Free Button, Button: Uncanny Stories by Richard Matheson Page A

scattered brown-edged papers on the soggy rug. Rick stirred restlessly and stabbed a glance at the gaping fissure in the wall (When, in the name of heaven, would they finish those repairs?), then returned, joy renewed, to Shaggley's manuscript.
    Finishing at last, he fingered away a tear of bittersweetness and depressed an intercom key.
    "Another check for Shaggley," he ordered, then tossed the snapped-off key across his shoulder.
    At three-thirty, he brought the manuscript to R.A.'s office and left it there.
    At four, the publisher laughed and cried over it, gnarled fingers rubbing at the scabrous bald patch on his head.
    Old hunchbacked Dick Allen set type for Shaggley's story that very afternoon, vision blurred by happy tears beneath his eyeshade, liquid coughing unheard above the busy clatter of his machine.
    The story hit the stand a little after six. The scar-faced dealer shifted on his tired legs as he read it over six times before, reluctantly, offering it for sale.
    At half past six, the little bald-patched man came hobbling down the street. A hard day's work, a well-earned rest, he thought, stopping at the corner newsstand for some reading matter.
    He gasped. By George in heaven, a new Shaggley story! What luck!
    The only copy, too. He left a quarter for the dealer who wasn't there at the moment.
    He took the story home, shambling by skeletal ruins (strange, those burned buildings hadn't been replaced yet), reading as he went.
    He finished the story before arriving home. Over supper, he read it once again, shaking his lumpy head at the marvel of its impact, the unbreakable magic of its workmanship. It inspires, he thought.
    But not tonight. Now was the time for putting things away: the cover on the typewriter, the shabby overcoat, threadbare pinstripe, eyeshade, mailman's cap and leather sack all in their proper places.
    He was asleep by ten, dreaming about mushrooms. And, in the morning, wondering once again why those first observers had not described the cloud as more like a toadstool.
    By six a.m. Shaggley, breakfasted, was at the typewriter.
    This is the story, he wrote, of how Ras met the beautiful priestess of Shahglee and she fell in love with him.

Mute
    The man in the dark raincoat arrived in German Corners at two-thirty that Friday afternoon. He walked across the bus station to a counter behind which a plump, grayhaired woman was polishing glasses.
    "Please," he said, "where might I find authority?"
    The woman peered through rimless glasses at him. She saw a man in his late thirties, a tall, good-looking man.
    "Authority?" she asked.
    "Yes-how do you say it? The constable? The-?"
    "Sheriff?"
    "Ah." The man smiled. "Of course. The sheriff. Where might I find h im ?"
    After being directed, he walked out of the building into the overcast day. The threat of rain had been constant since he'd woken up that morning as the bus was pulling over the mountains into Casca Valley. The man drew up his collar, then slid both hands into the pockets of his raincoat and started briskly down Main Street.
    Really, he felt tremendously guilty for not having come sooner; but there was so much to do, so many problems to overcome with his own two children. Even knowing that something was wrong with Holger and Fanny, he'd been unable to get away from Germany until now-almost a year since they'd last heard from the Nielsens. It was a shame that Holger had chosen such an out-of-the-way place for his corner of the foursided experiment.
    Professor Werner walked more quickly, anxious to find out what had happened to the Nielsens and their son. Their progress with the boy had been phenomenal-really an inspiration to them all. Although Werner felt, deep within himself, that something terrible had happened, he hoped they were all alive and well. Yet, if they were, how to account for the long silence?
    Werner shook his head worriedly. Could it have been the town? Elkenberg had been compelled to move several times in order to avoid the