 1954
G’rilla — Beyond Fantasy Fiction January 1954
Playground — The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, February 1954
The Inner Worlds — The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, April 1954
Heads You Lose — Beyond Fantasy Fiction May 1954
Messenger — Imagination July 1954
There Ought to Be a Lore — Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction – September 1954
I should note that I had missed “The Companions of Sirius” from the pulp magazine Captain Future, Winter 1944 when I had first started reading the stories. I had to loop back and read that one and that’s where I will start off. I’ll admit that I didn’t remember much of this one because it was the first of 26 stories I read this time around. The earlier stories by Morrison from the early to mid-1940s are very rough and tumble with a dash of romance thrown in for the hero. The tag line is the best description: Trapped Aboard a Spaceship by Three Ferocious Criminals, Ross Jameson and Lora Page Struggle to Balk a Sinister Scheme! By the way, Sirius is the name of the spaceship they’re all on.
Moving back to the correct chronological order, I started in with seven stories from 1952. The first of these was “The Addicts” from Galaxy, January 1952. Not a lot of humour in this one but an interesting story nonetheless of a couple on an asteroid running out of supplies with hostile creatures outside. The husband is also addicted to a drug that makes him happy and calm and the wife wants him off his addiction. The solution? Drug the beasts! Interesting story but not enough of the Morrison humour for my liking.
I won’t go through all of the stories in depth but will highlight where I can. “Asylum” from Marvel Science Fiction, May 1952 dealt with another form of addiction: Analysis. Not much meat to this one.
“The Luckiest Man Alive!” published in Science Fiction Quarterly, May 1952 is chock full of the Morrison wit. What’s the prize waiting in store for the winner of the ‘Mister Earth’ contest and is it worth what one entrant has to go through to ensure he wins? Short but very enjoyable.
“Shipping Clerk” from Galaxy Science Fiction, June 1952 is another humorous story. A homeless person who is always hungry eats something that makes him even more hungry. He’s swallowed a shipping mechanism and it plays havoc with his digestion! Of course there’s aliens behind it all. Add this to the Morrison funny stories I liked.
“New Universe” from Startling Stories, July 1952 was another short but interesting story but without the humour. If you’re a God who is bored with ruling this universe, what makes you so sure the next universe will be even better?
In “Temptation”, Fantastic Adventures, July 1952, an alien race wants to know if absolute power corrupts absolutely. One earth scientist is their experiment but sometimes the love of a good woman can ground you. Interesting story but only average on the Morrison spectrum.
“Runaway” from Galaxy Science Fiction, November 1952 is another fascinating story told from the viewpoint of a child. This had worked so well in Morrison’s 1943 story “The Great Invasion.” In “Runaway” a boy at a boarding school/orphanage dreams of going to the stars and sets out to make it happen. Does he get there? Is he even really a boy? All good questions that are answered in this gentle short story.
“Scent of Danger” published in Science Fiction Quarterly, November 1952 didn’t really work for me. A scientist with an advanced sense of smell on an alien world can sense more than danger. Weaker entry.
The next entry from 1952, “Dragon Army” from Fantastic Adventures, November 1952, was one of the longer stories that Morrison had published during his lifetime. This one clocked in at 28,000 words and took up 44 pages in the magazine. The previous long story of Morrison’s that I had read was “Two Worlds To Save” published in Startling Stories, September 1942 and it ran 70 pages in that pulp. “Dragon Army” was more interesting about a scientist trying to prevent his colleague from taking over a planet and causing catastrophe. There were no Dragons in this one but the reference is to seeds that sprout up as walking trees who do the bidding of the evil colleague. Middle of the pack type of story but at least it gets a mention on the cover:
The last story from 1952 is “Revenge” which was published in Space Stories, December 1952. This is a very dark entry. A Martian mother wants revenge on the people who killed her two sons…and gets it. No humour in this one!
William Morrison’s output in 1953 was significant in that he published one more than he did in the previous year. In 1952 there were ten published stories and Morrison published eleven in 1953. Previously, when I had been reading the Morrison stories in alphabetical order, I had read “Divinity,” “Date of Publication, 2083 A.D.,” and “Country Doctor.” I reviewed those in my previous blahg, WILLIAM MORRISON–HALF-WAY THERE. I’ll now speak about the remaining eight stories from 1953.
In “Forgotten Danger”, Science Fiction Adventures, February 1953, Morrison revisits the homeless/hobo theme he used in “Shipping Clerk” from 1952. The main character has also lost his memory. That’s another theme that occurs in Morrison stories. Aliens, tramps, and danger. Again, middle of the road.
“The Hunters,” Space Science Fiction, February 1953, is Morrison back again with his wit and charm. This time it’s aliens versus school girls. No contest…put your money on the school girls.
Next up, “The Gears Of Time,” from Space Stories, April 1953 is another lengthy story by Morrison. It is described as a “complete novel” and runs 76 pages of the Space Stories magazine. There’s a lot going in this one with different types earthlings and martians moving at different speeds. I found it overlong and overly confusing in parts. Again, however, it gets mentioned on the cover…even if the image has nothing to do with the story:
“The Haters,” Rocket Stories, April 1953 is all about criminals who are space explorers. Their hatred for everyone and everything may be the only thing that saves them in the end. Again, I rank this somewhere in the middle.
My William Morrison kick started out with the very funny story “The Sly Bungerhop.” The next story “Long Life to You, Albert!”, Science Fiction Adventures, July 1953 ranks up there as one of Morrison’s funniest and best. A woman sets out through various means to kill her husband but nothing works. He ends up invincible and immortal. Scientists study the husband to find out what causes his gifts. The wife could tell them but then she’d be admitting to her guilt! Track this one down and read it. You won’t be disappointed.
Kayin, the main character from “Task of Kayin” Planet Stories, July 1953, understands the dangers of the scientific discoveries that an earthling scientist is putting to work. After all, being an alien where these discoveries destroyed his home planet, shouldn’t he know better than anyone else? What’s an alien to do with such knowledge? A good story of a stranger in a strange land.
I didn’t really enjoy “The Weather on Mercury” from Galaxy, July 1953. It was a throwback to 1940s type adventure stories. The science and the deception were typical in some of Morrison’s stories from a decade before but I expected better from something published in 1953.
Morrison redeems himself with “The Model of a Judge” from Galaxy, October 1953. The tagline for this story is “Should a former outlaw become a judge–even if he only need pass sentence on a layer cake?” A reformed carnivore alien gets to judge a bake-off but will everyone trust his decision and will he trust his instincts? Very pleasing and comical story.
William Morrison’s published stories in 1954 reached the amazing tally of 13 stories! He would never again publish that many stories in one year. I had previously read “Battleground,” “Bedside Manner” and “No Star’s Land.” I have since read seven more stories from 1954 and have three more to read. I’ll dedicate the last part of this blahg to those seven stories I read most recently.
There’s something about psychiatry and analysis that keeps popping up in Morrison’s stories. I mentioned the analysis theme in “Asylum” from May 1952 and I believe there was another one from the 1940s as well but the title escapes me. In “Split Personality,” Fantastic Story, Winter 1954, Morrison explores the difficulty of treating the mental health of an alien with two heads and two distinct personalities. Again, the humour comes through in this one.
“G’rilla”, Beyond Fantasy Fiction, January 1954, is another Morrison story told from the viewpoint of a child. A very sweet story about a little girl and her littler brother who encounter an alien in their bathroom and no one believes them.
“Playground”, The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, February 1954 is a cross between Lost In Space meets Land of The Giants. A family crash lands on a world of giant creatures and must fix their ship. Dad’s constantly trying to fix everything and mom’s keeping the kids entertained on an alien planet. Has the same kind of cuteness as “G’rilla” but the adults learn a thing or two in this one. For some reason, the magazine decided to add overlong introductions to its stories.
The next entry was another story published in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction. “The Inner Worlds” from the April 1954 edition is about a symbiotic relationship of organisms inside an alien creature on a distant planet. It had an interesting premise when humans showed up but not one of Morrison’s best. It too, received a long introduction.
Morrison was back again with another child narrated story called “Heads You Lose” in Beyond Fantasy Fiction, May 1954. Every child’s mother has always said you’d forget your head if it wasn’t screwed on or attached to your body or some other variation of that theme. What happens when a child can roam around with just his head and leaves his body behind? Another cute and funny story from a child’s viewpoint.
“Messenger” from Imagination, July 1954 features another character who has lost his memory. He’s on a mission to set something right but he can’t remember what that something is or where the somewhere is he’s supposed to be going. Enjoyable and the ending is worth the read alone.
Finally, this time around, we end up with “There Ought to Be a Lore” published in the Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, September 1954. Another henpecked husband story who thinks he knows better than his wife what’s going on with the population on this strange world. His knowledge will ultimately get him into trouble and will his wife tell him ‘I told you so’ or will he live long enough to tell her he was right after all? Another comical story from Morrison.
That’s it for now. I have ten stories left to read from the 79 short science fiction stories by William Morrison. Let the countdown begin!
I haven’t written much lately, let alone a blahg. I’ve been somewhat busy and I’ve been stuck on a short story called “HOW ABOUT YOU, DELBERT ROBINSON?” for a couple of months. I like the concept and the character but I haven’t been able to flesh out the ending. Recently, I turned to ChatGPT to see if artificial intelligence could help me get on with it. That is going to be the subject of a future blahg after I finally finish writing the story for myself. Watch for it.
For this blahg, I want to talk about an old short story of mine that I recently came across. It was tucked in a drawer of my old desk and when we downsized to a smaller desk, I kept the story with the intention of posting it here. The big problem is that it was a ten page original type-written story and I’d never got around to digitizing it. Here’s an example of the front page:
“Private Investigator of Earth” was the first fully realized short story that I ever wrote. I think I was around 17 or 18 when I typed it out on an old Underwood typewriter. I think I might have even submitted it to a science fiction magazine. I know it never got published because I know now that the story was not that good.
I finally scanned each of the ten pages as image files and used an online site to do character recognition and create a text file that I could then edit to one master Word document. I haven’t corrected many of the spelling or grammar errors and the formatting is the same. Here’s how it turned out:
PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR OF EARTH
By Scott T. Henderson
I often recall my first case with fond reminiscence of its vast adventure. Being the only private investigator on earth, though, has its drawbacks. I made sure when rented this dump, that landlord put in a new, translucent glass door that bares my name and slogan: “James Nemesis, Private Investigator of Earth. Give me the time and I’ll solve the Crime.” Unfortunately the hinges were rusted and have since then emitted a loud squawking noise when opened.
I remember that night some fifteen years ago when my new career began. It was the king of night that you wouldn’t catch a megolan (equivalent to a dog) out roaming on. What was left of our atmosphere and ozone layer had since then diminished to a point were the remaining people on earth had to dwell in anti–repulsionisms or as well called them bubble, cities. Our forcefields were provided through the use of pulsating and non—pulsating magnetic degausers (generators) which repelled any alienation gases or chunks of meteorites. But we still ahd out problems with computer simulated storms which retained what little remaining O2 we needed. And that night we had one of the dandiest computer simulies since the Gralos Blackhole passed through the earth destroying the African continent.
I sat fully relaxed, with my feet on the desk, reading the current date issue of Jupiter’s only newspaper, the “Circe Review.” I heard the approaching, reverberating sound of footsteps on the stairs, a sound which I had not as yet had a chance to become accustomed to. I quickly straightened up to present myself to my very first client. The squawking door gave way to a creature not of this planet. She was a quadro or in scientific names a quadrolife, from the planet Uranus. In common form I make I a point not to discriminate, besides Uranians are the closest life form in the galaxy resembling an Earth person. She, as it occurred to me at the time, must have just came from the Shuttle station because she was still wrapped in her uranian fur parka and would have thought twice about wearing it in Earth’s climate. I gathered from her appearance that she hadn’t came all the way to Earth just to see me. If she needed my services it was because something had occurred aboard the Shuttle on her flight here to Earth. I offered her a seat and she began to unravel her story via a tele-translutation device used to translate different languages in to the language most common to the listener.
As she unravelled her story I eyed her, make a photographic reproduction of her in my mind. The only other time I had seen a Quadro was in a photographic hologram shown to me at the Academy of Detection, on the sixth moon of the six sun, otherwise known as Titan. She was very much like any other earth woman except that she had solid ruby red eyes and a life span four times that of any earth being. Quadrolifes had the ability to survive death three times if killed or to live to an age of about four hundred. When I first heard the term Quadrolife I thought of some ugly four headed creature from an old science-fiction movie. How wrong I was!
She informed me that her name was Pelline Christe and she was representative of the Uranian Consulate, the supreme peace keepers and law enforcers of the galaxy. At first this stunned me a bit because I was wondering what the Consulate would want with me. She explained that she was carrying plans for a solar-laserbeam—cannon to the Earth Consulate but the plans were stolen on her trip here to Earth. The plans were to be presented to the Consulate and permission was to be obtained to test a working model in the area located outside the existing anti–repulsionisms. The force of this baby could reach such a high intensity that it could wipe out a planet of Earth’s size in less than a minute!
Now this quadro babe was really starting to scare me with her talk of the Earth being blown up! I asked her why she came to me instead of going to U.N.I.S. located out on Jupiter (U.N.I.S. stands for Universal Nations Investigating Services). Her answer was that she couldn’t take chances of this story seeping out to the media because if it did we would have total mayhem on our hands! The only ones that knew of the plans were the Uranian Consulate, their designer, and now me. She informed me that she had 48 hours before she had to report back to her Consulate and between that time she was to have informed the Earth Consulate of the existence of such a weapon. Now I had two things to consider: saving this girl’s job and saving the galaxy. I was reluctant at first but I decided to take the case. Who am I to give up a chance at being a hero or at least, saving my own neck?
I told Miss Christe that she would have to stay out of contact with everyone until I had a chance to crack this case wide open. No one should know about the theft otherwise it would invoke universal panic! The only safe place for Miss Christe would be back at my apartment, besides I intended to spend as much time as I could on this case. I knew that there wouldn’t be any sleep for me that night.
I locked my office, located at 18 King Lane, and headed to the nearest Monorail stop with my head bending in the force of wind being produced as a result of the computer simulated storm. The computers really knew their stuff when it came to conjuring up storms. I had given the address of my apartment to Miss Christe along with the color–number–coordinate combination and implied that she was not to allow anyone in, with the exception of Myself. I hadn’t long to wait for the monorail and quickly boarded it to seek refuge from the storm. My first stop, I decided, was to be the Shuttle station. It was necessary to obtain a list of all the passengers aboard Miss Christe’s flight, its stops, its cargo, and, most importantly, its crew.
As I sat aboard the monorail I thought how nice it would be to have my old automobile instead of a chauffer driven monorail. It had been some time since I had last felt the comfort of the wheel in my hands. Not since the government moved what was once Passaic, New Jersey into this bubble had I even seen a car. The carbon monoxide gas was detrimental to the public’s safety so cars were banned from all anti–repulsionisms, and there was hardly enough 02 for the drivers to survive in outside the bubbles. If someone wanted to leave the bubble they had to use an anti–radioactive 02 suit but even these were hard to obtain.
I stepped down from the platform to find myself in front of the Shuttle station, my first stop in the search of an answer for this case. I had to think of some reason, besides the real one, for wanting to take a look at the list. I quickly assumed the role of a civilian whose luggage had either been misdirected, lost, or simply been picked up by someone by mistake.
The story was bought and I soon held the vital information I needed in the palm of my hand. My first objective was to converse with the crew and see if they had either willingly or mistakenly taken the case containing the plans, without making them aware of its contents. A menial task for me!
I learned that the flight from Uranus was on a two hour layover here, on earth, to undergo repairs on its anti–gravity stimulation propulsion system. The crew was in the lounge area, reserved for all personnel, discussing the malfunction of the propulsion system. I listened intently outside the door when the conversation soon switched to Miss Christe and her missing briefcase. How did they know about that? The pilot mentioned that Miss Christe’s briefcase had been reported missing. The steward had searched the Shuttle and the station and hadn’t found it, he suggested that it might have been stolen and she should report it to the police. There was no reason for me to remain any longer because it was obvious that this was a dead end.
I checked the list of cargo but it turned out that the Shuttle was only carrying the passengers’ luggage, on this run, and none of them matched the description of the missing briefcase. The Shuttle had only made one stop, to refuel on the planet Jupiter. None of the passengers were allowed to leave the vessel while it was being refueled, so I came to two more dead ends. The next option was to question all the passengers, and I wasn’t looking forward to that because there were 32 passengers aboard the Shuttle that Miss Christe had arrived on.
I arrived at the home of a William Bascomb at approximately ten thirty, and the other 18 passengers were to be pussycats compared to this one, seeing that I had already questioned that many by that time and had come up with nothing. Bascomb had just finished a vacation on Uranus and was returning early to take care of some financial problems. I knocked on the door and hoped that he wouldn’t be angry at being disturbed. A loud booming voice demanded to know who it was, so I told him my name and profession. I was suddenly surprised when a hand holding a high frequency laser crashed through a second story window and took aim on me! My nimble legs lept foward and I sprawled out flat on the ground in hopes that the dark of the storm would prevent him from seeing my trembling body. Whether it was my good luck or not I may never know but the beam missed me. I took advantage of the situation and pulled out my stun phaser and fired! Had I hit him? My answer was a beam that tore up the ground two feet in front of me! I had to flush him out if I was to get a clear shot at him, but this proved to be difficult in the dark. I had an idea! I fired a shot at the window, that now had a large gaping hole in it. I hadn’t hoped to hit him, only to get him to fire back. I caught the glimmer of light coming and rolled! I aimed at the spot where the beam had emitted from and fired! Bingo! His scream was all I needed to be sure that I had hit him. But I was too sure of myself. Oh, I had hit him, but his laser tumbled out the window, hit the ground and fired off a shot at me! If I had have moved any faster I would have had a permanent hole in my head instead of one in my hat. I walked over to the laser and placed it inside my holster while I held my stun phaser in my hand. I was sure that this was the same man who had stolen the plans but I had to move fast because the effects of my phaser would wear off in twenty minutes.
I gained entrance to the house by smashing open a first story window and crawling through it. I searched the house but found nothing to tie him in with the theft, but there had to be. Why else would he open fire on me? I started up the stairs to see to Bascomb when my hand pushed the headmost at the bottom of the stairs back to reveal a button. I pushed the button and the wall in the living area opened to reveal a hidden room! I found a briefcase matching the description of Miss Christe’s. Inside the case was five hundred thousand quidelacs (Uranian dollar equal in value to about two earth dollars).
Even though Quidelacs were common on Earth, five hundred thousand of them one place, other than a bank weren’t. I came to the conclusion that Bascomb had either stolen this currency or he stole the plans and had already sold them for this amount. I hadn’t liked the idea of working with the police but I needed some answers that only they could give me. I picked up the police frequency on Bascomb’s tele-audio–visual phone and placed a call to the Sergeant in charge. As his face appeared on the screen I noticed a large grin was blooming from one of his ears to the other. He and I were not the greatest of friends because we were always competing. He began to open his mouth to say something but I cut him off, telling him to hold his wisecracks until I had a chance to explain.
It didn’t take long for a police aircar (nondetrimental to public safety) to arrive, and by that time Bascomb had aroused to find himself being held captive by his own phaser. It turned out that a call from the Uranian police came in reporting a robbery at the Uralian Universal Bank and the description of the thief fit Bascomb to a T. Now where was I? My only lead turned out to be a false one and I hadn’t any idea where my next one would come from. The police hauled away Bascomb with the money and told me I might as well come with them to collect a reward for the return of the money.
At the station I collected the five hundred quidelac reward and was readying to leave when the Sergeant called me into his office. Was he going to give me a pat on the back or was he going to bawl me out for not reporting the incident right a way? As I entered the room I was surprised to find a Quadro sitting at the desk with the Sergeant. The Sergeant introduced me to the lady and it nearly blew my mind. Her name was Miss Pelline Christe! She explained to me that her briefcase was stolen and that it contained plans for a solar–laserbeam–cannon. I interrupted her telling her that she needn’t explain something that I already knew. The Sergeant, to whom I explained everything to in my call, had ordered an aircar remedied to leave for my apartment. We decided to go quietly and that I would enter the apartment win her trust and arrest her.
As we rode to my apartment, I couldn’t get my mind off of how a quadro, let alone a dame, had pulled the wool over my eyes. The quadro at my apartment was the real thief and the one in the car with us was the real Miss Christe. The thief stole the plans and decided the best way to escape suspicion was to assume the identity of the one whom the plans were stolen from. She came to me with her phony story because she knew that the real Miss Christe would go to the police instead of a private investigator. What this phony hadn’t counted on was I might run into someone who would send me to the police. If it hadn’t been for Bascom I might still have been on a wild goose chase looking for the thief who was at this moment in my apartment. But a fool shall have his revenge, and I was determined to have mine!
As I rode the elevator to the seventh floor, on which my apartment was located, I hoped that she hadn’t already flown the coop. The police were to take the stairs and bust in had I trouble with the thief. I decided it would be best for me to knock, and her to let me in, instead of busting in and having her snatch up a weapon in defence. I knocked on the door but there wasn’t an answer, my first thought was that she had fled from her place of sanctum. I spealed the combination and entered the apartment. I spotted the briefcase on the table and determined that she must be asleep in the bedroom. Suddenly the door closed and the quadro popped out from the other side of the door with my extra phaser in her hand. She explained that she had been listening to my conversations with a micro–transmitter that she had slipped into my pocket, and was aware that I was in fresh pursuit of her. She told me to drop my phaser and to stand with my back to her while she picked up the briefcase, she then demanded that I start walking, with my back to her, out of the door to the left and towards the elevator. As we left the apartment the police arrived at the top of the stairs, so she quickly swung me around so that she was shielded from the police. We boarded the elevator, the doors closed and that’s when I made my move! I brought back my elbow and nudged the elevator buttons and it came to a jerking stop knocking the phaser out of her hand. I pulled out the laser that I had confiscated from Bascomb, she must have forgotten I still had it, and ordered her to pick up the phaser and hand it to me. She picked up the laser and threw it at me, knocking me off balance, causing me to missfire the laser in my hand. The beam rifled through the top of the elevator and severed one of the elevator cables; causing the elevator to tilt foward at a ninety degree angle! The quadro began to scream in panic! I asked her what she as screaming about, she would live if she was killed. She argued that she had already been killed three times trying to steal other things, and that this was her last life. I had to think of something!
The police ran down the stairs and were wondering why the elevator hadn’t came down. One of the police officers heard the scream and suggested that they should pry the doors open and see what had happened. When those law enforcers caught sight of what happened they were speechless and didn’t know what to do. One of them yelled up and asked if I was okay. I replied yes, but I was more shaken up than anything. Just then the idea hit me! I told the sergeant to go up to the fourth floor, because we were stuck between the third and fourth floors. I then asked him to pry open the doors and see how much damage there was to the cables. He yelled down the shaft and reported that the one cable had been severed and the other one was untouched. I asked if there was any possibility of the cables being fused together again. His reply was yes but it would take a while to get hold of the right machinery. I suggested that if he had Bascomb’s laser he could put it on low intensity and fuse the wires. The sergeant lowered a rope and I attached Bascomb’s lasere to it and he hauled it up. He then fused the cables together and the rest was up to me. I pushed every button I could until I finally got the elevator to descend down the shaft. Once at the bottom level the police cut a large enough hole in the elevator, with Bascomb’s laser, so that the quadro and I could crawl out. It felt good to be out of the elevator and I had a better appreciation of the police.
The police took the phony Miss Christe into custody, the real Miss Christe took the plans to the Earth Consulate, and I collected another five hundred quidelac reward for the return of the plans.
Yes, that’s it my very first case. Remember if you’re ever visiting Earth and you are in need of a private investigator, just pop by my office at 13 King Lane, walk up the stairs, through the squawking door, and I’ll be there, the Private Investigator of Earth!
The End
Now, here’s where I loop back to the issue of ChatGPT. There’s the option to upload your story/writing and have it make it better. I was offered two options: A Light Polish or A Modernized Edition. Here are the two versions of the story by ChatGPT
PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR OF EARTH – light polish
By Scott T. Henderson
I often recall my first case with fond reminiscence of its vast adventure. Being the only private investigator on Earth has its drawbacks, though. When I rented this dump, I made sure the landlord installed a new translucent glass door bearing my name and slogan:
“James Nemesis, Private Investigator of Earth. Give me the time and I’ll solve the crime.”
Unfortunately, the hinges were rusted, and ever since, the door has emitted a loud squawk whenever it opens.
I remember that night some fifteen years ago when my new career began. It was the kind of night you wouldn’t catch a megolan (the equivalent of a dog) roaming in. What was left of our atmosphere and ozone layer had diminished to the point where the remaining people on Earth had to dwell inside anti-repulsionisms—or as we called them, bubble cities.
Our forcefields were powered by pulsating and non-pulsating magnetic degaussers (generators) that repelled alien gases and chunks of meteorite. But we still had problems with computer-simulated storms, which helped retain what little oxygen we had left. That night we had one of the wildest “computer simulies” since the Gralos Black Hole passed through Earth and destroyed the African continent.
I was fully relaxed, feet on the desk, reading the current issue of Jupiter’s only newspaper, The Circe Review, when I heard the reverberating sound of footsteps on the stairs—a sound I hadn’t yet become accustomed to. I quickly straightened up, ready to present myself to my very first client.
The squawking door gave way to a creature not of this planet. She was a Quadro—or in scientific terms, a Quadrolife—from the planet Uranus. I make it a point not to discriminate; besides, Uranians are the closest life form in the galaxy resembling Earth people.
She must have just arrived from the Shuttle Station, still wrapped in her Uranian fur parka. No one would wear one of those in Earth’s climate unless they had just landed. I gathered from her appearance that she hadn’t come all the way to Earth just to sightsee. If she needed my services, something serious had happened aboard the shuttle.
I offered her a seat, and she began to unravel her story through a tele-translutation device, which converted her speech into my language.
As she spoke, I studied her carefully, forming a mental photograph. The only other time I had seen a Quadro was in a holographic projection shown to me at the Academy of Detection on Titan—the sixth moon of the sixth sun. She looked much like any Earth woman, except for her solid ruby-red eyes and her long lifespan—four times that of any human. Quadrolifes could survive death three times or live to an age of about four hundred years. When I first heard the term “Quadrolife,” I pictured some ugly, four-headed monster from an old science-fiction movie. How wrong I was.
She introduced herself as Pelline Christe, a representative of the Uranian Consulate—the supreme peacekeepers and law enforcers of the galaxy. That stunned me a bit. What would the Consulate want with me?
She explained that she was carrying plans for a solar-laser-beam cannon to the Earth Consulate, but the plans had been stolen en route. They were to be presented for approval to test a working model outside the anti-repulsionisms. The force of this thing could reach such an intensity that it could wipe out a planet the size of Earth in less than a minute.
This “Quadro babe” was starting to scare me with all this talk of blowing up Earth. I asked why she’d come to me instead of U.N.I.S. (Universal Nations Investigating Services) on Jupiter.
She said she couldn’t risk the story leaking to the media—it would cause total galactic panic. Only the Uranian Consulate, their designer, and now I knew of the plans. She had forty-eight hours to report back, and in that time she was supposed to inform the Earth Consulate of the weapon’s existence.
Two things to consider: saving her job and saving the galaxy. I wasn’t keen at first, but I decided to take the case. Who was I to pass up a chance to be a hero—or at least save my own neck?
I told Miss Christe to stay out of contact with everyone until I cracked the case. No one else could know about the theft. The safest place for her was my apartment, and I’d need all my time to investigate. Sleep wasn’t in the cards that night.
I locked up my office at 18 King Lane and headed to the nearest monorail stop, head bowed against the wind whipped up by the simulated storm. The computers really knew how to make weather. I gave Miss Christe my apartment’s color-number-coordinate combination and told her not to let anyone in—except me.
The monorail arrived quickly, and I boarded to escape the storm. My first stop: the Shuttle Station. I needed a list of passengers, stops, cargo, and, most importantly, crew.
As I sat aboard the monorail, I thought how nice it would be to have my old automobile again. It had been years since I’d felt a steering wheel in my hands. Ever since the government moved what used to be Passaic, New Jersey, into a bubble, cars had been banned—carbon monoxide was too dangerous, and there wasn’t enough oxygen outside for drivers to survive anyway. Those who wanted to leave the bubbles had to wear anti-radioactive O₂ suits, which were hard to come by.
At the Shuttle Station, I needed an excuse to see the passenger list. I pretended to be a traveler whose luggage had been lost or picked up by mistake. The story worked, and soon I held the information I needed in my hand.
My first objective was to question the crew—discreetly—and see if they’d taken the briefcase by mistake. The flight had a two-hour layover on Earth for repairs to its anti-gravity propulsion system. I listened from outside the lounge door as they discussed the malfunction—and then shifted to talking about Miss Christe and her missing briefcase. How did they know about that? The pilot said it had been reported missing, the steward had searched the Shuttle and station with no luck, and they’d suggested she report it to the police. Dead end.
I checked the cargo list—nothing matched the briefcase. The Shuttle had only made one stop, for refueling on Jupiter, and passengers hadn’t been allowed to disembark. Another dead end. The next step: question all thirty-two passengers.
By 10:30 that night I arrived at the home of William Bascomb, passenger number nineteen. He’d just returned from vacation on Uranus to deal with financial troubles. I knocked, hoping he wouldn’t be angry at the late visit.
A booming voice demanded my name, so I told him. Suddenly, a hand with a high-frequency laser burst through a second-story window and took aim! I dove to the ground, hoping the darkness would hide me. The beam missed by inches. I fired back with my stun phaser—missed—then fired again when his return shot gave away his position. This time, a scream told me I’d hit him.
But his weapon fell out the window, hit the ground, and fired again—burning a hole clean through my hat. Lucky me. I holstered his weapon, still holding my phaser, and broke into the house through a first-floor window.
Inside, I found nothing to link him to the theft—but why else shoot at me? As I started up the stairs, my hand brushed a panel that clicked open to reveal a hidden button. I pressed it. A section of wall slid aside to uncover a secret room—and inside was a briefcase matching Miss Christe’s.
It contained five hundred thousand Quidelacs (Uranian currency, about two Earth dollars each). That much cash outside a bank was suspicious. Either he’d stolen it—or he’d already sold the plans.
I needed answers only the police could give. I used Bascomb’s tele-audio-visual phone to call the precinct. The Sergeant’s face appeared, grinning from ear to ear—we’d been rivals for years. Before he could wisecrack, I told him to hold his tongue and listen.
Soon a police aircar arrived. By then, Bascomb had awakened to find himself held at phaser-point by his own gun. Turns out the Uranian police had just reported a robbery at the Universal Bank—description fit Bascomb perfectly. My lead had been a false one. The police hauled him away, along with the money, and I collected a five-hundred-Quidelac reward for the recovery.
As I was about to leave, the Sergeant called me into his office. I expected a lecture—but was stunned to find another Quadro sitting there. The Sergeant introduced her as Miss Pelline Christe.
That nearly blew my mind.
The woman I’d met earlier—the one at my apartment—was a fake. She’d stolen the plans and assumed Miss Christe’s identity, knowing the real one would go to the police while she could misdirect me.
The Sergeant ordered an aircar to my building. We decided I’d go in first to gain her trust.
As we rode the elevator, I couldn’t get over how completely that “dame” had played me. The fake Miss Christe was sitting in my apartment with stolen plans, probably smug as ever.
I reached the seventh floor and knocked. No answer. I keyed in the door code and stepped inside. The briefcase sat on the table—she had to be in the bedroom. Then the door slammed shut behind me. She appeared, holding my spare phaser.
She said she’d been listening to my conversations through a micro-transmitter she’d slipped into my pocket. She ordered me to drop my weapon and walk out ahead of her toward the elevator.
We reached the elevator just as the police arrived at the stairs. She swung me around to use me as a shield. The doors closed.
That’s when I made my move.
I slammed my elbow into the control panel, jolting the elevator to a stop. The lurch knocked the phaser from her hand. I pulled out Bascomb’s confiscated laser—she must have forgotten I had it—and ordered her to pick up her weapon and hand it over. She threw it at me instead. I staggered, misfired, and the beam sliced through the ceiling, severing one of the cables. The elevator tilted forward at a ninety-degree angle.
She screamed in panic. I told her she’d survive—she was a Quadrolife, after all. But she shrieked that she’d already been killed three times; this would be her last life.
Meanwhile, the police forced open the doors on the lower floor and shouted up. I told them we were stuck between the third and fourth levels. The Sergeant confirmed one cable was cut but the other intact.
“Can you fuse it?” I yelled.
“With the right machinery,” he answered.
“If you’ve got Bascomb’s laser, set it to low and weld it!”
He did. The cables fused. I hit every button I could, and the elevator finally descended to the bottom. The police cut a hole in the side large enough for us to crawl out.
I’d never been so glad to touch solid ground.
The police took the fake Miss Christe into custody. The real Miss Christe delivered the plans safely to the Earth Consulate. I collected another five-hundred-Quidelac reward.
And that was my very first case.
So remember—if you’re ever visiting Earth and need a private investigator, just stop by my office at 13 King Lane. Walk up the stairs, through the squawking door, and I’ll be there—
James Nemesis, Private Investigator of Earth.
———————————
And now here’s the Modernized Edition:
PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR OF EARTH
by Scott T. Henderson (Modernized Edition)
The Door and the Dame
My name’s James Nemesis, and I’m the only private investigator left on Earth.
That used to mean something. Now it just means I’m the only fool who couldn’t afford to ship off-world.
My office sits in the bottom tier of what used to be New York Dome — half-broken neon, recycled air thick as regret. When I took this place, I made the landlord put in a new glass door with my name stenciled across it: JAMES NEMESIS — PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR OF EARTH Give me the time and I’ll solve the crime.
The hinges still scream like a dying cat every time it opens. Some things you can’t fix with a wrench.
That night — fifteen years ago — was when it all began. A storm rolled through the dome, one of those “atmospheric simulations” that kept the oxygen levels balanced and the citizens nostalgic. Lightning danced on the inside of the sky panels. The city smelled like metal and fear.
I had my feet on the desk, a lukewarm synth-coffee in one hand, and the Circe Review from Jupiter streaming across my wall screen. Then I heard footsteps on the stairs. Real ones. Not the drone of a courier bot, not the shuffle of someone too broke to bother with silence. These were deliberate. High heels. Expensive.
The door shrieked open.
She wasn’t human.
Uranians are rare these days — most don’t bother with this dying planet — but this one looked human enough to make a priest reconsider his vows. Long coat of Uranian fur, silver at the seams, red eyes glowing faintly in the half-light.
I gestured toward the chair. “You must be lost. The spaceport’s three domes east.”
“I’m not lost,” she said through a small translator clipped to her collar. Her voice came out smooth, almost musical. “I’m here because something was stolen.”
That was the first line of a story that would change everything.
The Job
She called herself Pelline Christe, a Quadrolife from Uranus — a species that can die three times before it sticks. She didn’t brag about it, but I caught the glint in her eyes when she said it. Immortality always carries a little arrogance.
The story unfolded in neat, careful sentences.
A classified weapon — a solar laser cannon powerful enough to vaporize a planet — had been stolen en route to an off-world research station. The theft happened aboard the shuttle she’d traveled on. The Earth government, still pretending it had authority, wanted it recovered quietly.
And that’s where I came in. The last human investigator with a license that still scanned green.
“I can pay,” she said, sliding a transparent cred-chip across my desk. The numbers on it made my heart stumble.
I pocketed the chip and stood. “Miss Christe, you just bought yourself the best detective still breathing under this dome.”
The Chase Begins
The rest of the night was a blur of transport tubes and sensor sweeps. I tracked a lead to William Bascomb, an engineer who’d been stationed near the shuttle’s cargo bay. His digital trail was clean — too clean. That’s how you know a man’s hiding something.
I caught up to him in a maintenance corridor deep under Dome Sector 7. His reflection flickered off the wet metal walls as I raised my pulse pistol.
“Mr. Bascomb,” I said. “You’ve been making expensive mistakes.”
He spun, hands up, eyes wide. “I didn’t take the plans! It was her — the woman from Uranus! She—”
And that’s when the corridor lights cut out.
A jolt of instinct told me everything I needed: I’d been played.
Crossfire
The corridor went black. Only the hum of the city’s recycled air filled the silence.
A second later, the emergency strips flickered on—thin red light painting Bascomb’s face the color of guilt.
He bolted.
I fired once, grazing his shoulder. Enough to drop him but not end him.
When I reached him, he was shaking. “It wasn’t me,” he muttered. “She—she swapped the access code mid-flight. I thought she was security.”
“She gave you her name?”
He swallowed. “Pelline Christe.”
That name hit me like a shock baton. My “client.” The real one hadn’t even been here.
By the time I looked up, a maintenance bot rolled past, scanning Bascomb’s wound and dispatching a report to Dome Control. I didn’t wait around to explain. I was already running.
Shadows in the Bubble
Outside, the storm simulation was in full effect—rain hammering the inside of the dome, thunder echoing through artificial clouds. It looked real enough to drown in.
I took the mag-line back to my office, my mind running faster than the rail.
Either Miss Christe had a twin, or someone had worn her face like a mask. Quadrolife tech could do that. They had bioprint suits that fooled scanners and souls alike.
When I stepped off the line, the power grid flickered. Half the dome dimmed.
A bad sign.
My office door was already open. The glass still read my name, but the squawk of its hinges was silent this time.
She was there.
Same red eyes. Same fur coat. But she wasn’t waiting—she was searching. My desk drawers were half-open, papers scattered.
I didn’t bother drawing the pistol. “You know, most clients wait for a bill before they break into the office.”
She froze, then turned slowly. “Mr. Nemesis. You’re earlier than expected.”
Her voice was different—cooler, harder.
And I noticed the glimmer at her wrist: a data-key, pulsing faintly with blue light.
“The plans,” I said.
She smiled. “You’re quicker than your reputation suggests.”
The Elevator Job
She made for the corridor. I lunged. The data-key slipped from her fingers and clattered across the floor. She dove, I grabbed, and we both crashed through the door into the hallway—her coat tearing, my shoulder screaming.
She hit the elevator button and the doors slid open with a hiss. I followed.
The lift shot upward, fast enough to pin us to the wall.
“Why steal it?” I shouted over the hum. “You could’ve walked out clean!”
“I don’t need to explain survival to someone stuck on a dying rock,” she said.
The lift jerked suddenly, then shuddered to a halt between levels.
Lights went out again. The power grid across the dome must’ve blown.
“Convenient,” I muttered.
She laughed softly. “Not for you.”
She moved—too fast. I felt the crack of her elbow against my jaw and the taste of blood. I swung back, missed, and slammed the emergency override.
The doors pried open just enough to reveal the maintenance shaft—dark, bottomless. Wind from the ventilation systems roared below.
She lunged again, and this time I caught her wrist and twisted. The data-key flew free.
“You’re not getting away with this,” I said.
She grinned. “Maybe not this life.”
Then she threw herself backward into the shaft.
I watched her fall—twisting, shrinking, swallowed by the dark—until there was nothing left but the hum of machinery and the flicker of the data-key at my feet.
Ghost in the System
By morning, the dome lights were back. The city looked the same, but I wasn’t.
I turned the data-key over in my hand. It pulsed faintly—an encrypted holofile marked with the insignia of the Interplanetary Defense Council.
I’d seen those seals before. Touch the wrong file and the next knock on your door is an orbital strike.
I plugged it into the wall console anyway.
Miss Christe’s real face appeared.
Older. Sterner. And very much alive.
“Mr. Nemesis,” her hologram said. “If you’re viewing this, you’ve encountered an imposter. The plans for the Solar Laser were compromised en route to Earth. We believe a rogue Quadrolife cell intends to sell them to the Martian syndicate. If the imposter survives, terminate her. If not—recover the plans and deliver them to the Council. Payment will follow.”
The message blinked out.
I looked down at the data-key. The irony wasn’t lost on me—my first real client wanted me to clean up the mess her twin made. Or her clone. Or her ghost. At this point, they all bled the same.
Resurrection Protocol
Three days later, I was still nursing a bruised jaw and a bad conscience.
The imposter’s dive into the elevator shaft should’ve been the end of it. But you don’t stay a licensed investigator in a world this rotten without learning one thing: Quadrolifes don’t die easy.
By the time I filed my report, the city’s morgue logs were already glitching. One “unidentified female, Uranian biology” checked in, checked out, then deleted herself from the system entirely. That took more than luck — it took clearance.
I knew where she’d go next.
There’s only one place in the Dome where you can rebuild a new body from a corpse: The Renewal Clinic, buried deep in the medical sector, past the checkpoints and the anti-bio scanners.
I went in under a false ID — “Dr. Smith,” because subtlety is wasted on bureaucrats. The receptionist didn’t even look up, just scanned my badge and waved me through.
Inside, the clinic hummed with quiet machines and the faint smell of ozone.
One of the pods was open, its cradle still warm. The display read: REGENERATION CYCLE COMPLETE. LIFE 3/4.
“Thought I told you not to follow me,” came a voice behind me.
I turned.
She was standing in the doorway — the same red eyes, the same infuriating half-smile. A little paler. A little dead inside. But very much alive.
“I don’t like unfinished business,” I said.
Truth Serum
She circled me slowly, boots clicking on the clinic floor. “You think you know who I am,” she said, “but you’ve got it backwards. I’m not the fake Pelline Christe. She is.”
“Cute,” I said. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
“Think about it,” she hissed. “Who sends a stolen weapon plan to Earth and then hires a washed-up human detective to clean it up? The Council’s dirty, Nemesis. Always has been. I was trying to keep that laser out of their hands.”
I wanted to call her a liar.
But the more she talked, the more it made sense. Governments don’t hire freelancers for top-secret retrievals unless they need someone expendable.
She must’ve seen the hesitation in my face, because she softened.
“You’re good,” she said. “You found me when no one else could. Help me get off this planet. Help me finish this, and I’ll make sure you’re remembered as more than a relic.”
Her words hit something deep. Maybe pride. Maybe loneliness. Either way, I lowered the pistol — a mistake that never goes unpunished.
She moved first, fast as ever, but I’d learned her rhythm. I caught her arm, twisted, and pinned her against the pod. The data-key fell from her pocket, landing between us.
“The only thing I’m finishing,” I said, “is this case.”
She smiled. “Then you’ll never know who you were really working for.”
I pressed the key against the pod interface. The system beeped — once, twice — then flared white as the containment field surged. She gasped, her body dissolving into radiant static. When the light faded, all that was left was the smell of ozone and the faint pulse of a data file reuploading itself into nowhere.
The End of the Case
I turned the plans over to the Interplanetary Defense Council the next morning. They didn’t ask many questions, and I didn’t offer any answers. The reward transferred to my account before I left the building. Enough credits to buy a better office. Maybe even a new door.
But I kept the old one.
The hinges still screamed whenever someone came through. It was comforting, in a way — a reminder that nothing lasts forever, not even silence.
Sometimes, late at night, I swear I hear her voice in the hum of the city.
A whisper through the static, soft and amused:
“You’ll never know who you were really working for.”
Maybe she’s right. Maybe the whole planet’s just another client, lying to itself for the paycheck.
But as long as the lights flicker and the dome keeps the air in, there’ll be people with secrets — and someone like me to dig them up.
After all, I’m James Nemesis.
Private Investigator of Earth.
Give me the time, and I’ll solve the crime.
——————————
I don’t think ChatGPT did any better version than I did 45 years ago. I’m very fond of “Private Investigator of Earth.” I even recall that I was going to write a sequel with the title “Metamorphosis on Thorax.” James Nemesis was going to investigate a sort of invasion of the body snatchers case where key government officials had been replaced by some time of clones. It never got beyond the title and the concept. I don’t recall much else.
Let me be clear, I’m probably never going to write “Metamorphosis on Thorax.” My friend Bryan and I toyed around with some bedroom recordings on an old cassette recorder where I played Nemesis and he was my assistant, David Blake. I can’t recall much of that either. I thought I’d let ChatGPT write the story, it’s not likely I ever will. Read it for yourself and let me know what you think. Artificial Intelligence isn’t smart enough to know what I think…yet.
Metamorphosis on Thorax
By Scott T. Henderson
I was halfway through a bottle of Martian rye and a halfhearted case of corporate espionage when trouble came knocking — literally.
The glass door rattled, the kind of knock that doesn’t wait to be invited.
“Don’t break it,” I said. “The landlord just replaced that door.”
The door swung open and in stumbled David Blake, wearing a trench coat that looked like it had lost a fight with a garbage compactor. His eyes were bloodshot, his breath a blend of cheap liquor and cheaper regret.
“James,” he croaked. “You still working cases, or just decorating the office with unpaid bills?”
“Depends,” I said. “You paying or confessing?”
He dropped a crumpled folder on my desk. “Maybe both.”
Blake used to be a cop — the kind they make recruitment posters out of before they make examples of them. He’d been on the wrong side of a cover-up, took the fall, and never got back up. I’d thrown him a line a few times, usually to drag him out of some back-alley bar.
I picked up the folder. Inside were holo-prints of a few government officials — faces I recognized from the Earth Consulate network feeds. The captions under each read: Deceased.
“Problem is,” Blake said, unscrewing the top of my rye, “they’re still giving press conferences.”
Chapter One: The Hollow Men
It started small — the way infestations always do. A senator’s aide with no record of sleep in three weeks. A planetary governor whose fingerprints didn’t match his own. A Consulate scientist whose blood crystallized when she was cut.
Blake leaned over my desk, cigarette trembling between two fingers. “They’re not human anymore, Nemesis. They look like it, sound like it — hell, they even bleed like it. But inside…”
He trailed off and took a swig straight from the bottle.
“Inside’s where it gets messy,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Messy.”
He told me all the affected officials had recently returned from Thorax, a mining colony orbiting Glaucus-7 — one of those half-mythic frontier worlds where even the stars don’t stay still.
I poured myself a drink. “So you’re saying someone’s replacing the upper crust of the government with doubles.”
“Not someone,” he said. “Something.”
Chapter Two: The Body That Wasn’t
The morgue stank of ozone and antiseptic. The body on the slab had no organs — just a gel-like substance glowing faintly under the ultraviolet lamps.
“Clone medium,” Blake muttered. His voice was slurred, but his instincts were still sharp — a cop’s nose for what doesn’t belong.
“Thorax-grade silicate,” I said, checking the data chip embedded in the corpse’s neck. “Imported biology. This isn’t cloning — it’s manufacturing.”
Blake shivered. “You ever get the feeling you’re late to a war that already started?”
“Every day,” I said. “Book passage. We’re going to Thorax.”
Chapter Three: The Planet That Shouldn’t Exist
Thorax wasn’t supposed to be habitable, but it never asked permission.
The planet pulsed beneath its own atmosphere — red fog, molten plains, and veins of light like the heartbeat of a sleeping god.
We met Dr. Kira Melanth, the colony’s head biologist, a pale woman with goggles that hid what I suspected were terrified eyes.
She led us through the lab — tanks of amber fluid and shapes suspended within, twitching like dreams trying to wake.
“The metamorphic silicates,” she said. “They’ve begun replicating organic tissue. Not by command — by instinct.”
Blake lit a cigarette and blew smoke toward the tanks. “Instinct to do what?”
She looked at him. “To replace. To perfect.”
That’s when one of the tanks shattered.
A technician screamed as a figure stepped out of the fluid — his own reflection. The thing smiled, learning how to breathe with lungs that weren’t lungs.
Blake stumbled back, gun half-drawn, half-drunk. I fired first. The blast disintegrated the creature — but the residue twitched, glowed, and started knitting itself back together.
We ran.
Chapter Four: The Consulate Conspiracy
By the time we hit Earth again, it was already too late.
The Earth Consulate Tower was sealed off — “quarantine,” they said. The press footage showed calm, collected officials reassuring the public. One of them was Draylin Voss — the same man who’d hired us.
Trouble was, Blake had a holo still showing Voss’s body encased in Thorax crystal.
“We’ve been played,” he said. “We didn’t stop it — we delivered it.”
We broke into the Tower using his old police credentials. They still worked. Maybe the system didn’t care who was alive anymore.
We found Voss in the upper chamber, perfectly still, waiting.
“Mr. Nemesis,” he said, smiling in that wrong, mechanical way. “You’ve brought exactly what we needed.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
He turned his gaze on Blake. “A compatible host.”
Blake staggered, grabbed his head. The veins under his skin pulsed gold.
“Get out of him!” I shouted, drawing my pistol.
Voss tilted his head. “He invited us.”
I fired. The beam hit him dead center. He dissolved into light, screaming like electricity dying. Blake dropped to his knees, shaking.
“James…” he whispered. “It’s still in me. I can feel it.”
“Then we get it out,” I said.
He looked up, eyes wet and distant. “No, you don’t get it. It is me now.”
I raised my gun — but I couldn’t pull the trigger.
Chapter Five: What Remains
That was three weeks ago.
The Consulate’s been silent. The newsfeeds loop official statements from people who don’t blink enough.
Sometimes, when I walk past the old precinct, I see Blake. He stands under the sodium lights, coat collar turned up, hands shaking just enough to prove he’s still human — or trying to be.
He hasn’t said a word since Thorax. Doesn’t have to. I can feel that whatever’s inside him is waiting — patient, hungry, calculating.
Maybe one day he’ll come back for me.
Maybe one day I’ll let him.
Until then, my sign still hangs crooked on the door:
James Nemesis — Private Investigator of Earth.
“If it walks, talks, or bleeds, I’ll find what’s underneath.”
And when the nights get quiet enough to hear the hum of the silicates in the walls, I pour two glasses — one for me, and one for what’s coming.
Because sooner or later, everything changes.
Even the man who hunts monsters.
So, this is going to be a quick follow-up blahg to my previous blahg, THE SLY BUNGERHOP ET AL where I talked about the science fiction author, William Morrison. I detailed how Morrison was an unsung science fiction author who is all but forgotten today. He wrote 79 short science fiction stories and 3 longer, novel length science fiction stories. I had set myself a goal to start reading everything in the science fiction category penned by Morrison. I decided to start off by reading the short stories and I’m happy to say I’ve passed the half-way mark. This blahg will highlight my efforts and my impressions of some of these stories.
I originally had started by reading “The Sly Bungerhop” again. I once set out to read all of the short science fiction stories of Clifford Simak and had purchased a number of anthologies that carried different stories by Simak. One of those anthologies, “Mind Partner,” carried the short story “The Civilization Game” by Simak. I had owned my copy for a number of years and the only story from that anthology that I had read was a story called “The Sly Bungerhop” by William Morrison. That’s where my Morrison interest began. So, I started compiling the list of stories by Morrison and that list can be found in my previous blahg. From that list, I began to read by alphabetical title and then switched to reading by publication date. Here are the stories I have read so far with the year of publication and the pulp magazine in which they were published:
1941:
Bad Medicine – Thrilling Wonder Stories, February 1941
Plastic Pigskin Daze – Thrilling Wonder Stories – March 1941
Crossroads of the Universe – Startling Stories July 1941
Masters of Chance – Thrilling Wonder Stories August 1941
The Barbarians – Future Fiction August 1941
Undersea Snatch – Captain Future – Fall 1941
Christmas on Mars – Thrilling Wonder Stories December 1941
1942:
The Lion-Hearted – Captain Future – Summer 1942
The Man in the Moon – Startling Stories July 1942
Two Worlds To Save – Startling Stories Sept 1942
1943:
Forgotten Past – Startling Stories January 1943
Garments of Doom – Super Science Stories February 1943
The Great Invasion Startling Stories – March 1943
The Invincible Wrestler – Thrilling Wonder Stories – April 1943
The Wheezers – Captain Future – Summer 1943
Light in Darkness – Thrilling Wonder Stories, Fall 1943
The Monkey and the Typewriter – Startling Stories Fall 1943
The Treasure – Captain Future – Winter 1943
1944:
Get Your Extra Here! – Startling Stories Summer 1944
1949:
Free Land – Thrilling Wonder Stories August 1949
Skin Dupe – Thrilling Wonder Stories December 1949
1950:
Stars Over Santa Claus – Startling Stories, January 1950
Hop O’ My Thumb – Super Science Stories May 1950
Disappointment – Startling Stories, July 1950
The Ancient – Fantastic Story Quarterly – Fall 1950
The Sack – Astounding Science Fiction, September 1950
The Strangest Bedfellows – Thrilling Wonder Stories – June 1950
1951:
Star Slave – with Harry Nix Super Science Stories – June 1951
Monster – Planet Stories July 1951
Vermin – Fantastic Story Magazine, Fall 1951
The Cupids of Venus – Startling Stories, November 1951
The Dark Dimension – Marvel Science Fiction – November 1951
The Joker – Fantastic Adventures – December 1951
1953:
Divinity – Space Science Fiction March 1953
Date of Publication, 2083 A.D. – Fantastic Universe Oct/Nov 1953
Country Doctor – Star Science Fiction Stories, 1953, edited by Frederic Pohl
1954:
Battleground – Amazing Stories, November 1954
Bedside Manner – Galaxy May 1954
No Star’s Land – Fantastic Universe July 1954
1955:
Dead Man’s Planet – Galaxy v09n05 February 1955
Dark Destiny – Startling Stories Spring 1955
1957:
The Sly Bungerhop – Galaxy Science Fiction, September 1957
1958:
A Feast of Demons – Galaxy, March 1958
The switch to reading by publication date has made for more interesting reading as I noticed changes in the way Morrison wrote. I won’t talk about all the stories I’ve read but I’ll highlight some I enjoyed and possibly others that didn’t work for me.
“Bad Medicine” from 1941 is, I believe, Morrison’s first published science fiction story. Here’s the art that was published with the story when it appeared in Thrilling Wonder Stories, February 1941:
This was a very fun story. It’s about two hucksters who, like the old medicine shows of old, sell phony elixirs to the locals. This time the locals are slow-witted aliens on another planet and the potion guarantees an intelligence boost. What happens when it really works and the aliens become suddenly smarter than the hucksters? A fun idea that works well and is an enjoyable read.
I’ll breeze through the other 1941 stories. “Plastic Pigskin Daze” was about football and technology. I didn’t find it all that interesting. The next chronological story, “Crossroads of the Universe” also wasn’t as good. It was more a hard-fisted crime story of Mercurian criminals and human smuggling. It didn’t benefit from the exotic locale or the use of aliens and spaceships. “Masters of Chance,” published in Thrilling Wonder Stories, August 1941 was a better story.
A robot learns to gamble, but he’s needed elsewhere to keep a factory going. Human insight is the only thing that can defeat the robot’s winning streak. This story was another of those “fun to read” entries. “The Barbarians” is about war between two factions on a remote colony in space. How they wage war and why it’s considered barbaric makes it worth reading. The other two 1941 entries, “Undersea Snatch” and “Christmas On Mars” were just so-so. Both stories were better suited to be on land or on Earth. The science fiction adds no real value to the stories.
William Morrison’s output in 1942 was less than the previous year with only three stories published. “Two Worlds To Save” was extremely long. I’m not sure of the word count but of the 132 pages of Startling Stories, September 1942, “Two Worlds To Save” takes up 70 pages. It’s clearly a novella and, for me, it ran on for too long. In the July 1942 edition of “Starling Stories,” Morrison had his short story, “The Man In The Moon” published.
This is a first-contact story that has a twist at the end. The science fiction really complements the story but humanity gets in the way. “The Lion-Hearted” is about a movie producer who is turned into a human-lion hybrid. It was just okay.
1943 was a more prolific year for science fiction stories by Morrison. The two best stories were “Garments of Doom” and “The Great Invasion.” The “Garments of Doom” is about an invasion that goes horribly wrong because of diapers. If that doesn’t intrigue you then nothing will. “The Great Invasion” is told from the viewpoint of children. I don’t even think adults could have handled it better.
The other stories from 1943 were of the so-so variety. None much better than the rest, although I still enjoyed reading them.
1944 only saw the publication of “The Companions of Sirius” and “Get Your Extra Here!” Somehow, I missed reading “The Companions of Sirius” so I’ll have to circle back to it. In “Get Your Extra Here!” a hen-pecked earth man starts receiving a newspaper from the future and then ends up travelling there. Yes, the only entry for 1944 but very enjoyable.
William Morrison did not publish for the next 5 years. In 1949 he published “Free Land” and “Skin Dupe.” Both were published in Thrilling Wonder Stories with “Free Land” in the August edition and “Skin Dupe” coming out in September.
“Free Land” is the better of the pair. Earthlings are offered free land on Mars. “Simply complete in twenty-five words or less, the following sentence —I’d like to live on Jupiter because— That’s all! Send your completed sentence along with ten units entrance fee, to the following address—”. The problem is that the soil won’t grow anything. The lead character is an ‘aeroponic engineer’ and he figures things out for the better. “Skin Dupe” was less interesting. It was cosmetics in the future. Yep, that’s as exciting as it gets.
There were six stories from Morrison published in 1950 in five different science fiction magazines. “Disappointment” was the best one of the year.
“You just can’t stop Horton Perry, the salted nut king, from complaining about that ultra-scientific son-in-law of his!” Despite all the scientific breakthroughs discovered by his son-in-law, Horton Perry cannot forgive him for not solving the problem of salt ratio in the packages of Perry’s salted nuts. The other stories were good but “Disappointment” has the humour that puts this story over the top. “Stars Over Santa Claus,” Startling Stories, January 1950 was another one I missed the first time around. Having finally read it, I will say it was a minor delight. Stuck on another planet with invading armies, what you really need is a materializer that works. You could materialize guns or supplies or even a decent turkey dinner. Of course, if your materializer doesn’t work then it’s looking to be a dismal Christmas unless someone can fix it. Fun.
1951 saw six stories from Morrison in six different magazines. “Monster,” “Vermin,” and “The Joker” are the highlights. “Monster” is about dangerous critters on an earth colony and how importing a dog from Earth to deal with things has its advantages and disadvantages. Great ending on this one. “Vermin” is like a Land Of The Giants world where the humans are considered as “vermin.” How can they improve their lot in life and deal with their giant problem? If you’re a Star Trek Next Generation fan you’ll know about “Q.” He’s an omnipotent being who plays with the lives of what he sees as lesser beings. That’s like “The Joker” in Morrison’s story.
Incidentally, “The Joker” is the most recent story I have read as I progress through these stories chronologically.
I haven’t read any of his output from 1952 but have read some from 1953. In 1953 he published “Divinity” in Space Science Fiction, March 1953, and “Date of Publication, 2083 A.D” in Fantastic Universe Oct/Nov 1953. There were eleven stories in total published by Morrison in 1953 but I have only read these two plus “Country Doctor” which was first published in the anthology “Star Science Fiction Stories” released in February of 1953. Clearly, “Date of Publication, 2083 A.D.” and “Country Doctor” are the better stories. “Divinity” is about an escaped criminal who sets himself up as a god on an alien world. His change into a respectable and respected person is the not result he expected. “Date of Publication, 2083 A.D.” is about a book from the future that lands in 1950s suburbia and changes everything to humorous consequences. Morrison’s science fiction stories with this type of humour are always a pleasurable read. “Country Doctor” is just as enjoyable as a homespun country doctor, like the story title suggests, has to diagnose a giant space cow by going on the inside of the beast. “Country Doctor” is the only Morrison science fiction story not to be published in a pulp magazine.
I’m not sure what was the best story by Morrison of those published in 1954 that I have read. This was Morrison’s most prolific year with thirteen science fiction stories published. The three that I have read are “Battleground,” “Bedside Manner,” and “No Star’s Land.” Both “Battleground” and “Bedside Manner” had medical themes. Neither was better than the other. Here’s he tag for “Battleground”:
Snatching an appendix neatly and efficiently was Doctor Verner’s dish, so the operation appeared to be entirely routine. But this particular patient was constructed along strange lines, he needed his appendix very badly!
And here’s the tag for “Bedside Manner”:
Broken, helpless, she had to trust an alien doctor to give her back her body and mind—a doctor who had never seen a human before!
“No Star’s Land” was about a couple who are trapped in a “no man’s land” or “no star’s land” in this case between two warring planets. Not any better or any worse than the other two stories published in 1954
Morrison’s output was definitely slowing down moving into the mid 1950s. He would only publish eleven more stories between 1955 and 1958. From 1955 I have read “Dead Man’s Planet” and “Dark Destiny” The latter story is about castaways having to survive on an inhospitable planet. Not as good as you’d think. “Dead Man’s Planet” was definitely more interesting. A Father and Son who are grieving discover a dog on a planet where nothing else lives. Why is the dog there and what is the dog grieving? This is a good solid story.
In 1956 and 1957, Morrison published two stories in each of those years. The only one I have read is from 1957 and was the inspiration for my previous blahg and this one. “The Sly Bungerhop” was published in Galaxy Science Fiction in their September 1957 issue. It even rated a mention on the cover:
What do I say about this story? It’s got that Morrison humour that works so well in some of his stories. It’s about a science-fiction author who pays a visit to a publishing-house editor who has just rejected the author’s latest story about the thirty-first century. There’s an altercation and the author breaks his glasses and he can hardly see a thing. He stumbles away and inadvertently summons and boards an elevator that takes him to the distant future…but he can hardly see or understand a thing. Check out the humorous artwork for the story (click on it for a larger version):
Late in his career and Morrison was still knocking out great stories. If you only check out one of Morrison’s stories then I suggest this one.
Finally, 1958, and Morrison publishes his last science fiction story, “A Feast Of Demons” published in Galaxy Science Fiction in March 1958. This one, I have also read. It’s full of that Morrison wit and is well written. The story also received a mention on the cover:
A scientist discovers the secret to eternal life but what does this mean for Earth if no one ever dies? A couple of old college buddies hatch the scheme at a reunion. One’s the scientist and the other is a schemer who should have kept his mother shut! Not a bad way to end off a science fiction career. I only wish there had been more. Well, at least there are for me. There’s nothing after 1958 but I have the other half of the stories I’ve yet to read in chronological order. Can’t wait!
If you’ve read the title to this current blahg and are confused, you’re probably thinking I had another fall and hit my head and am still woozy. No. I also have not lost the use of my language. At least, I hope not. I have a Bachelor of Arts in English studies so it would be a shame if I could no longer use what I went to school for. No, the title is, what I think, a clever introduction to today’s topic. Allow me to elaborate (see, I can still use my English when I need to).
Four months ago I finally penned a blahg about the great Science Fiction author, Clifford Simak, THAT BLAHG ABOUT CLIFFORD D. SIMAK. This current blahg is inspired by that blahg or related to it or is influenced by it. I’ll stop showing off now. In that blahg, however, I noted that I maintain a website dedicated to the Science Fiction Short Stories of Clifford Simak, http://www.falseducks.com/simak/. Simak published 123 short science fiction stories when he was alive and a 124th was published long after his death. On my website, I list each of the short stories and where you can find each story. Sometimes, the short story was only available in a science fiction magazine where it was first published or later in anthologies that are now out of date. Over the years, I purchased a number of these anthologies just so I could read each of those stories. I also own a number of old pulp magazines because some stories were never republished in anthologies.
My entry for the Simak short story, “The Civilization Game” lists, among others, the appearance of that story in the 1961 paperback anthology of “Mind Partner.” I have owned my copy for a number of years and I think the only story from that anthology that I have read is a story called “The Sly Bungerhop” by William Morrison. See, I didn’t suffer an injury! Recently I re-read “The Sly Bungerhop” and it got me thinking that I had no idea who William Morrison was or if he had written any other science fiction short stories. So, that’s where this blahg really begins. I’m going to answer those questions.
First, it turns out that William Morrison is not really William Morrison. His real name is Joseph Samaschon. There is a Wikipedia entry but it’s pretty sparse so I went looking and found a more detailed biography for Joseph Samaschon. This comes from the website https://sf-encyclopedia.com/entry/samachson_joseph:
Samachson, Joseph
(1906-1980) US research chemist who became a freelance author between 1938 and 1953 before returning to biochemistry, eventually retiring in 1973 after five years as Associate Clinical Professor of biochemistry at Loyola University, Chicago. His first story, “Bad Medicine” in Thrilling Wonder Stories for February 1941, was published as by William Morrison, under which name he wrote almost all his fiction of interest. Under the House Name Brett Sterling he wrote two Captain Future tales, “Worlds to Come” (Spring 1943 Captain Future) and The Tenth Planet (Spring 1944 Captain Future as “Days of Creation”; 1969). It is believed that Samachson may have written some of the “Sergeant Saturn” letter-column commentary in Captain Future and Startling Stories.
His contributions to science fiction fall into two halves. He wrote sporadically for the Pulp magazines between 1941 and 1944, chiefly for the Standard Magazines Thrilling Wonder Stories and Startling Stories under editors Mort Weisinger and Oscar J Friend. These early stories show his sense of humour, many being written somewhat tongue-in-cheek taking an ironic look at attitudes within society. In “The Man in the Moon” (July 1942 Startling) mankind loses an opportunity to better itself by rejecting its potential benefactor purely because it is an Alien. Likewise in “The Great Invasion” (March 1943 Startling Stories) a misunderstanding between humans and aliens almost ends in disaster. Also since 1941 Samachson had been writing for DC Comics and this began to dominate his work from 1944 through to the mid-1950s. He contributed stories to both Batman and Superman and created several characters of his own – notably, in 1955, J’onn J’onzz the Martian Manhunter, a Shapeshifter from Mars who is stranded on Earth and seeks to use his advanced knowledge and Superpowers to fight crime.
Samachson returned to the sf magazines with two stories in 1949, becoming more prolific in that arena in the early 1950s. His cynicism was still present in “The Joker” (December 1951 Fantastic Adventures) where an alien with awesome powers causes havoc to a Spaceship until it is sufficiently astonished by the absurdity of a politician’s speech to let the ship go. However, Samachson also responded to the demands for more mature sf, particularly from John W Campbell Jr and Horace L Gold. “The Sack” (September 1950 Astounding) explores what happens when humans discover an Alien being that is omniscient, but a more humane outlook appears in what came to be regarded as Morrison’s best story, “Country Doctor” (in Star Science Fiction Stories, anth 1953, ed Frederik Pohl), where a doctor has to attend to a sick alien creature. He reversed this idea in “Bedside Manner” (May 1954 Galaxy) where an alien helps to rebuild the victim of an accident in space. Other stories of note include”The Addicts” (January 1952 Galaxy), which shows the effects on a married couple of isolation on an asteroid and “The Model of a Judge” (October 1953 Galaxy SF), which again explores the interaction between humans and aliens but at a deeper psychological level. Samachson continued to produce deceptively simple stories about the human/alien condition throughout the 1950s and yet most of his stories still betrayed a dark humour suggesting that throughout his writing career he was using sf to show human limitations. His last story, “A Feast of Demons” (March 1958 Galaxy) reworked the theme of the philosopher’s stone in terms of the hypothetical Maxwell’s Demon to show how humans might cope with an abundance of wealth and everlasting life (see also Thought Experiment; Time in Reverse).
Although he wrote two further lead novels for the magazines, “Two Worlds to Save” (September 1942 Startling Stories), a Space Opera set on Mercury, and “The Gears of Time” (April 1953 Space Stories) an early example of a Time Travel romance, Samachson published only one standalone sf novel in book form during his lifetime: a juvenile, Mel Oliver and Space Rover on Mars (1954). He never assembled a volume selected from his eighty-or-so short stories and as a consequence his reputation faded. When Frederik Pohl, Martin H Greenberg and Joseph D Olander compiled Galaxy: 30 Years of Innovative Science Fiction (anth 1980), they remarked that Samachson was “one of the most shamefully neglected writers in the history of science fiction.”
A collection of his best William Morrison tales was eventually published, long after his death, as The Sly Bungerhop (coll 2017 ebook) as by William Morrison.
I was not deterred. I was determined to use my research abilities and to rely on a website I had used when creating my Clifford Simak website. Here’s a link to the William Morrison entry: https://www.isfdb.org/cgi-bin/ea.cgi?1246. The website has a listing for all of Morrison’s science fiction short stories with links to where else those stories later appeared. Below is the list that I have created in chronological order with the name of the magazine where the story first appeared. “Et Al” in Latin means “and others” so the title “THE SLY BUNGERHOP ET AL” should start to make sense to you.
1941:
Bad Medicine – Thrilling Wonder Stories, February 1941
Plastic Pigskin Daze – Thrilling Wonder Stories – March 1941
Crossroads of the Universe – Startling Stories July 1941
Masters of Chance– Thrilling Wonder Stories August 1941
The Barbarians – Future Fiction August 1941
Undersea Snatch – Captain Future – Fall 1941
Christmas on Mars – Thrilling Wonder Stories December 1941
1942:
The Lion-Hearted– Captain Future – Summer 1942
The Man in the Moon – Startling Stories July 1942
Two Worlds To Save – Startling Stories Sept 1942
1943:
Forgotten Past – Startling Stories January 1943
Garments of Doom – Super Science Stories February 1943
The Great Invasion – Startling Stories – March 1943
The Invincible Wrestler– Thrilling Wonder Stories – April 1943
The Wheezers– Captain Future – Summer 1943
Light in Darkness – Thrilling Wonder Stories, Fall 1943
The Monkey and the Typewriter – Startling Stories Fall 1943
The Treasure – Captain Future – Winter 1943
1944:
Get Your Extra Here! – Startling Stories Summer 1944
The Companions of Sirius – Captain Future, Winter 1944
1949:
Free Land – Thrilling Wonder Stories August 1949
Skin Dupe – Thrilling Wonder Stories December 1949
1950:
Hop O’ My Thumb – Super Science Stories May 1950
The Strangest Bedfellows – Thrilling Wonder Stories – June 1950
Stars Over Santa Claus – Startling Stories, January 1950
Disappointment – Startling Stories, July 1950
The Ancient – Fantastic Story Quarterly – Fall 1950
The Sack – Astounding Science Fiction, September 1950
1951:
Star Slave – with Harry Nix Super Science Stories – June 1951
Monster – Planet Stories July 1951
Vermin – Fantastic Story Magazine, Fall 1951
The Cupids of Venus – Startling Stories, November 1951
The Dark Dimension – Marvel Science Fiction – November 1951
The Joker – Fantastic Adventures – December 1951
1952:
The Addicts – Galaxy January 1952
Asylum– Marvel Science Fiction, May 1952
The Luckiest Man Alive! – Science Fiction Quarterly May 1952
Shipping Clerk – Galaxy Science Fiction June 1952
New Universe – Startling Stories July 1952
Temptation – Fantastic Adventures – July 1952
Runaway – Galaxy Science Fiction November 1952
Scent Of Danger – Science Fiction Quarterly – November 1952
Dragon Army – Fantastic Adventures, November 1952
Revenge – Space Stories December 1952
1953:
Forgotten Danger – Science Fiction Adventures February 1953
The Hunters – Space Science Fiction – February 1953
Divinity– Space Science Fiction March 1953
The Gears Of Time – Space Stories – April 1953
The Haters – Rocket Stories, April 1953
Long Life to You, Albert! – Science Fiction Adventures July 1953
Task of Kayin – Planet Stories July 1953
The Weather on Mercury – Galaxy July 1953
The Model of a Judge – Galaxy – October 1953
Date of Publication, 2083 A.D. – Fantastic Universe Oct/Nov 1953
Country Doctor– Star Science Fiction Stories (anthology) 1953
1954:
Battleground – Amazing Stories November 1954
Bedside Manner – Galaxy May 1954
Split Personality – Fantastic Story – Winter 1954
G’rilla – Beyond Fantasy Fiction January 1954
Playground – The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, February 1954
The Inner Worlds – The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, April 1954
Heads You Lose – Beyond Fantasy Fiction May 1954
Messenger – Imagination July 1954
No Star’s Land – Fantastic Universe July 1954
There Ought to Be a Lore – Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction – September 1954
Unwelcomed Visitor – If October 1954
Music of the Sphere – Fantasy and Science Fiction October 1954
The Ardent Soul – The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction December 1954
1955:
Dead Man’s Planet – Galaxy v09n05 February 1955
Dark Destiny – Startling Stories Spring 1955
The Hollywood Habit – Fantastic Universe – April 1955
Hiding Place – Fantastic Universe, June 1955
Picture Bride – Galaxy June 1955
Spoken For – Galaxy July 1955
1956:
The Head Hunters – with Frederik Pohl – Fantastic Universe – January 1956
Star Slugger – The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction – June 1956
1957:
The Sly Bungerhop – Galaxy Science Fiction, September 1957
Stepping Stone – The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction December 1957
1958:
A Feast of Demons – Galaxy March 1958
If my math is correct, that’s 79 short science fiction stories. https://www.isfdb.org/cgi-bin/ea.cgi?1246 also lists “Two Worlds To Save” 1942 and “The Gears Of Time” 1953 as novels but they were published in pulp magazine format only and not as stand-alone novels. The only short story from the above list not to be published in a magazine first was “Country Doctor” which only appeared in the Star Science Fiction Stories anthology from 1953. Apparently Samachson/Morrison also published under the name Brett Starling when he published the stories “Worlds To Come” in “Captain Future, Spring, 1943,” and “Days of Creation” in “Captain Future, Spring, 1944.” Below are the magazine covers for those two stories.
The story “Days Of Creation” was also published by Popular Library in 1969 as a novel under the title, “The Tenth Planet”:
Finally, regarding novels, Morrison had his novel,”Mel Oliver and Space Rover on Mars” published by Gnome Press in 1954:
As for other short stories by William Morrison in other genres, there was another website that listed all of his other stories but it was taken down over the past week. Luckily, I was able to note those other stories. Here’s the list as it appeared with the magazine listed where it was published:
The Birds Tell Everything – Thrilling Detective, April 1941
Death Takes Wings – G-Men Detective, July 1942
Don’t Tell the Police – Popular Detective, February 1943
Flight To Death – Popular Detective, June 1943
G-Boy – G-Men Detective, September 1941
Good Luck Jonah – Texas Rangers February 1943 (western)
Killer on the Run – Fifteen Detective Stories, August 1953
Money from Heaven – G-Men Detective, March 1942
Murder Takes Nerve – Thrilling Mystery, November 1942
No Medal for Murdock – G-Men Detective, Fall 1944
Pop and the Law – Black Book Detective, May 1942
Return Without Scalps, – Thrilling Western, May 1943
Santa Claus Ain’t Tough – Thrilling Detective, March 1941
Studio Father – Family Circle, January 1954
They Picked a Sucker – Thrilling Mystery, Summer 1944
Thirty-Seven Dead Men – Thrilling Adventures, October 1942
When Rattlers Meet – West, November 1942
Widow’s Choice – Texas Rangers, August 1943
You Got Me Hypnotized – The Masked Detective, Summer 1942
Youthful Matron – Family Circle, November 1954
So, with the 79 short science fiction stories, the three novels, and the western and mystery stories, I’m looking to read over 100 titles. You are probably wondering about now, how I’m going to accomplish all of this when the majority of these stories only appeared in old magazines. First, there’s a wonderful website that has catalogued many of these early science fiction magazines and has made them available as PDF downloads. There’s nothing like reading the original magazine but then you can get sidetracked by other stories in those magazines. You can check out that site here: https://www.luminist.org/archives/. As an added bonus, that site also hosts Western and Mystery magazines so I’ve already found some of the Morrison stories from those genres. Archive.org also hosts a number of these magazines in different viewing and downloadable formats. You can check it out at: https://archive.org/details/PulpMags. If you know the name of the magazine and the publication date then you can use their search engine to find what you’re looking for.
As an added bonus I found an article about William Morrison from “Startling Stories” September 1942. It appeared in their Meet The Author section. Here it is:
I’ve already started reading some of the science fiction stories. I first started reading by alphabetical title but then I switched to chronological appearance so I could see how Morrison’s writing progressed over time. Here’s what I’ve read so far:
A Feast of Demons (1958)
Asylum (1952
Bad Medicine (1941)
Battleground (1954)
Bedside Manner (1954)
Christmas on Mars
Crossroads of the Universe (1941
Dark Destiny (1955)
Date of Publication, 2083 A.D. (1953)
Dead Man’s Planet (1955)
Disappointment (1950)
Divinity (1953)
Masters of Chance (1941)
No Star’s Land (1954)
Plastic Pigskin Daze (1941)
The Barbarians (1941)
The Lion-Hearted (1942)
The Man in the Moon (1942)
The Sly Bungerhop
Undersea Snatch (1941)
The early ones from 1941 and 1942 had settings that dealt with planets in our solar system like Mars, Venus, and Mercury or moons of those planets. Of course, science now tells us those planets are uninhabited but the stories are entertaining. Later in 1942 the stories range from things happening on Earth now or in the future or on planets that have never been discovered. I’m enjoying them all and I’ll post more on my progress in future blahgs. Here are some images of Morrison stories featured prominently on the cover:
I’m also working on trying to discover if there were other Morrison science fiction stories that might have been missed on other lists. The “Thrilling Wonder Stories” edition of February 1941 that carried the story “Bad Medicine” credited Morrison as having previously written “The Thirteenth Moon” and “The Crystal Death.” Here’s a screenshot of the magazine where it mentions the two stories:
“Thrilling Wonder Stories” also mentioned the same two stories in the March 1941 edition when they published Morrison’s “Plastic Pigskin Daze”:
It’s possible they were not written by Morrison but I’ve found no other listings for these two stories and I’d think that “Thrilling Wonder Stories” would not have credited Morrison stories that appeared in a competitor’s magazine. In fact, I’ve seen other editions of “Thrilling Wonder Stories” where they credited correctly, previous stories by Morrison. Check out this August 1941 edition where they mentioned both “Bad Medicine” and “Plastic Pigskin Daze”:
“Bad Medicine” is the first science fiction story by Morrison that I’ve seen listed as appearing in “Thrilling Wonder Stories.” I checked the January 1941 edition of “Thrilling Wonder Stories” as well as all of the editions for 1940 and 1939 and there are no stories attributed to Morrison and none with stories by the titles “The Thirteenth Moon” or “The Crystal Death.” That’s another mystery for another day. I’ll just read what I have but I’ll keep trying to track down any information on these two “alleged” stories. Keep checking back.
Today is January 30th and I’m going to try and sneak in another blahg before the end of the month and no, before you ask, I have not finished writing “HOW ABOUT YOU, DELBERT ROBINSON?” I’ve stalled on that story but then again I’ve picked up on stories sometimes a year and half later or even ten years later. I’ll get there eventually. When I was driving to work today, I glanced at the temperature display and saw it was -21c and that converts to -5.8 Fahrenheit or, in other words, it’s damn cold out there. I don’t usually dream about warmer climates at this time of the year but I like to listen to some music that warms the soul. This blahg is going to offer up some music that always takes my mind off the cold. I hope it does it for you, too. 
In my previous blahg, 
