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THE HANGING STRANGER
BY PHILIP K. DICK
ILLUSTRATED BY SMITH
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Science FictionAdventures Magazine December 1953. Extensive research did not uncoverany evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Ed had always been a practical man, when he saw something was wrong he tried to correct it. Then one day he saw _it_ hanging in the town square.
Five o'clock Ed Loyce washed up, tossed on his hat and coat, got his carout and headed across town toward his TV sales store. He was tired. Hisback and shoulders ached from digging dirt out of the basement andwheeling it into the back yard. But for a forty-year-old man he had doneokay. Janet could get a new vase with the money he had saved; and heliked the idea of repairing the foundations himself!
It was getting dark. The setting sun cast long rays over the scurryingcommuters, tired and grim-faced, women loaded down with bundles andpackages, students swarming home from the university, mixing with clerksand businessmen and drab secretaries. He stopped his Packard for a redlight and then started it up again. The store had been open without him;he'd arrive just in time to spell the help for dinner, go over therecords of the day, maybe even close a couple of sales himself. He droveslowly past the small square of green in the center of the street, thetown park. There were no parking places in front of LOYCE TV SALES ANDSERVICE. He cursed under his breath and swung the car in a U-turn. Againhe passed the little square of green with its lonely drinking fountainand bench and single lamppost.
From the lamppost something was hanging. A shapeless dark bundle,swinging a little with the wind. Like a dummy of some sort. Loyce rolleddown his window and peered out. What the hell was it? A display ofsome kind? Sometimes the Chamber of Commerce put up displays in thesquare.
Again he made a U-turn and brought his car around. He passed the parkand concentrated on the dark bundle. It wasn't a dummy. And if it was adisplay it was a strange kind. The hackles on his neck rose and heswallowed uneasily. Sweat slid out on his face and hands.
It was a body. A human body.
* * * * *
"Look at it!" Loyce snapped. "Come on out here!"
Don Fergusson came slowly out of the store, buttoning his pin-stripecoat with dignity. "This is a big deal, Ed. I can't just leave the guystanding there."
"See it?" Ed pointed into the gathering gloom. The lamppost jutted upagainst the sky--the post and the bundle swinging from it. "There it is.How the hell long has it been there?" His voice rose excitedly. "What'swrong with everybody? They just walk on past!"
Don Fergusson lit a cigarette slowly. "Take it easy, old man. There mustbe a good reason, or it wouldn't be there."
"A reason! What kind of a reason?"
Fergusson shrugged. "Like the time the Traffic Safety Council put thatwrecked Buick there. Some sort of civic thing. How would I know?"
Jack Potter from the shoe shop joined them. "What's up, boys?"
"There's a body hanging from the lamppost," Loyce said. "I'm going tocall the cops."
"They must know about it," Potter said. "Or otherwise it wouldn't bethere."
"I got to get back in." Fergusson headed back into the store. "Businessbefore pleasure."
Loyce began to get hysterical. "You see it? You see it hanging there? Aman's body! A dead man!"
"Sure, Ed. I saw it this afternoon when I went out for coffee."
"You mean it's been there all afternoon?"
"Sure. What's the matter?" Potter glanced at his watch. "Have to run.See you later, Ed."
Potter hurried off, joining the flow of people moving along thesidewalk. Men and women, passing by the park. A few glanced up curiouslyat the dark bundle--and then went on. Nobody stopped. Nobody paid anyattention.
"I'm going nuts," Loyce whispered. He made his way to the curb andcrossed out into traffic, among the cars. Horns honked angrily at him.He gained the curb and stepped up onto the little square of green.
The man had been middle-aged. His clothing was ripped and torn, a graysuit, splashed and caked with dried mud. A stranger. Loyce had neverseen him before. Not a local man. His face was partly turned, away, andin the evening wind he spun a little, turning gently, silently. His skinwas gouged and cut. Red gashes, deep scratches of congealed blood. Apair of steel-rimmed glasses hung from one ear, dangling foolishly. Hiseyes bulged. His mouth was open, tongue thick and ugly blue.
"For Heaven's sake," Loyce muttered, sickened. He pushed down his nauseaand made his way back to the sidewalk. He was shaking all over, withrevulsion--and fear.
_Why?_ Who was the man? Why was he hanging there? What did it mean?
And--why didn't anybody notice?
He bumped into a small man hurrying along the sidewalk. "Watch it!" theman grated, "Oh, it's you, Ed."
Ed nodded dazedly. "Hello, Jenkins."
"What's the matter?" The stationery clerk caught Ed's arm. "You looksick."
"The body. There in the park."
"Sure, Ed." Jenkins led him into the alcove of LOYCE TV SALES ANDSERVICE. "Take it easy."
Margaret Henderson from the jewelry store joined them. "Somethingwrong?"
"Ed's not feeling well."
Loyce yanked himself free. "How can you stand here? Don't you see it?For God's sake--"
"What's he talking about?" Margaret asked nervously.
"The body!" Ed shouted. "The body hanging there!"
More people collected. "Is he sick? It's Ed Loyce. You okay, Ed?"
"The body!" Loyce screamed, struggling to get past them. Hands caught athim. He tore loose. "Let me go! The police! Get the police!"
"Ed--"
"Better get a doctor!"
"He must be sick."
"Or drunk."
Loyce fought his way through the people. He stumbled and half fell.Through a blur he saw rows of faces, curious, concerned, anxious. Menand women halting to see what the disturbance was. He fought past themtoward his store. He could see Fergusson inside talking to a man,showing him an Emerson TV set. Pete Foley in the back at the servicecounter, setting up a new Philco. Loyce shouted at them frantically.His voice was lost in the roar of traffic and the murmur around him.
"Do something!" he screamed. "Don't stand there! Do something!Something's wrong! Something's happened! Things are going on!"
The crowd melted respectfully for the two heavy-set cops movingefficiently toward Loyce.
* * * * *
"Name?" the cop with the notebook murmured.
"Loyce." He mopped his forehead wearily. "Edward C. Loyce. Listen to me.Back there--"
"Address?" the cop demanded. The police car moved swiftly throughtraffic, shooting among the cars and buses. Loyce sagged against theseat, exhausted and confused. He took a deep shuddering breath.
"1368 Hurst Road."
"That's here in Pikeville?"
"That's right." Loyce pulled himself up with a violent effort. "Listento me. Back there. In the square. Hanging from the lamppost--"
"Where were you today?" the cop behind the wheel demanded.
"Where?" Loyce echoed.
"You weren't in your shop, were you?"
"No." He shook his head. "No, I was home. Down in the basement."
"In the _basement_?"
"Digging. A new foundation. Getting out the dirt to pour a cement frame.Why? What has that to do with--"
"Was anybody else down there with you?"
"No. My wife was downtown. My kids were at school." Loyce looked
fromone heavy-set cop to the other. Hope flicked across his face, wild hope."You mean because I was down there I missed--the explanation? I didn'tget in on it? Like everybody else?"
After a pause the cop with the notebook said: "That's right. You missedthe explanation."
"Then it's official? The body--it's _supposed_ to be hanging there?"
"It's supposed to be hanging there. For everybody to see."
Ed Loyce grinned weakly. "Good Lord. I guess I sort of went off the deepend. I