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    The Leech
    The Leech
    The Leech
    Ebook47 pages31 minutes

    The Leech

    By Connell and Robert Sheckley

    ()

    Read preview
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 27, 2013
    The Leech

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      Book preview

      The Leech - Connell

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Leech, by Phillips Barbee

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

      Title: The Leech

      Author: Phillips Barbee

      Illustrator: Connell

      Release Date: July 27, 2009 [EBook #29525]

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LEECH ***

      Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online

      Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

      the

      Leech

      Illustrated by CONNELL

      By PHILLIPS BARBEE

      A visitor should be fed, but this one could eat you out of house and home ... literally!

      The leech was waiting for food. For millennia it had been drifting across the vast emptiness of space. Without consciousness, it had spent the countless centuries in the void between the stars. It was unaware when it finally reached a sun. Life-giving radiation flared around the hard, dry spore. Gravitation tugged at it.

      A planet claimed it, with other stellar debris, and the leech fell, still dead-seeming within its tough spore case.

      One speck of dust among many, the winds blew it around the Earth, played with it, and let it fall.

      On the ground, it began to stir. Nourishment soaked in, permeating the spore case. It grew—and fed.

      Frank Conners came up on the porch and coughed twice. Say, pardon me, Professor, he said.

      The long, pale man didn't stir from the sagging couch. His horn-rimmed glasses were perched on his forehead, and he was snoring very gently.

      I'm awful sorry to disturb you, Conners said, pushing back his battered felt hat. I know it's your restin' week and all, but there's something damned funny in the ditch.

      The pale man's left eyebrow twitched, but he showed no other sign of having heard.

      Frank Conners coughed again, holding his spade in one purple-veined hand. Didja hear me, Professor?

      Of course I heard you, Micheals said in a muffled voice, his eyes still closed. You found a pixie.

      A what? Conners asked, squinting at Micheals.

      A little man in a green suit. Feed him milk, Conners.

      No, sir. I think it's a rock.

      Micheals opened one eye and focused it in Conners' general direction.

      I'm awfully sorry about it, Conners said. Professor Micheals' resting week was a ten-year-old custom, and his only eccentricity. All winter Micheals taught anthropology, worked on half a dozen committees, dabbled in physics and

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