[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Amazing Stories January
1943. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
copyright on this publication was renewed.]
[Sidenote: This house was built to specifications that were strange
indeed; and the rats that inhabited it were stranger still!]
This little guy Stoddard was one of the toughest customers I'd ever done
business with. To look at him you'd think he was typical of the mild
pleasant little sort of suburban home owner who caught the eight-oh-two
six days a week and watered the lawn on the seventh. Physically, his
appearance was completely that of the inconspicuous average citizen.
Baldish, fortiesh, bespectacled, with the usual behind-the-desk bay
window that most office workers get at his age, he looked like nothing
more than the amiable citizen you see in comic cartoons on suburban
life.
Yet, what I'm getting at is that this Stoddard's appearance was
distinctly deceptive. He was the sort of customer that we in the
contracting business would label as a combination grouser and eccentric.
When he and his wife came to me with plans for the home they wanted
built in Mayfair's second subdivision, they were already full of ideas
on exactly what they wanted.
This Stoddard--his name was George B. Stoddard in full--had
painstakingly outlined about two dozen sheets of drafting paper with
some of the craziest ideas you have ever seen.
"These specifications aren't quite down to the exact inchage, Mr.
Kermit," Stoddard had admitted, "for I don't pretend to be a first class
architectural draftsman. But my wife and I have had ideas on what sort
of a house we want for years, and these plans are the result of our
years of decision."
I'd looked at the "plans" a little sickly. The house they'd decided on
was a combination of every architectural nightmare known to man. It was
the sort of thing a respectable contractor would envision if he ever
happened to be dying of malaria fever.
I could feel them watching me as I went over their dream charts.
Watching me for the first faint sign of disapproval or amusement or
disgust on my face. Watching to snatch the "plans" away from me and walk
out of my office if I showed any of those symptoms.
"Ummmhumm," I muttered noncommittally.
"What do you think of them, Kermit?" Stoddard demanded.
I had a hunch that they'd been to contractors other than me. Contractors
who'd been tactless enough to offend them into taking their business
elsewhere.
"You have something distinctly different in mind here, Mr. Stoddard," I
answered evasively.
George B. Stoddard beamed at his wife, then back to me.
"Exactly, sir," he said. "It is our dream castle."
I shuddered at the expression. If you'd mix ice cream with pickles and
beer and herring and lie down for a nap, it might result in a dream
castle.
"It will be a difficult job, Mr. Stoddard," I said. "This is no ordinary
job you've outlined here."
"I know that," said Stoddard proudly. "And I am prepared to pay for the
extra special work it will probably require."
That was different. I perked up a little.
"I'll have to turn over these plans to my own draftsman," I told him,
"before I can give you an estimate on the construction."
George B. Stoddard turned to his wife.
"I told you, Laura," he said, "that sooner or later we'd find a
contractor with brains and imagination."
* * * * *
It took fully two months haggling over the plans with Stoddard and my
own draftsmen before we were able to start work on the nightmare my
clients called their dream castle. Two months haggling in an effort to
make Stoddard relinquish some of his more outlandish ideas on his
proposed dwelling. But he didn't budge an inch, and by the time we'd
laid the foundation for the dream shack, every last building quirk he'd
had originally on those "plans" still held.
I took a lot of ribbing from contractors in that vicinity once the word
got round that I was building Stoddard's house for him. It seems that
he'd been to them all before he got around to me.
But I didn't mind the ribbing much at first. Even though Stoddard was a
barrel full of trouble hanging around the building lot with an eagle eye
to see that nothing was omitted, I had already cashed his first few
payment checks on the construction.
He'd meant what he said about his willingness to pay more for the extra
trouble entailed in the mad construction pattern we had to follow, and I
couldn't call him stingy with his extra compensation by a long shot.
Financially, I was doing nicely, thank you. Mentally, I was having the
devil's own time with Stoddard.
He didn't know a damned thing about architecture or construction, of
course. But he did know what he wanted. Good Lord, how he knew what he
wanted!
"The basement boiler layout isn't what I had on my plans!" he'd call me
up to squawk indignantly.
"But it isn't greatly different the way we have it," I'd plead.
"Besides, it's far safer than what you originally planned."
"Is it humanly possible to put it where I planned it?" my troublesome
client would demand.
"Yes," I'd admit. "But saf--"
"Then put it where I planned it!" he would snap, hanging up. And, of
course, I'd have to put it where he'd planned it.
The workmen on the job also presented a problem. They were getting fed
up with Stoddard's snooping, and going crazy laying out patterns which
were in absolute contradiction to sanity and good taste.
But in spite of all this, the monstrosity progressed.
If you can picture a gigantic igloo fronted by southern mansion pillars
and dotted with eighteenth century gables, and having each wing done in
a combination early Mexican and eastern Mosque style, you'll have just
the roughest idea of what it was beginning to look like. For miles
around, people were driving out to see that house in the evenings after
construction men had left.
But the Stoddards were pleased. They were as happy about the whole mess
as a pair of kids erecting a Tarzan dwelling in a tree. And the extra
compensations I was getting for the additional trouble wasn't hurting me
any.
* * * * *
I'll never forget the day when we completed the tiny belfry which topped
off the monstrosity. Yes, a belfry. Just the kind you still see on
little country churches and schoolhouses, only, of course a trifle
different.
The Stoddards had come out to the lot to witness this momentous event;
the completion, practically, of their dream child.
I was almost as happy as they were, for it stood as the symbol of the
ending of almost all the grief for me.
My foreman came over to where I was standing with the Stoddards.
"You gonna put a bell in that belfry?" he asked.
George Stoddard looked at him as if he'd gone mad.
"What for?" he demanded.
"So you can _use_ the belfry," the foreman said.
"Don't be so ridiculous, my good man," Stoddard snorted. "It will be of
pleasurable use enough to us, just _looking_ at it."
When the foreman had marched off, scratching his head, I turned to the
Stoddards.
"Well, it's almost done," I said. "Pleased with it?"
Stoddard beamed. "You have no idea, Mr. Kermit," he said solemnly, "what
a tremendous moment this is for my wife and me."
I looked at the plain, drab, smiling Laura Stoddard. From the shine in
her eyes, I guess Stoddard meant what he said. Then I looked up at the
belfry, and shuddered.
As I remarked before, even the belfry wasn't quite like any belfry human
eyes had ever seen before. It angled in all the way around in as
confusing a maze of geometrical madness you have ever seen. It was a
patterned craziness, of course, having some rhyme to it, but no reason.
Looking at it, serenely topping that crazy-quilt house, I had the
impression of its being an outrageously squashed cherry topping, the
whipped cream of as madly a concocted sundae that a soda jerk ever made.
A pleasant impression.
Stoddard's voice broke in on my somewhat sickish contemplation.
"When will we be able to start moving in?" he asked eagerly.
"The latter part of next week," I told him. "We should have it set by
then."
"Good," said Stoddard. "Splendid." He put his arm around his wife, and
the two of them stared starry eyed at their home. It made a lump come to
your throat, seeing the bliss in their eyes as they stood there
together. It made a lump come into your throat, until you realized what
they were staring at.
"Incidentally," I said casually, figuring now was as good a time as any
to get them used to the idea. "The startlingly different construction
pattern you've had us follow will result in, ah, minor repairs in the
house being necessary from time to time. Remember my telling you that at
the start?"
Stoddard nodded, brushing the information away casually.
"Yes, certainly I remember your saying something about that. But don't
worry. I won't hold you responsible for any minor repairs which the
unique construction causes."
"Thanks," I told him dryly. "I just wanted to make certain we had that
point clear."
* * * * *
The Stoddards moved in just as soon as the last inch of work on their
dream monster was finished. I paid off my men, banked a nice profit on
the job, and went back to building actual houses again. I thought my
troubles with the Stoddards at an end.
But of course I was wrong.
It was fully a month after the Stoddards had been in their madhouse that
I got my first indignant telephone call from George B. Stoddard himself.
"Mr. Kermit," said the angry voice on the phone, "this is George B.
Stoddard."
I winced at the name and the all too familiar voice, but managed to
sound cheerfully friendly.
"Yes, indeed, Mr. Stoddard," I oozed. "How are you and the Missus
getting along in your dream castle?"
"That," said George B. Stoddard, "is what I called about. We have been
having considerable difficulty for which I consider your construction
men to be responsible."
"Now just a minute," I began. "I thought we agreed--"
"We agreed that I was to expect certain occasional minor repairs to be
necessary due to the construction of the house," Stoddard broke in. "I
know that."
"Then what's the trouble?" I demanded.
"This house is plagued with rats," said Stoddard angrily.
"Rats?" I echoed.
"Exactly!" my client snapped.
"But how could that be possible?" I demanded. "It's a brand new house,
and rats don't--"
Stoddard broke in again. "The devil they don't. We have them, and it
can't be due to any fault but those construction men of yours."
"How could it be their fault?" I was getting a little sore.
"Because it isn't my fault, nor my wife's. And the building, as you
observed a minute ago, is practically new."
"Now listen," I began.
"I wish you'd come out here and see for yourself," Stoddard demanded.
"Have you caught any?"
"No," he answered.
"Have you seen any?" I demanded.
"No," Stoddard admitted, "but--"
This time I did the cutting in.
"Then how do you know you have rats?" I demanded triumphantly.
"Because," Stoddard almost shouted, "as I was going to tell you, I can
hear them, and my wife can hear them."