THE ENORMOUS ROOM
BY H. L. GOLD & ROBERT KREPPS
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Amazing StoriesOct.-Nov. 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that theU.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
One big name per story is usually considered to be sufficient. Sowhen two of them appear in one by-line, it can certainly be calleda scoop; so that's what we'll call it. H. L. Gold andscience-fiction go together like a blonde and a henna rinse. RobertKrepps is also big time. You may know him also under his otherlabel—Geoff St. Reynard, but a Krepps by any name can write aswell.
The roller coaster's string of cars, looking shopworn in their flakyblue and orange paint, crept toward the top of the incline, theratcheted lift chain clanking with weary patience. In the front seat, ayoung couple held hands and prepared to scream. Two cars back, a heavy,round-shouldered, black-mustached man with a swarthy skin clenched hishands on the rail before him. A thin blond fellow with a briefcase onhis lap glanced back and down at the receding platform, as though tryingto spot a friend he had left behind. Behind him was a Negro youth,sitting relaxed with one lean foot on the seat; he looked as bored assomeone who'd taken a thousand coaster rides in a summer and expected totake ten thousand more.
In the last car, a tall broad man put his elbows on the backboard andstared at the sky without any particular expression on his lined face.
The chain carried its load to the peak and relinquished it to the forceof gravity. The riders had a glimpse of the sprawling amusement parkspread out below them like a collection of gaudy toys on the floor of aplayroom; then the coaster was roaring and thundering down into thehollow of the first big dip.
Everyone but the Negro boy and the tall man yelled. These two lookeddetached—without emotion—as though they wouldn't have cared if thetrain of cars went off the tracks.
The cars didn't go off the tracks. The people did.
The orange-blue rolling stock hit the bottom, slammed around a turn andshot upward again, the wind of its passage whistling boisterously. Butby then there were none to hear the wind, to feel the gust of it inwatered eyes or open shouting mouths. The cars were empty.
"Is this what happens to everybody who takes a ride on the coaster?"asked a bewildered voice with a slight Mexican accent. "Santos," itcontinued, "to think I have waited so many years for this!"
"What is it?" said a woman. "Was there an accident? Where are we?"
"I don't know, dear. Maybe we jumped the tracks. But it certainlydoesn't look like a hospital."
John Summersby opened his eyes. The last voice had told the truth: theroom didn't look like a hospital. It didn't look like anything that hecould think of offhand.
It was about living-room size, with flat yellow walls and a grayceiling. There was a quantity of musty-smelling straw on the floor. Fourtree trunks from which the branches had been lopped were planted solidlyin that floor, which felt hard and a little warm on Summersby's back.Near the roof was a round silver rod, running from wall to wall; over ina corner was a large shallow box filled with something, he saw as heslowly stood up, that might have been sand. An old automobile tire layin the straw nearby, and a green bird-bath sort of thing held water thatsplashed from a tiny fountain in its center. Five other people, four menand a woman, were standing or sitting on the floor.
"If it was