Nightmare At 20,000 Feet by Richard Matheson Page A

I'll sit by like a mute and watch you kill yourself."
    Chris felt his heart jump. He swallowed. He got rid of the thoughts as though they were visible to Morton.
    "Forget it," he said. "I don't care what proofs you have. I don't believe any of it."
    "What'll it take to convince you, damn it?" Morton said. "Do you have to lose your life first?"
    "Look," Chris said pettishly. "I don't believe it. That's it. Forget it now, let it go."
    "Listen, Chris, I can show you…"
    "You can show me nothing!" Chris cut in.
    Morton was patient. "It's a recognized phenomenon," he said.
    Chris looked at him in disgust and shook his head.
    "What dreams you white frocked kiddies have in the sanctified cloister of your laboratories. You can make yourself believe anything after a while. As long as you can make up a measurement for it."
    "Will you listen to me, Chris? How many times have you complained to me about splinters, about closet doors flying open, about rugs slipping? How many times?"

    "Oh, for God's sake, don't start that again. I'll get up and walk out of here. I'm in no mood for your lectures. Save them for those poor idiots who pay tuition to hear them."
    Morton looked at him with a shake of his head.
    "I wish I could get to you," he said.
    "Forget it."
    "Forget it?" Morton squirmed. "Can't you see that you're in danger because of your temper?"
    "I'm telling you, John…"
    "Where do you think that temper of yours goes? Do you think it disappears? No. It doesn't. It goes into your rooms and into your furniture and into the air. It goes into Sally. It makes everything sick; including you. It crowds you out. It welds a link between animate and inanimate. Psychobolie. Oh, don't look so petulant; like a child who can't stand to hear the word spinach. Sit down, for God's sake. You're an adult; listen like one."
    Chris lit a cigarette. He let Morton's voice drift into a non-intelligent hum. He glanced at the wall clock. Quarter to twelve. In two minutes, if the schedule was adhered to, she would be going. The train would move and the town of Fort would pass away from her.
    "I've told you any number of times," Morton was saying. "No one knows what matter is made of. Atoms, electrons, pure energy-all words. Who knows where it will end? We guess, we theorize, we make up means of measurement. But we don't know.
    "And that's for matter. Think of the human brain and its still unknown capacities. It's an uncharted continent, Chris. It may stay that way for a long time. And all that time the suspected powers will still be affecting us and, maybe, affecting matter, even if we can't measure it on a gauge.
    "And I say you're poisoning your house. I say your temper has become ingrained in the structure, in every article you touch. All of them influenced by you and your ungovernable rages. And I think too that if it weren't for Sally's presence acting as an abortive factor, well… you might actually be attacked by…"
    Chris heard the last few sentences.
    "Oh, stop this gibberish!" he snapped angrily. "You're talking like a juvenile after his first Tom Swift novel."
    Morton sighed. He ran his fingers over the cup edge and shook his head sadly.
    "Well," he said, "all I can do is hope that nothing breaks down. It's obvious to me that you're not going to listen."
    "Congratulations on one statement I can agree with," said Chris. He looked at his watch. "And now if you'll excuse me I'll go and listen to saddle-shoed cretins stumble over passages they haven't the slightest ability to assimilate."
    They got up.
    "I'll take it," said Morton but Chris slapped a coin on the counter and walked out. Morton followed, putting his change into his pocket slowly.
    In the street he patted Chris on the shoulder.
    "Try to take it easy," he said. "Look, why don't you and Sally come out to the house tonight? We could have a few rounds of bridge."
    "That's impossible," Chris said.
    The students were reading a selection from King Lear. Their heads were bent over the books. He