Read Online Strange Wine by Harlan Ellison - Free Book Online Page A

the gremlins. They were all true.”
    “But they sound like fantasies.”
    “Life is interesting for us.”
    “But…but…”
    “I never mentioned it because it never came up, but the truth of it is that gremlins don’t have any sense of what you call imagination. We can’t dream things up. We just tell what happened. And we’ve written everything that’s ever happened to our race, right up to date, and we, uh, er, haven’t got any more stories.”
    Noah stared at him with openmouthed amazement.
    “This is awful,” Noah said.
    “Don’t I know it.” He hesitated, as if not wanting to say any more; then a look of determination came over his face and he went on. “I wouldn’t tell this to just any human, Noah, but you’re a good sort, and we’ve shared a jar or two, so I’ll tell you the rest of it.”
    “The rest of it?”
    “I’m afraid so. The program’s been working both ways, I’m sorry to say. The more humans came to believe in us, the more we gremlins have come to believe in you. Now it’s pretty well fifty-fifty. But without the stories to keep things going, I’m afraid the gremlins are going to start thinking of you again as semireal, and…”
    “Are you trying to tell me that now the gremlins are responsible for the reality of humans? ”
    Alf nodded nervously.
    “Oh, shit,” Noah suggested.
    “Been having a bit of trouble in that area, as well,” Alf lamented.
    And they sat there, the tiny man in the human’s hand, and the human in the hands of the gremlins, and they thought about getting drunk. But they knew that wouldn’t help. At least not for very long. It had been a good ride for nineteen years, but the gravy train had been shunted onto a weed-overgrown siding.
    And they stayed that way, sunk in silent despair, for most of the night.
    Until about three fifteen this morning, when Noah Raymond suddenly looked at Alf and said, “Wait a minute, mate. Let me see if I have this figured out right: if the gremlins stop believing in humans, then the humans start disappearing…check?”
    Alf said, “Check.”
    “And if the humans start disappearing, then there won’t be sufficient of us to keep up the reality of the gremlins and the gremlins start vanishing…check?”
    “Check.”
    “So that means if we can find a way of writing stories for the gremlins that will reinforce their belief in us , it solves the problem…check?”
    “Check. But where do we get that many stories?”
    “I’ve got them.”
    “ You’ve got them? Noah, I like you, but let’s not lose sight of reality, old chum. You ran out of ideas nineteen years ago.”
    “But I’ve got a source.”
    “A source for stories?”
    “A unified mythology just like your gremlin history. Full of stories. We can pass them off as the truth.”
    And Noah went into one of the other rooms and came back with a book, and opened it to the first page and rolled a fresh piece of typing paper into the Olympia, and checked out the ribbon to make sure it was still fresh, and he said to Alf, “This ought to keep us for at least a few years. And in the meantime we can start looking around for another writer to work with us.”
    And he began to type the opening of the first fantasy he had attempted in nineteen years: a story that would be printed on very small pages in infinitesimal type, to be read by very little people.
    And he typed: “In the beginning Kilroy created the heaven and the earth, and the earth was without form and void and you couldn’t get a decent mug of lager anywhere…”
    “I like that part,” said Alf, dropping his Mayfair accent. “‘At’s bloody charmin’, is what ’at is.”
    Charlie went blatttt

INTRODUCTION TO: Killing Bernstein
    There is absolutely nothing startling or terrific to say about this story, and I’ll not be badgered into making something up. Except. All of the toys described in this story as being unmarketable (and for the reasons given) are, in actual fact, as opposed to unactual