Philip K. Dick - The Hanging Stranger

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THE HANGING

STRANGER

Philip K. Dick

At five o'clock Ed Loyce washed up, tossed on his hat and coat, got his

car out and headed across town toward his TV sales store. He was tired.

His back and shoulders ached from digging dirt out of the basement and

wheeling it into the back yard. But for a forty-year-old man he had done

okay. Janet could get a new vase with the money he had saved; and he

liked the idea of repairing the foundations himself.

It was getting dark. The setting sun cast long rays over the scurrying

commuters, tired and grim-faced, women loaded down with bundles and

packages, students, swarming home from the university, mixing with

clerks and businessmen and drab secretaries. He stopped his Packard for

a red light 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 the

records of the day, maybe even close a couple of sales himself. He drove

slowly past the small square of green in the center of the street, the town

park. There were no parking places in front of LOYCE TV SALES AND

SERVICE. He cursed under his breath and swung the car in a U-turn.

Again he passed the little square of green with its lonely drinking fountain

and 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 rolled

down his window and peered out. What the hell was it? A display of some

kind? Sometimes the Chamber of Commerce put up displays in the

square.

Again he made a U-turn and brought his car around. He passed the

park and concentrated on the dark bundle. It wasn't a dummy. And if it

was a display it was a strange kind. The hackles on his neck rose and he

swallowed 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-stripe

coat with dignity. "This is a big deal, Ed. I can't just leave the guy standing

there."

"See it?" Ed pointed into the gathering gloom. The lamppost jutted up

against 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's

wrong with everybody? They just walk on past!"

Don Fergusson lit a cigarette slowly. "Take it easy, old man. There must

be 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 that

wrecked 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 to

call the cops."

"They must know about it," Potter said. "Or otherwise it wouldn't be

there."

"I got to get back in." Fergusson headed back into the store. "Business

before pleasure."

Loyce began to get hysterical. "You see it? You see it hanging there? A

man'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 the sidewalk.

Men and women, passing by the park. A few glanced up curiously at the

dark bundle—and then went on. Nobody stopped. Nobody paid any

attention.

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Philip K. Dick - The Hanging Stranger

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