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                    _It isn't much of a secret, but
                 it's the only one. The trick is ..._

                         Don't Think About It

                         By WILLIAM W. STUART

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
             Worlds of If Science Fiction, November 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Tommy wasn't really a timid child. Sometimes he didn't understand
things and was puzzled. More often, grown-ups couldn't or wouldn't
understand things that were perfectly clear to him and he was more
puzzled. Occasionally such things worried and even upset him a little. Then Momma and sometimes Daddy would translate bafflement into silly
adult terms and think that he was afraid. It was that way about the hole in the closet when Tommy was just a bit
over three. Tommy wasn't really afraid. Mr. Bear was afraid and the
thing did puzzle Tommy. So he asked about it, but he never did get any
sensible or satisfactory answers, and that did worry and perhaps even
upset him a little. But he wasn't afraid, even before Daddy finally told him, "Now, Tommy,
boy. Don't think about it and it won't scare you. Really, there is
nothing there to hurt you, if you just don't think about it. So don't
you think about it any more--there's Daddy's big boy." This certainly was not any sort of explanation. But still Tommy did try
hard not to think about it, as Daddy said. And now he really doesn't
think about it at all any more. Or about Aunt Martha, either. The hole was in the closet in Tommy's room. Tommy and Momma and Daddy
lived in a not very big, not very new frame house on the edge of the
city and Aunt Martha lived with them. Tommy didn't--at least not yet,
although there were promises--have any brothers or sisters. But he
did have his own room and a family of his own, too. It was the extra
bedroom and it had a closet that was cramped and with no light. Tommy
liked his room. It was small, with a small bed, and it belonged to
him, along with his family of Mr. Bear and Old Rabbit and Kokey Koala. It was also in easy crying range of Momma and Daddy's room and Aunt
Martha's room, so if Mr. Bear, who was the timid one, got frightened in
the night, Tommy could cry--purely in Mr. Bear's behalf--to bring help. Or at least company. Tommy and his family all liked the closet well enough too, except for
the shelf that was out of reach even from the "don't climb" stool. The
closet was good to hide in or play bear cave or rabbit hole and fine
for finding missing toys after Momma had a spell of playing cleaning
house. The day Tommy found the hole in the closet was the week after his
third birthday. Daddy was at work. Momma was out shopping. It was a
rainy afternoon. Aunt Martha was sitting with Tommy and the afternoon
television. *       *       *       *       *

He was in his room with his family and they all agreed as soon as they
heard the television coming on strong that it would be a very poor
afternoon to waste on a nap. Besides, Mr. Bear's feelings had been
hurt by having been somewhat left out of things recently in favor of
new birthday presents, now largely broken or tiresome. To make it up
to him, Tommy and Old Rabbit and Kokey all agreed to play bear cave in
the closet. It was a nice game and going well enough, except for some
grumbling from Kokey Koala, who always wanted to argue and claimed that
bears lived in trees, not caves. But then--and it was Mr. Bear's fault for wanting it darker, so he
could hibernate--the closet door shut tight. That didn't seem so
serious at first. It would only mean a scolding for being out of bed
when Aunt Martha would come to open it after Tommy hollered loud
enough. And then there was the hole in the closet, back in the corner
next to the broken drum. They all saw it and they heard the Ugly Thing
talking or thinking at them. It stretched out a part of itself at Mr.
Bear, who was the closest. It didn't grab Mr. Bear, but he was terrified just the same. And none
of them liked it. They didn't like it at all. The Ugly Thing couldn't
come out of the hole because the hole wasn't big enough yet, but it
tried and it was making the hole bigger. And it kept thinking at them,
red thoughts, and hungry, as it tore at the edges of the hole. The
family all looked to Tommy, so Tommy cried and yelled. Finally Aunt Martha heard him and came to open the door. Then the
afternoon sunlight streamed across the floor into the closet and the
ugly red thoughts from the Thing pulled back, far back, so you could
barely notice them, and you couldn't see the hole any more, even though
you knew it was still there. At least Tommy and Mr. Bear and Old Rabbit
and Kokey Koala knew. After she opened the closet door and carried Tommy from the closet to
the living room, Aunt Martha scolded. She wasn't really mad because
she had waited until a commercial interrupted her television program
before answering the cries from the closet. But she scolded because she
was Aunt Martha and scolding was what Aunt Martha did. A really good
cry, even one worked up strictly as a service for a companion, takes a
little time to turn off. Then, after a few settling gulps, Tommy tried
to explain. "Auntie. Aunt Martha, there's a hole in the cave--in the closet--and
there's a Thing inside of it." He looked at Mr. Bear whom he was holding by one foot and at Kokey,
dropped by Aunt Martha on the sofa, for confirmation. Then, quickly, he
wriggled down from Auntie's lap. Old Rabbit! *       *       *       *       *

Bravely, Tommy ran to the closet and was relieved. The door was open
and, in the gray afternoon light, the hole was still not to be seen. Old Rabbit, who always had a bad temper, was annoyed and snappish at
having been left behind. But he was there and all right. Tommy rescued
him and ran back to Aunt Martha. "It was hungry," he continued his explanation. Aunt Martha, as always, was difficult. "Who is hungry? You shouldn't be
hungry, Tommy. You just had your lunch an hour ago. Do you want a glass
of milk?" "Not me hungry." Tommy was impatient. Aunt Martha never seemed able to
grasp any idea more complex than a glass of milk or wet pants. Little
boys, in her mind, nearly always either wanted the one or had the
other. Such things she could and did attend to with a virtuous sense of
duty done. But anything else was beyond her. "Tommy! Are your pants wet?" Tommy sighed in resignation and wet his pants. It was the only thing
to do. Otherwise Auntie would fuss and fume, accomplishing nothing,
understanding nothing, for the rest of the afternoon. Ten minutes later, in dry pants, he finished an unwanted glass of milk. Aunt Martha, conscience appeased, returned to soap opera.