Summary: Walpurgis Night Special:<br> From autumn into spring, perfect weirdness from the regent of reality-challenging stories, Philip K. Dick.<br> ⁓The Voice before the Void<br> “Of Withered Apples”<br> Philip K. Dick<br> Something was tapping on the window. Blowing up against the pane, again and again. Carried by the wind. Tapping faintly, insistently.<br> Lori, sitting on the couch, pretended not to hear. She gripped her book tightly and turned a page. The tapping came again, louder and more imperative. It could not be ignored.<br> “Darn!” Lori said, throwing her book down on the coffee table and hurrying to the window. She grasped the heavy brass handles and lifted.<br> For a moment the window resisted. Then, with a protesting groan, it reluctantly rose. Cold autumn air, rushed into the room. The bit of leaf ceased tapping and swirled against the woman’s throat, dancing to the floor.<br> Lori picked the leaf up. It was old and brown. Her heart skipped a beat as she slipped the leaf into the pocket of her jeans. Against her loins the leaf cut and tingled, a little hard point piercing her smooth skin and sending exciting shudders up and down her spine. She stood at the open window a moment, sniffing the air. The air was full of the presence of trees and rocks, of great boulders and remote places. It was time—time to go again. She touched the leaf. She was wanted.<br> Quickly Lori left the big living-room, hurrying through the hall into the dining-room. The dining-room was empty. A few chords of laughter drifted from the kitchen. Lori pushed the kitchen door open. “Steve?”<br> Her husband and his father were siting around the kitchen table, smoking their cigars and drinking steaming black coffee. “What is it?” Steve demanded, frowning at his young wife. “Ed and I are in the middle of business.”<br> “I—I want to ask you something.”<br> The two men gazed at her, brown-haired Steven, his dark eyes full of the stubborn dignity of New England men, and his father, silent and withdrawn in her presence. Ed Patterson scarcely noticed her. He rustled through a sheaf of feed bills, his broad back turned toward her.<br> “What is it?” Steve demanded impatiently. “What do you want? Can’t it wait?”<br> “I have to go,” Lori blurted.<br> “Go where?”<br> “Outside.” Anxiety flooded over her. “This is the last time. I promise. I won’t go again, after this. Okay?” She tried to smile, but her heart was pounding too hard. “Please let me, Steve.”<br> “Where does she go?” Ed rumbled.<br> Steve grunted in annoyance. “Up in the hills. Some old abandoned place up there.”<br> Ed’s gray eyes flickered. “Abandoned farm?”<br> “Yes. You know it?”<br> “The old Rickley farm. Rickley moved away years ago. Couldn’t get anything to grow, not up there. Ground’s all rocks. Bad soil. A lot of clay and stones. The place is all overgrown, tumbled down.”<br> “What kind of farm was it?”<br> “Orchard. Fruit orchard. Never yielded a damn thing. Thin old trees. Waste of effort.”<br> Steve looked at his pocket watch. “You’ll be back in time to fix dinner?”<br> “Yes!” Lori moved toward the door. “Then I can go?”<br> Steve’s face twisted as he made up his mind. Lori waited impatiently, scarcely breathing. She had never got used to Vermont men and their slow, deliberate way. Boston people were quite different. And her group had been more the college youths, dances and talk, and late laughter.<br> “Why do you go up there?” Steve grumbled.<br> “Don’t ask me, Steve. Just let me go. This is the last time.” She writhed in agony. She clenched her fists. “Please!”<br>
