Read Online Hunted Past Reason by Richard Matheson - Free Book Online
Authors: Richard Matheson
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make money from both the novel and the screenplay."
"Right." It wasn't what he'd meant but he let it go. "And, when the time comes— as I hope it will— for the story to be filmed, I'll certainly suggest you for one of the parts," he said, playing his trump card.
"Well, I'd love to read the screenplay when you've written it," Doug said, sounding considerably more cheerful now.
"Sure," Bob said, nodding. "There is a good part for a villain, but he's a man in his sixties."
"That's nothing," Doug said quickly, "I played a father in Our Town and he had to be a man in his late fifties."
"Oh." Bob nodded. "I'll remember that."
Doug nodded back, smiling, then made a clucking sound. "So you need to know about what constitutes a good campsite."
"Yes, I'd like to."
"Okay." Doug seemed to think about it for a few seconds, then began.
"Well, to start with," he said, "it was no problem in the nineteenth century, even the early part of this century. You could cut brush for a campfire, cut logs, drink and wash in the water, have all the room in the world because there were so few campers. Now—" He made a hissing sound of disgust. "Thousands of people every year, screwing up everything."
"I know." Bob nodded glumly. "Ruining the environment."
"I'm not talking about the environment," Doug said, "I'm talking about camping and backpacking."
"Oh." Bob nodded. Should have known, he thought.
"Well, anyway, first of all, proximity to water," Doug said, "that's a must, absolutely basic, which is why we're by a lake. Also the site should be on a gradual slope— well drained. That way, if it rains—"
"You think it's going to rain?"
"No, no." Doug waved his hand impatiently. "Just let me finish."
"Sorry," Bob apologized.
"If it does rain for any reason, you're safe from runoff. A meadow would be a bad place to camp, for example. Also, there's a nice breeze here. Keeps away the bugs."
"My God, you think of everything," Bob said.
"Better than being miserable," Doug replied. "But shut up, I'm a long way from being done."
"Sorry again," Bob said, smiling.
"Surrounding trees to break up any wind that rises," Doug continued.
"I apologize for interrupting," Bob said, "but why are we so far away from the lake?"
"So there isn't any chance of contaminating it," Doug told him. "A lot of idiots camp right by the water and piss and crap all over, polluting what's supposed to be fresh water."
Bob nodded. "Got ya." I should be taking notes, he thought. Was he going to be able to remember all this?
"Open ground," Doug went on, "no vegetation, rotted trees."
Bob wanted to ask about the rotted trees but decided to remain silent as Doug continued.
"Up a little high to avoid cold air, which flows downward. Slope facing east, protected from a west wind and getting the sun in the morning, which you'll find makes it a lot easier to get up."
"Douglas, I am damned impressed by your knowledge," Bob broke in, thinking that Doug wouldn't object to being interrupted in that way.
"Tricks of the trade, Bobby." Doug grinned at him. I was right, Bob thought.
"Tent needs to be well staked, of course," Doug said, "so the wind won't blow it away. Use one with a dome top; gives with the wind. Double wall. Full-cover rain fly."
I won't even try to find out what that is, Bob thought.
"Outer shell waterproofed," Doug continued. "Repels rain and prevents condensation from forming on the inner walls. Curved walls to prevent wind flap, a vestibule to keep rain from blowing in."
"A vestibule?" Bob asked, visualizing the vestibule of an apartment house in Brooklyn he'd lived in when he was a boy.
"Need a little entryway," Doug told him. "Wind and rain can blow in through a simple opening. As for the ground cloth, it should be exactly the size of the tent floor. If it sticks outside and it rains, the ground cloth can direct water under the tent. Did you put your iodine tablets in your water?"
"Yeah?" Bob more asked than said.
"Don't forget to do that all
"Right." It wasn't what he'd meant but he let it go. "And, when the time comes— as I hope it will— for the story to be filmed, I'll certainly suggest you for one of the parts," he said, playing his trump card.
"Well, I'd love to read the screenplay when you've written it," Doug said, sounding considerably more cheerful now.
"Sure," Bob said, nodding. "There is a good part for a villain, but he's a man in his sixties."
"That's nothing," Doug said quickly, "I played a father in Our Town and he had to be a man in his late fifties."
"Oh." Bob nodded. "I'll remember that."
Doug nodded back, smiling, then made a clucking sound. "So you need to know about what constitutes a good campsite."
"Yes, I'd like to."
"Okay." Doug seemed to think about it for a few seconds, then began.
"Well, to start with," he said, "it was no problem in the nineteenth century, even the early part of this century. You could cut brush for a campfire, cut logs, drink and wash in the water, have all the room in the world because there were so few campers. Now—" He made a hissing sound of disgust. "Thousands of people every year, screwing up everything."
"I know." Bob nodded glumly. "Ruining the environment."
"I'm not talking about the environment," Doug said, "I'm talking about camping and backpacking."
"Oh." Bob nodded. Should have known, he thought.
"Well, anyway, first of all, proximity to water," Doug said, "that's a must, absolutely basic, which is why we're by a lake. Also the site should be on a gradual slope— well drained. That way, if it rains—"
"You think it's going to rain?"
"No, no." Doug waved his hand impatiently. "Just let me finish."
"Sorry," Bob apologized.
"If it does rain for any reason, you're safe from runoff. A meadow would be a bad place to camp, for example. Also, there's a nice breeze here. Keeps away the bugs."
"My God, you think of everything," Bob said.
"Better than being miserable," Doug replied. "But shut up, I'm a long way from being done."
"Sorry again," Bob said, smiling.
"Surrounding trees to break up any wind that rises," Doug continued.
"I apologize for interrupting," Bob said, "but why are we so far away from the lake?"
"So there isn't any chance of contaminating it," Doug told him. "A lot of idiots camp right by the water and piss and crap all over, polluting what's supposed to be fresh water."
Bob nodded. "Got ya." I should be taking notes, he thought. Was he going to be able to remember all this?
"Open ground," Doug went on, "no vegetation, rotted trees."
Bob wanted to ask about the rotted trees but decided to remain silent as Doug continued.
"Up a little high to avoid cold air, which flows downward. Slope facing east, protected from a west wind and getting the sun in the morning, which you'll find makes it a lot easier to get up."
"Douglas, I am damned impressed by your knowledge," Bob broke in, thinking that Doug wouldn't object to being interrupted in that way.
"Tricks of the trade, Bobby." Doug grinned at him. I was right, Bob thought.
"Tent needs to be well staked, of course," Doug said, "so the wind won't blow it away. Use one with a dome top; gives with the wind. Double wall. Full-cover rain fly."
I won't even try to find out what that is, Bob thought.
"Outer shell waterproofed," Doug continued. "Repels rain and prevents condensation from forming on the inner walls. Curved walls to prevent wind flap, a vestibule to keep rain from blowing in."
"A vestibule?" Bob asked, visualizing the vestibule of an apartment house in Brooklyn he'd lived in when he was a boy.
"Need a little entryway," Doug told him. "Wind and rain can blow in through a simple opening. As for the ground cloth, it should be exactly the size of the tent floor. If it sticks outside and it rains, the ground cloth can direct water under the tent. Did you put your iodine tablets in your water?"
"Yeah?" Bob more asked than said.
"Don't forget to do that all
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