Fear
that would freeze its victim into terror. And terror that would be
replaced by death. And then it would be happy again. Happy to sit and
fondle the thing that had been alive. And it knew something else. It
knew that a hunger would have to be satisfied. A hunger that called for
flesh. Deep, primeval thoughts raced through it then. Thoughts that were
spawned in the ancient jungles of a new and steaming world. A world
where great cats roamed, where screams of cat-rage split the air as
tawny bodies arced in lightning leaps to land on the trembling bodies of
their victims. It was a satisfying thought. A thought that spanned the
ages of Earth, a sense that was inherent in all cat minds through the
ages. And as the thought raced through that portion of its mind, the part that
was Gaddon struggled to fight it back. For it realized with a sickness
that spread horror through it that the thought was part of the animal
existence that had been created in him. Part of the monster that lay by
instinct in all feline creatures. And Gaddon knew that the dead creature
at his feet, the limp and twisted body of the cat, had died long before
his hands had crushed it in their mighty grip. For the essence of that
life, that animal existence, had been merged with him, fused by a mighty
source from outer space. *       *       *       *       *

And as he struggled with the thought, fought to regain the balance of
control of the strange body that was now his, the rocket chamber swayed
in a gust of wind from without. And as he clutched the sides of the
chamber with his strong claw-like hands, the chamber gave a bounding
lurch as it struck the ground a glancing blow. There was a grating sound as the metal chamber gouged into the earth,
sank its weight upon the Arizona soil. And the thing was thrown
violently against the side of the chamber. Then there was quiet again. Gaddon's mind fought to the fore, took control of that feline man-shape
that was his, struggled to its feet and moved in a lithe bound to the
opposite side of the chamber. A clawed hand reached up where Gaddon
knew the release mechanism of the door lay, and pressed it. The door slid back with a sliding sound and the cool night air rushed in
upon it. Gaddon moved his cat-body through the opening and bounded to the ground
in a lithe, powerful movement. He felt new muscles react as he landed on
the ground, and knew that there was a great strength in them. Strength
that was waiting to be used. And he felt the other thoughts starting to move forward in his mind
again and he forced them back. He knew he must keep control of that
mind. For there was something that he must do. He thought desperately about it. And the pattern became clearer in his
mind. The cosmic rays. The reaction in his body. He had sought immortality in
the door to outer space and had found a monster waiting for him. A force
that had changed his glands, grown the shaggy fur on his body. Glands
that had warped his mind. Opened an age-old cunning of feline thought. _Glands._

Gaddon's thoughts whipped the word. Held it. Knew it must be the answer. And then it found a prayer of hope. And a name that went with that
thought. "Fenwick! I've got to reach Fenwick before it's too late. _Before it's
too late!_"

His voice came hoarsely, strangely formed. And he looked wildly about
him. He saw, off in the distance, a glowing of lights in the night. And
he knew somehow that it was the city of Tucson. And in that city, at its very edge, was a house he must reach. He stumbled away into the darkness, feeling his limbs move rapidly
then, smoothly, covering the ground in great leaping strides. And though Gaddon's thoughts kept the balance of control, deep inside
his mind, the monster growled with a cunning laughter ...

       *       *       *       *       *

Fred Trent pulled the last sheet of paper from his typewriter and leaned
back in his chair exhausted. That was it, the end of the story. He waved
his hand at a copy boy and the boy ran up to take the final page. Each
sheet had been taken like that, to be immediately set in the composing
room. Now it was finished, the story of the year. And as Trent slowly lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, he knew that he
had done a good job on the story. And a smile crossed his face as he
thought of it. His future was assured now. There could be no more
stopgaps, no more delays in his plans to marry Joan and settle down. And
the girl would have to agree. For the first time in many months, Fred
felt that his troubles were over with. And the feeling was nice. It
spread through him and he was content. He glanced at his wrist watch and frowned. The story had taken longer
than he had anticipated. It was nearly eleven. Some of the enthusiasm
ran out of him as he thought of Joan waiting for him at Fenwick's. He
could imagine how angry she must be by now. He got up quickly from his desk and reached for his hat. As he started
to walk away, the phone on his desk rang. He stepped back and picked up the receiver. "Trent speaking." "_Fred!_"

Trent heard his name uttered in terror across the wire and he felt a
chill run through him as he recognized the voice. It was Joan Drake. "Joan, what's wrong?" he asked anxiously. "Fred! Come quickly! Bring help before it's too late--he'll kill us!" "Joan! For God's sake, calm down! Now what's the matter?" His voice held
a tenseness in it as he spoke. "It's Gaddon, Fred! Only it isn't Gaddon--it's a monster! He'll kill
us!" "_Gaddon?_" Trent's voice spoke incredulously. "But that's imposs--"

"Oh, Fred, hurry-- I--oh--no--no! Keep away--"

He heard the girl scream over the phone then. And he heard something
else. A growling sound. A sound of animal noise unlike any other sound
he had ever heard. And then as he shouted into the phone: "Joan! Joan!" the line went dead. He stood for a moment, staring stupidly at the receiver in his hand. Then he slammed it back on its cradle and turned. He nearly knocked over
the copy boy who hollered at him. "Hey, Trent, the boss wants you in his office!" But he swept by the boy unheeding. He didn't wait for the elevator. He
took the stairs in leaping bounds, and then he was on the main floor of
the building and out on the street. He slammed the door of his car shut and started the motor. His hands
trembled as he meshed the gears and shot the coupe away from the curb. Then he was moving swiftly through the traffic. As he turned down the street where Fenwick's office was, Fred Trent's
mind was a whirl of confused thought. There was fear there. Fear and dread. And there was puzzlement too. A
puzzlement that made his brain spin. Joan had spoken with terror in her
voice. Terror that had said somebody was going to kill. And Joan was
not a girl to be easily frightened. And she had mentioned Gaddon's
name. Gaddon, the man who had shot into the heavens in an experimental
rocket. Gaddon, who was supposed to be dead.