Naturally an undertaker will get the last word.
But shouldn't he wait until his clients are dead?
By JIM HARMON
Illustrated by Gaughan
Sam Collins flashed the undertakera healthy smile,hoping it wouldn't depressold Candle too much. He saluted.The skeletal figure inendless black nodded gravely,and took hold of Sam Collins'arm with a death grip.
"I'm going to bury you,Sam Collins," the undertakersaid.
The tall false fronts ofMain Street spilled out a lakeof shadow, a canal of liquidheat that soaked through theiron weave of Collins' jeansand turned into black inkstains. The old window of thehardware store showed itsage in soft wrinkles, ripplesthat had caught on fire in thesunset. Collins felt the twilightstealing under the armsof his tee-shirt. The overduehair on the back of his rangyneck stood up in attention.It was a joke, but the firstone Collins had ever knownDoc Candle to make.
"In time, I guess you'llbury me all right, Doc."
"In my time, not yours,Earthling."
"Earthling?" Collins repeatedthe last word.
The old man frowned. Hisface was a collection of lines.When he frowned, all thelines pointed to hell, thegrave, decay and damnation.
"Earthling," the undertakerrepeated. "Earthman? Terrestrial?Solarian? SpaceRanger? Homo sapiens?"
Collins decided Candle wassure in a jokey mood. "Kindof makes you think of it,don't it, Doc? The spaceportgoing right up outside oftown. Rocketships are goingto be out there taking off forthe Satellite, the Moon, placeslike that. Reminds you thatwe are Earthlings, like theysay in the funnies, all right."
"Not outside town."
"What?"
"Inside. Inside town. Partof the spaceship administrationbuilding is going to gosmack in the middle of whereyour house used to be."
"My house is."
"For less time than you willbe yourself, Earthling."
"Earthling yourself! What'swrong with you, Doc?"
"No. I am not an Earthling.I am a superhuman alien fromouter space. My mission onEarth is to destroy you."
Collins pulled away gently.When you lived in atown all your life and knew itspeople, it wasn't unusual tosee some old person snap underthe weight of years.
"You have to destroy therocketship station, huh, Doc,before it sends up spaceships?"
"No. I want to kill you.That is my mission."
"Why?"
"Because," Candle said, "Iam a basically evil entity."
The undertaker turnedaway and went skitteringdown Main Street, his lopsidedgait limping, sliding,hopping, skipping, at a refinedleisurely pace. He wasa collection of dancing,straight black lines.
Collins stared after the oldman, shook his head and forgotabout him.
He moved into the hardwarestore. The bell tinkledbehind him. The store wascramped with shadows and thesmell of wood and iron. Itwas lined off as precisely asa checkerboard, with counters,drawers, compartments.
Ed Michaels sat behind thecounter, smoking a pipe. Hewas a handsome man, lookingyoung in the uncertain light,even at fifty.
"Hi, Ed. You closed?"
"Guess not, Sam. What areyou looking for?"
"A pound of tenpennynails."
Michaels stood up.
Sarah Comstock waddledenergetically out of the back.Her sweet, angelic face lit upwith a smile. "Sam Collins.Well, I guess you'll want tohelp us murder them."
"Murder?" Collins repeated."Who?"
"Those Air Force men whowant to come in here andcaus