×

Uh-oh, it looks like your Internet Explorer is out of date.

For a better shopping experience, please upgrade now.

It's A Small World
     

It's A Small World

4.6 3
by Robert Bloch
 
For two tiny, bewildered people, it was a struggle for survival in a world of toys...

Excerpt

It was Christmas Eve. Family men in their cozy bungalows hummed cheerfully as they put the finishing touches on Christmas trees. Men of affairs slapped each other affably on the back and toasted the season in the lounges of exclusive clubs. Merrymakers

Overview

For two tiny, bewildered people, it was a struggle for survival in a world of toys...

Excerpt

It was Christmas Eve. Family men in their cozy bungalows hummed cheerfully as they put the finishing touches on Christmas trees. Men of affairs slapped each other affably on the back and toasted the season in the lounges of exclusive clubs. Merrymakers crowded the public streets and filled the taverns to overflowing. Children caroled gayly in church services. Mothers smiled their secret smiles as they wrapped presents.

And Clyde Hilton worked like a lousy dog in Propper's toyshop.

The funny part of it was, Clyde didn't care. He was as happy as the rest. Twelve hours on his feet today --facing mobs of customers gone frantic with the necessity of making last-minute purchases --that was Clyde's lot, but he was still smiling.

From time to time the redheaded young man grinned and patted the left hand pocket of his suit coat. Deep down inside reposed a little plush-covered box. The box contained an engagement ring.

Clyde fingered it and grinned-- grinned at the girl behind the counter across the aisle.

Gwen Thomas was worth grinning at. A pert, trim, dark-haired girl with milk-white skin and perfectly modeled features-- she had the delicacy of a china doll. "Exquisite" is a somewhat precious word, and yet it exactly described Gwen's miniature-like beauty.

Clyde waited for the moment that he would slip the ring on her dainty finger. This would be a Christmas they'd both remember. To top it off, Old Man
Propper had promised Clyde a raise. He'd winked indulgently at this romance between his two clerks, and the holiday spirit had him in its grip. They'd have a little party after closing-time, and then Clyde would give Gwen the ring and Old Man Propper would say, "Bless you, my children." Just a slice out of Dickens.

Meanwhile, Clyde scribbled furiously in his order book, wrestled with the wrappings of a hundred packages, tangled himself in yards of twine and ribbon, punched the cash-register until his fingers were blistered, and kept up a running fire of sales chatter.

He had just sold a toy train to the fat lady and her husband when he saw
the man.

It had been a job, selling this expensive model, but Clyde was something of an expert in the train field and he rejoiced in the opportunity of turning on high-pressure tactics. So he was quite elated, and finished his wrapping with deft fingers.

But he almost dropped the twine when the man came in.

The door opened. The toyshop was crowded, and ordinarily an entering customer couldn't be detected in the throng --but this man was plainly visible.

Clyde stared.

The man wore a black overcoat with a turned-up collar that reached his chin. He was hatless, and his wiry gray hair stood up in a bushy mop upon his skull.


The man had a great beaked nose, and a curiously red mouth. Despite gray hair, his face was absolutely unlined. Not a wrinkle disturbed the pristine pallor of his long face. It was a perfectly blank background for the blazing intensity of his eyes.

If his hair denoted age and his unlined face indicated youth, then his eyes were--eternal.

They were black, but shining --shining radiantly with a penetrating fire. Two fountains of strength. Clyde saw the eyes before he saw anything else, and the rest of his scrutiny was just incidental. He gaped, fascinated. For some reason a strange fancy occurred to him. During his lifetime, he mused, he must have seen a million pairs of eyes --but never until now had he realized what power the eye could contain. Black, blazing fountains.

There was one other slight excuse for Clyde's interest in the stranger.

The man was seven feet tall.

He was not a giant, in the ordinary sense of the word --not one of those tall, thin glandular monstrosities. The man was adequately proportioned to his height. His shoulders spanned the doorway. The chest bulging under the overcoat was massive. Clyde saw the man reach up and adjust his collar --and his hand was the size of a dinner plate.

Clyde watched the massive figure move through the milling crowd towards his counter. It was only as the gigantic bulk loomed directly before him that Clyde realized he was leading a small boy.

The child was an insignificant midge, contrasted to his huge companion. His tousled head scarcely reached the big man's knees, although he was large for a boy of seven.

Abruptly, Clyde tore his attention away from the ponderous stranger and concentrated on the boy. That was sensible sales psychology--experience had taught him that a clerk must study the child and try to anticipate his wants.

Clyde got another shock when he scrutinized the boy. Here, in miniature, was as strange a creature as the giant.

For one thing, the boy's clothing was adult. Not a smart boy's shop imitation of "grown-up" attire--but adult. His little topcoat was an authentic replica of his immense companion's garb. The boy's hands were buried deep in the pocket

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9781612101217
Publisher:
eStar Books LLC
Publication date:
11/21/2010
Sold by:
Barnes & Noble
Format:
NOOK Book
File size:
349 KB

Meet the Author

Robert Albert Bloch (April 5, 1917 – September 23, 1994) was a prolific American writer, primarily of crime, horror and science fiction. Bloch wrote hundreds of short stories and over twenty novels, usually crime fiction, science fiction and, perhaps most influentially, horror fiction (Psycho). He was one of the youngest members of the Lovecraft Circle. He was a contributor to pulp magazines such as Weird Tales in his early career, and was also a prolific screenwriter. He was the recipient of the Hugo Award (for his story "That Hell-Bound Train"), the Bram Stoker Award, and the World Fantasy Award. He served a term as president of the Mystery Writers of America. Robert Bloch was also a major contributor to science fiction fanzines and fandom in general. In the 1960s, he wrote three scripts for Star Trek.
He also wrote under the following names: E. K. Jarvis , Nathan Hindin , Tarleton Fiske , Will Folke , Wilson Kane , John Sheldon , Collier Young , Keith Hammond , Robert A. Bloch , Lan Stewart

Customer Reviews

Average Review:

Post to your social network

     

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

See all customer reviews

It's A Small World 4.7 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 3 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Wonderful
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Stop sending friend request ur gonna get me n trouble with my mom