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The Strange Island Of Doctor Nork

by Robert Bloch

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I

Between the Greater Antilles and the Lesser Antilles rises a little group of islands known as the Medium-Sized Antilles.

Mere pimples on the smiling face of the Caribbean, they remain unsqueezed by the hands of man.

Far off the usual trade routes, their shores are only infrequently desecrated by a banana peeling washed off a United Fruit Lines boat.

It was here that I came on the fateful day in August, my monoplane circling until it descended upon the broad, sandy beach of the central island—the strange island of Doctor Nork.

 

II

How Sidney Dearborn ever heard of Doctor Nork, I cannot say. The old dingbat, doddering around the confines of his palatial estate, seldom pays much attention to his news magazines, let alone interesting himself in the doings of a mere individual.

But probably even a man like Dearborn who is devoting most of his time to becoming an octogenarian— has been for the past eighty years—occasionally pauses and reads the papers.

Quite possibly, Dearborn read an article about Doctor Nork in one of his own magazines. I can see him calling my editor in New York.

Hello—this is Dearborn. Get me an exclusive feature interview on Nork.

Nork. Nork! No, I’m not sick. Fella’s name. N-o-r-k. Big scientist. Lives alone on an island someplace, doing experiments.

How do I know what kind of experiments? Find out for me. Tell our readers. That’s what I’m paying you fifty grand a year for—to find out facts.

This story on Nork is drivel. Pure drivel. No facts. It says he’s endowed by a lot of foundations. Endowed for what? Can he split an atom? Get me all the dope.

Know what I think? I smell Communism, that’s what I smell. What would a big scientist want to hide out on an island for if he wasn’t afraid? The American people deserve to know.

Well, send a man down to see him. Interview him. I want a complete writeup on Nork within ten days. And say—hello, hello—I want you to be sure and find out where he stands on the oleomargarine tax!”

That’s the way the conversation probably went. I can only guess. All I know is that the managing editor called me into the front office and gave me the assignment.

Charter a plane,” he said. ‘Get there, get the yam, and get back. Get it?”

I got it, but good.

 

III

The smooth yellow beach on which my monoplane had landed evidently girdled the island, which was approximately a mile in diameter. Inland, palmettos crusted thickly in a dense jungle this ended abruptly at the foot of a gigantic cliff occupying the island’s center. Monkeys, macaws, toucans, and parakeets set up a Disney-like clatter as I toted my suitcase and portable typewriter across the sands, bu1 there was no evidence of human life—not even a Burma-Shave sign.

For a moment I wondered if I had made a mistake. I felt like Robinson Crusoe, aid remembered the stirring episode where he discovers in the sand the imprint of a naked human foot.

Then I gasped. I was Robinson Crusoe. For there, before me in the golden sand, vas the symbol of life itself! Not the raw imprint of savage life, but the very essence of civilization.

It was an old Pepsi-Cola bottle.

I stooped down to pick it up and then noted, with a sudden shock, that the bottle was not empty.

A soggy, crumpled sheet of paper had been stuffed down the neck, which was sealed with a battered cap. I pried it loose, then fished out he parchment and unfolded the sheet. The message was written in a childish scrawl.

To Whom It May Concern:

Doctor Nork is a mean, nasty old thing, so there!

(Signed) A True Friend

So I was on the right island, after all. My elation subsided as I realized “A True Friend’s” warning about my future host. Well, it was no concern of mine. For all I knew, “A True Friend” might be a far meaner and nastier old thing than Doctor Nork.

At any rate, I wasn’t here to sit in judgment; I was here to get a story on the mysterious medico.

Resealing the message in the bottle, I tossed it into the water. Apparently, that had been “A True Friend’s” intention, but his aim was bad.

I toted my luggage toward the palmetto forest as the macaws formed a screaming rainbow round my head.

Oh, those living flames of beauty! Oh, those lovely, lambent—“Oh, for crying out loud!”

I muttered.

Apparently, it was safer to walk under the shelter of the trees.

 

IV

I was still wiping my pith helmet when I felt a hand tap my shoulder. I wheeled, then recoiled in horror. It hadn’t been a hand on my shoulder, after all. I beheld a paw.

Crouching, confronting me, was the shaggy shambling figure of a gigantic great ape. Gorilla-eyes glared, and a tusked maw gaped wide in slavering dread. A growl rumbled up into the threatening throat. “You want handkerchief?” said the ape. The intonation was bestial, but the words were human, intelligible. I stared, gulped, and shook my head in amazement.

Who you fella?” the ape demanded. “You fella come safari?”

I shook my head again, but the hallucination didn’t disappear.

You come in jungle, hunt for diamonds, gold, no? You seek Elephants’ Graveyard, maybe, heap much ivory?”

I could only goggle.

You bwana search for White Goddess?”

I shrugged my heart back out of my mouth and down to where it belonged. Then I found my voice again. “You—you can actually talk!” I gasped. “I— never thought I’d live to hear a gorilla talk like that.”

The ape grimaced dreadfully.

Sounds pretty corny, eh, Jack? I think so, too—all that pidgin English and fake native lingo. Strictly from hunger. But you know how it is with the Doc—he makes me talk that way, says it’s what they want to hear.

Sometimes I get pretty ashamed when I think that an anthropoid of my education has to go around making like a schmoe, but I’ve got my orders. Like I say, you know the Doc.”

But I don’t know the Doc,” I answered. “That’s just what I came down for; I want to meet him.”

You from the publishers?” asked the gorilla.

News magazine,” I replied. ‘Tm here for an interview.”

Might have known it,” the ape muttered. “You don’t have a mustache. Thought you were a villain at first; but the villains all have mustaches, don’t they?”

I was getting confused again.

The anthropoid ignored my bewilderment and courteously relieved me of my luggage. “Come on,” he growled. “Follow me.”

He led a path through the palmettos. “Reporter, eh?” he mused. “What do you do evenings?”

How do you mean?”

Fly, hurtle, sail, batter, flame, or blast?”

I don’t understand,” I confessed. “You must have me mixed up with somebody else. Evenings, I go home. Sometimes I look up a friend and play a little Gin Rummy.”

Tell you what you do,” the gorilla suggested. “When you get done with the Doc, look me up and I’ll take you on for a few hands.”

 

V

The cliff-top was a broad, flat plateau overlooking the beach and sea below. The wind blew cold and clear across the treeless expanse, and borne upon its eddies the seagulls wheeled and circled. Remembering the macaws, I made an instinctive grab for my solar topee and jammed it down over my forehead. Then I peered out under its brim at the domicile of Doctor Nork.

Nork’s residence sprawled across the plateau like some gigantic concrete wheel. A white-domed central structure acted as the hub, from which extended a half-dozen radii in the shape of wings attached to the main building. The outer circumference was rimmed by a high stone fence, broken by a single gate. The ape led me towards it while I stared up in marvel at the elaborate structure set upon a lonely tropical isle.

Then we were standing before the gate, which apparently served as a front door. I noted a neatly lettered sign reading:

ERASMUS NORK, M.D.

Doctor is in—Please be seated

I had nothing to sit on but my valise. The gorilla opened the front door and bid me enter. He shambled into a spacious white hallway; its antiseptic decor reminiscent of an old Doctor Kildare movie. I followed him as we walked along the corridor, passing half a dozen closed doors in succession. Finally we paused before a large double-door at the end of the hall.

I’ll announce you,” the ape suggested. “Doctor Nork is conducting an experiment.”

He skipped through the half-open doorway and disappeared. I stood in the hall and listened to the drone of a faraway dynamo. It accented the eeriness of this white palace set in the heart of a tropical jungle. Weird scientific experiments and talking apes—

Come right in, my friend!” The booming voice resounded from the room behind the door. “Welcome to the Island!” I stepped forward into the laboratory of Doctor Nork.

A great arc-light glared from the dome roof, glared down upon a scene of horror. A huge steel operating table occupied the center of the room, and it was in use. Strapped securely to its surface was a half-clad girl, hair streaming, mouth contorted, eyes wide with terror.

Towering above her was a tall, thin, red-bearded man with a beaked nose and slanted eyes. Like a surgeon, he wore a white gown. Like a surgeon, he brandished a glittering knife. Even as I watched, he raised the cruel blade and his arms swooped down to the girl’s bare white bosom.

The red-bearded man grinned exultantly. “How’s tricks?” he whispered. The knife came down—

Stop!”

I plunged forward frantically. Hairy arms pinioned me from behind. The ape held me fast.

Hold it!” snarled the red-bearded man. “There—got it?”

Swell, Boss?” squeaked an unfamiliar voice from the corner of the room. I twisted my head and saw a little man with a smock standing before an easel. Even as I watched, he did things to the tripod stand, folding it under his arm, and gathering the board up, scuffled from the room.

The tall man dropped the knife and fumbled with the cords binding the girl.

Curse these knots!” he grumbled. “Ought to use the disintegrator. There you are, Toots.”

The girl stood up and fluffed out her hair. She smiled at me—no, past me, over my shoulder where the ape stood.

How’s for a little Gin?” she said.

The gorilla nodded and released me. Linked arm in arm, girl and gorilla ambled from the room. And the tall, red-bearded man gestured towards me with his knife.

Sit down, my friend,” he said. “You must be tired after your trip. Maybe you’d prefer to lie down—how about right here, on the operating table?”

No thanks,” I gulped. “You’re Doctor Nork, I presume?”

Of course. Glad to see you. It isn’t often we get a chance to converse with a representative of civilization. You must tell me all that’s happening in the world. Has the atomic bomb blown up any continents lately?”

I don’t know—I left New York yesterday,” I answered.

Nork shrugged. “So, you came all the way down here just for an interview, eh? I suppose you want to discuss the new slants we worked out?”

Slants?” I fumbled for his meaning. “I was sent here to find out something about your experiments. I hear you are conducting some mysterious investigations.”

Mysterious investigations? Experiments? My dear sir, you’ve been badly misled. Fm a business man. This is a business office.” Doctor Nork took out a strop and began to sharpen his knife, splitting hairs from his beard to test the keen edge of the blade.

But I heard—”

You were mistaken.” Nork spoke curtly.

At that moment the door opened and the gorilla entered.

Hey, Doc, those guys are here for the experiments,” he announced.

Nork blushed and avoided my accusing stare.

Tell them I’m busy,” he barked. “Tell them they’ll have to wait.”

But the subject is already strapped down. The stenographer is ready. Everything is set up.”

Confound it!” muttered the Doctor. “Oh, very well!”

You don’t have to come down, Doc,” the ape said. “Just give me the equipment and I’ll take it to them.”

Doctor Nork shrugged and stepped over to one of the blank, gleaming white laboratory walls. He pressed a tile and something clicked. A section of the wall slid back and revealed a long rack. Objects hung from thongs, dangled from hooks.

I stared at the display. There were long black whips, short cats-of-nine-tails, blackjacks, truncheons, clubs, assegais, knobkerries, shillelaghs.

The gorilla lumbered over and selected an armful at random.

This oughta do the trick, eh, Doc?”

Nork nodded. Another click and the wall slid back into place. He pressed a second tile. A grating wheeze echoed through the room as a portion of the floor moved to disclose a secret stairway descending into black depths below. The ape clambered down the steps, bearing his homicidal burden. With a loud clang, the floor closed behind him.

I reeled, bewildered. Whips, weapons, concealed passages, and a nameless experiment—what did it mean?

Nork feigned nonchalance as he faced me.

Come on,” I said. “Quit stalling. My editor sent me down here for a feature story and I intend to get it. Now I—”

My words were cut short, then drowned out by a ghastly shriek. It came from beneath my very feet; rising in a weird wail, an ululation of utter agony.

What’s that?” I gasped.

I didn’t hear anything,” purred Nork.

Again, the dreadful scream tore the air to ribbons.

What’s going on here?” I panted. “What does it all mean? What kind of experiment needs whips and bludgeons? What are they doing down there?”

Oh, all right, I suppose I’ll have to tell you,” Nork sighed. “But it’s really nothing at all. They’re just beating the living hell out of a guy.”

 

VI

I made a dive for the Doctor’s bearded throat. “You fiend!” I shrieked. “Now I know what you are—a mad scientist!”

Hey, cut it out!” yelled Nork. “You’re tearing my beard!”

Indeed, the red beard came loose in my hands, revealing a smaller black beard beneath it.

Don’t touch the black beard—that’s genuine!” warned the scientist. “I just wear the red for sketches. Red seems to be all the thing this season. Wait, let me explain things to you.”

Explain things? While you’re torturing that poor devil down there in the cellar?”

What poor devil? He’s a volunteer. Also, a confirmed masochist; he likes to be beaten up. Besides, I’m paying him five hundred dollars for his trouble.”

You’re paying him five hundred dollars—?”

Didn’t I tell you this was business? Come on, I’ll let you see for yourself.”

The Doctor pressed the wall, the steps below were revealed, and I followed him down into the noisome darkness. As we passed into the nighted depths, the screams and groans rose hideously. The hair on my scalp followed suit.

We groped along a damp stone corridor until we reached a dimly lit room. It was a sight I never expected to see—a sight no man of the twentieth century should see—a medieval dungeon.

Torchlight flared on rack and strappado, on boot and Iron Maiden and wheel. Torchlight flickered down on the table where the groaning man writhed beneath the blows of two gigantic blackamoors.

The ape stood by silently, hand resting on the shoulders of a small man who sat perched on a high stool. Head cocked attentively as though listening, the little man was frantically scribbling down shorthand jottings.

Thuds, curses, screeches, blows, moans, and gasps filled the air—but they faded into a sort of background noise as the little man beamed ecstatically and babbled at each fresh sound.

WHUUP!” he yelled. “OOFFLE!”

Huh?” I murmured.

GUTCH! Boy, didja hear dat one, heh? GUTCH; Tha’s a new one, huh, Doc?” He peered over his spectacles and addressed the blackamoors. “Hey, how’s fer usin’ the brass knucks now? We ain’t had no brass knucks lately.”

OK,” grunted the biggest of the Negroes. “Dat is, if’n it’s OK wid de victim.”

OK, don’t mind me,” piped the man on the table, grinning up through the black-and-blue blur of his ravaged face. “I can take it.” Surprisingly, he giggled. “Lay on, MacDuff!”

The Negroes began to assail his midriff with brass knuckles. He howled and grunted at every blow.

SPLATT!” yapped the stenographer on the stool. “Oh boy, lissen to him! URRK! BLIPP! WHIZZLE! Hey, you witha lead pipe—rap him onna noggin again, I did’n catch it the firs’ time. There! SPOOOIINNN-GGG!!!”

Doctor Nork tapped me on the shoulder. “Had enough?” he whispered. I nodded.

Let’s go.” He led the way back to the stairs, calling over his shoulder. “Don’t overdo it, boys, and be careful how you hit him. Last time you broke three whips and a truncheon. Those things cost money, you know.”

BOING!” yelled the stenographer. “BOINGA-BOINGA-BOINGA!”

As we plodded up the steps, Nork sighed. “There’s so much to worry about,” he confided. “So much to do. It isn’t easy, being the mastermind of all the comic books.”

 

VII

We sat in another chamber, now—Doctor Nork’s spacious and imposing library. A hundred shelves, rising to the dizzying height of the ceiling, encircled us on all sides. Every shelf was packed, crammed, jammed full of paperbound books with lurid covers. Nork reached over to an end-table and selected one at random, rifling the pages as he spoke.

Of course, you can understand what we’re doing down there, now,” he said. “Just getting out blurbs, that’s all. Filling the old balloons.”

Filling the what?”

The balloons. You know—the things coming out ‘of the characters’ mouths in comic books. When a crook gets hit by the hero, he makes a noise. Or the weapon makes a noise. Sometimes they both make noises.”

Like BANG and OUCH?”

There—you see?” Doctor Nork beamed. “We can’t use BANG and OUCH all the time. Or WHAM and ZOWIE and POW. They’re corny. Besides, the Flushing Chain of Comic Books covers about twenty titles a month—that means roughly five thousand separate panels of drawings. Now you figure that at least four thousand of those panels in every comic book represent somebody getting hit, lashed, flayed, burned, punched, beaten, shot, stabbed, or run over with a steamroller—that takes a lot of different noises and sounds for balloons.

We strive for variety, understand? But variety alone is not enough. My boss, the publisher, Bloodengore Flushing, is a stickler for realism. He wants accurate sounds. So that’s why we hold experiments. We beat up a victim and take down the noises for our balloons. Get it?”

I got it, but couldn’t handle it. “You mean to say your comic books are drawn from real life?”

More or less. That’s where I come in. Mr. Flushing pays me a fortune, my dear sir, to mastermind the Flushing Chain. He endowed this laboratory, set up a fund for research, took me under contract for that purpose alone—to make sure that the sixty million readers of such famous comics as Captain Torture and Hatchet Man get only the finest and most realistic literature.

Why, would you believe it, when I took over he only published three comic books and two of them were actually funny?

It was ridiculous, and I told him so. Everybody knows that there’s no point in a comic book that’s funny! Why, people will laugh at it! What they want is thrills; girls with big busts and men with big muscles.”

I don’t know much about comic books,” I confessed. “I had rather a sketchy education. I thought people just wrote and drew them in some kind of an office.”

That’s the old-fashioned way,” Nork laughed. “Since I went to work for Flushing, we’ve changed all that. Ours is a great humanitarian enterprise; catering to sixty million readers as we do, bringing them romance, adventure, murder, arson, insanity, fratricide, bestiality. That’s a great responsibility, my boy, and I am keenly aware of it.

When I went to work for the Chain, I was just a broken-down old Nobel Prize winner, puttering around in a laboratory. I smashed a few atoms, that’s just about all I did. Now I am engaged in a great crusade to bring comic-book culture to the masses.

That’s why Flushing hired me. Up to the time I came here, comic books were put out just about the way yen said they were: in offices, by artists and writers who worked solely with their imaginations. They kept thinking up new variants of Superman and that’s about all they could do — occasionally they did a sort of Tarzan takeoff or a Dick Tracy imitation. But it was stale, flat, repetitious.

You see, the trouble was that they lacked facts to go by. They went stale because they didn’t know anything about their subject matter. None of them had ever been to the jungle, let alone lived with gorillas. None of them had ever used a ray-gun or split a Jap spy’s head open with a butcher’s cleaver. None of them could walk through walls, or put on a suit of red underwear and fly through the air.

That’s where I came in. I brought the scientific method to bear, the experimental approach. Now all the artists and writers work from rough sketches and material supplied by me, here in my laboratory. Everything you see in Flushing Comics has been pre-tested and is guaranteed accurate.”

‘You mean you’ve created a comic book world?” I gasped.

‘More or less. Who do you think taught that gorilla to talk? I worked with him ever since he was a tiny rhesus; made him listen to Linguaphone records, everything. And why do you think our drawings are so accurate? Because I have an artist here sketching night and day; you saw me posing as the Mad Doctor with that girl when you came in. That’s why I wore the false rec beard—it looks better in color reproduction. Many people have been kind enough to tell me that I make the best and most convincing Mad Doctor they’ve ever seen.”

I’m sure you do,” I said, politely.

Take those fellows downstairs—they’re working on the sound effects, as I told you. All over this great laboratory, experiments are going on concurrently, and trained observers are noting the results; roughing out sketches, transcribing bits of dialogue, thinking up plots. The result is obvious—Flushing Comics today are beyond all doubt the most realistically gruesome, hideous, ghastly, sanguinary, and horrible comics in the world.”

But what about all those super-characters?” I asked. “You can teach gorillas to talk and pose for pictures and beat people up, but where do you get the ideas for those invincible heroes with the wonderful powers?”

I give them the powers,” purred Doctor Nork. “My experiments in nuclear physics, chemo-biology, endocrinology, and mopery have borne fruit. Strange fruit. As you shall presently see. Speaking of fruit, it’s time for luncheon. And now you’ll have an opportunity to meet some of the actual characters I have created for Flushing Comics.”

 

VIII

Doctor Nork and I dined in palatial splendor. For the first few minutes after our entry into the huge hall, we were alone, save for the silent servants; tall, white-faced men who stared straight ahead in impassive obeisance as they offered us our choice of delicacies.

How well trained they are,” I whispered, as one of the black-liveried footmen served me a helping of jugged flamingo and pickled eland tongues. “They never say a word, do they?”

Not remarkable at all,” said Doctor Nork, as he carved the piece de resistance—a huge baked wildebeest head with an enormous apple in its mouth. “How can they say anything? Some of them are zombies and the rest of them are dead. I reanimated them myself, you know.”

I didn’t know,” I gulped. “And I’m not sure I want to. You actually raise corpses up to be your servants?”

Sure. Don’t you read the comics? Scientists are always going into their laboratories and shooting a lot of electrical arcs through bodies. Had to try it myself just for the sake of accuracy. It worked. And after I had these cadavers animated again, I had no other use for them except as servants. Still, it worries me.”

Worries me, too,” I agreed. “I don’t like their looks.”

Oh, that doesn’t matter,” Nork replied. “I just don’t want the Waiters Union to find out.” He gnawed a yak-leg and offered me some jellied eel.

Where are the others I was supposed to meet?” I asked.

Others? They’ll be along, I’m sure. Matter of fact, here they come now.”

His remark was unnecessary. My bursting eardrums and bulging eyes attested to the arrival of some exceedingly strange strangers.

The first one to enter wasn’t so bad—he was obviously human, despite his red cloak and the helmet he wore, which resembled an inverted commode. The only thing that disconcerted me in the least was the fact that he didn’t walk in. He flew.

Behind him was a hopping figure. It might have been a gigantic frog with a human face. It might have been a gigantic human with a frog’s body. Whatever it was, I didn’t care for it.

Right behind the batrachian being stalked a tall man who displayed remarkable stoicism, insofar as his hair seemed to be on fire.

Even as I stared, my attention was arrested, tried, and condemned by another gentlemen whose exceedingly long neck seemed to be made of wood. This neck was surmounted by a most unconventional head—flat on top, hooked in the rear, and round in front. There were no features visible in the round surface, which was shiny and metallic.

My eyes were still fighting the battle of the bulge when the girl came in. She was tall, slim, alluring; her body a pale shaft of moonlight and her hair a shimmering simulacrum of the sun. She wore a combination of leopard-skin bra and shorts that were very pretty, in spots.

I saw no reason why she also needed to wear a large boa-constrictor for a scarf—but she did. One would assume that a wench with such long, lovely limbs might be satisfied to walk; but no, she had to ride on the back of a lion.

Greetings!” said the girl, as the lion halted before us and began to slaver over my shoes.

Hi,” chirped Doctor Nork. He beamed at me. “Meet my daughter, Albino—the White Goddess of the Jungle.”

Your daughter?”

Brought her up among the animals to be useful in my work. Decided to make a female Tarzan out of her at an early age, when she showed signs of inheriting my own fondness for wild game. You may not know it, but I used to be quite a sportsman myself. Earned quite a reputation as a deer-hunter in my youth—I was a fast man with a buck.”

Albino sat down, unwound her snake, and replaced it with a napkin. She began to feed her lion from my plate.

Pass the salt,” she said.

I did so, trembling—a human saltshaker. She noticed my tremor and sniffed disdainfully.

Where’d you find this jerk. Pa?” she asked. “You know I don’t like sissies.”

I was all set to give her a snappy comeback, but something choked off my flow of conversation. That something was the boa-constrictor, which now began to twine around my neck. I removed it hastily and wiped my hands on what I thought was a napkin. But napkins don’t roar.

I took my hands out of the lion’s mane and turned to Doctor Nork. “What an aggregation,” I murmured.

All normal people,” he assured me. “At least, they were until I got to work on them. You see before you, my dear sir, the results of years of experiments. My daughter was just a plain, ordinary little girl until I taught her how to behave like a monkey. In her case, all that was required was a little child psychology. Instead of giving her a doll to play with, I gave her a talking gorilla. The rest followed easily.

In some of the other cases, surgery was necessary. Take Water Boy, for example.”

Who?”

He indicated the frog-man. “One of Flushing Comics’ most popular characters. I made him; raised him from a tadpole, as it were. As a result of a unique series of experiments, he’s now more frog than human. It was a risky business to turn a man into a frog—more than once I thought he’d croak. But you can see for yourself how successful I’ve been.”

Nork pointed at the man with the flaming hair. “That’s Fire-Bug,” he told me. “The Human Torch.

Goes around giving criminals the hot-foot. I developed his metabolism to the point where he can actually live on fire.”

That’s why he’s eating coal, eh?”

Precisely. And as for our flying man, Rogers—”

Buck Rogers?”

No. Two-Dollar Rogers, we call him. He’s twice as good as Buck.”

I turned away in bewilderment. “Let me get this straight once and for all,” I said. “You experiment on people and develop superhuman or unusual characteristics. Then you watch their actions and use what you see as the basis for plot-material in comic books.”

Right. Now—”

A violent pounding interrupted him. The strange being with the long wooden neck and the metallic head was using the blank spot where his face should be— using it as a walnut-cracker.

Hammerhead,” explained the Doctor. “Our readers get a bang out of him.” He giggled. “Did you see our last issue featuring him? Had a sequence where he uses his head as an atom-smasher.”

I tried to ignore the scientist’s remarks and make a little time with Albino. But she obviously despised me for a weakling; just a poor coward who was probably secretly afraid of rhinoceri.

Ow!”

The shout came from down at the end of the table. Hammerhead had accidentally banged the fingers of Fire-Bug.

Look what you’re doing, clumsy!” he yelled.

Don’t get hot under the collar,” retorted Hammerhead.

For answer, Fire-Bug opened his mouth, but no remarks came out. Instead, a six-foot tongue of living flame belched forth. Hammerhead ducked just in time,

but Two-Dollar Rogers got smoke in his eyes. Rising, cloak whirling about him in red fury, the superhuman flier whipped out a strange, gleaming weapon and leveled it at the human torch.

I’ll blast you!” he yelled. Lightning crackled from the muzzle, and Fire-Bug ducked as an atomic beam disintegrated the chair in which he had been sitting. At the same time, he let go with another burst of flame.

Water Boy opened his frog-mouth and extinguished the blaze, inelegantly but effectively.

Wet smack!” screamed Rogers, leveling his weapon. Fire-Bug turned toward him, ready to blaze away. Hammerhead poised himself to pound him down.

Quiet!” screamed Doctor Nork. “Cut it out—get out of here, all of you. If you can’t learn to behave and get along with one another, I’ll—I’ll turn the Faceless Fiend loose on you!”

There was a deathly silence.

There,” said the Doctor. “That’s telling them, eh? But where are you?”

Here,” I gasped. “Right here—under the table.” Albino sniffed.

I—uh—dropped my fork,” I said.

You’re scared,” she accused. “I can tell by the way your hand trembles.”

What hand?”

The one on my ankle. Take it off.”

I rose and took my place again. “All right,” I said. “I am scared. Who wouldn’t be with all this blasting and firing and pounding going on?”

If you think these characters are bad, you ought to see the Faceless Fiend,” she told me.

Who is he? I noticed everybody shut up when his name was mentioned.”

Nork’s face clouded. He sighed heavily and reached for a platter of breaded horse-kidneys. “One of my few failures,” he murmured. “Some of my agents spirited away a mass-murderer from the penal colony in French Guiana. That’s where I get most of my subjects—you’ll find that comic book characters are best when they have criminal minds.

Anyhow, I intended to create a super-criminal for a new book. The man was frightfully disfigured, and as a first step I attempted to remedy his condition with plastic surgery. At the same time, I began psychiatric treatment with deep hypnosis; my aim was to uncondition all his reflexes and hibit all his inhibitions. This I did, while working on his face to remove the scars.

Alas, I did my work too well. I had him in a state of complete abandon, physically, long before his features were rebuilt by plastic surgery. As a matter of fact, I had just finished removing his old features and hadn’t gotten around to building new ones when he— escaped. Ran away.

Of course, when the poor fellow removed the bandages, he found that he had no face left at all. This, coupled with his mental unbalance, resulted in the creation of the perfect super-criminal: the Faceless Fiend.

Nobody knows what he looks like, because he doesn’t look like anyone. He has no scruples—just hatred of society. Gifted with superhuman cunning, he has managed to evade capture and even now is lurking somewhere on this island. I’ve sent my staff out time and time again to comb the jungles for him. I imported several beachcombers just to comb the beaches. But he eludes me.

Meanwhile he swears vengeance on me and all my work He threatens me in a million ways.

I am convinced it is he who writes letters to the press denouncing comic books.”

Say, wait a minute,” I said. “I wonder if he wrote that note?”

I told him about the message I’d found on the beach.

That’s his work,” Nork nodded. “A dangerous adversary, my friend.”

The gorilla shuffled into the room and tapped the Doctor on the shoulder.

Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but it’s time for you to come down to the crocodile pits. We’re getting ready to draw that sequence where Wonder Child ties their tails into Boy Scout knots. If we get that out of the way this afternoon, we can go right on to the scene where he strangles his grandmother—right?”

Right.” Nork rose. “Excuse me,” he said. “The press of business affairs. Perhaps you’re tired. I’ll ask Albino to see you to your room.”

Follow me,” the girl urged. “Do you want to ride my lion?”

No thanks, I’ll walk.”

We left the banquet hall and ascended a spiral staircase. The blonde girl led me into a handsomely furnished bedroom.

Maybe a little sleep will quiet your nerves,” she observed. The scorn in her voice was evident.

I’ll be all right, thanks,” I said. “Oh—what’s that?”

A rumbling rose, and the air was suddenly suffused with blue flame.

Nothing at all, scaredy-cat,” she snickered. “Just a little hurricane coming up, I suppose.”

Hurricane?”

I stared out of the window and saw that she spoke the truth.

 

IX

The storm was gathering over the tropical isle. Water boiled like lava across the beach. The palmettos prostrated themselves before the fury of the storm. Wind roared from all points of the compass, and the currents clashed overhead to tear the very air to ribbons.

A kaleidoscopic cloud of macaws blew across the island, followed by a white cumulus of seagulls—borne ruthlessly away by the violence of the elements.

Quit shaking, you coward!” taunted the girl. “I’ll turn on the lights.” She did so. I collapsed across the bed, watching the onslaught of the storm. The walls trembled and I followed suit.

Oh, you’re impossible,” she told me. “Just like all the other men I’ve ever met—afraid of everything.”

You can’t blame me,” I replied. “After all, not everybody has had your advantages. Being brought up by a gorilla, and all that.”

Never mind the excuses,” Albino said. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve been the White Goddess of the Jungle here for five years, and I’m getting pretty dam sick of it, too. Always waiting for some strong, handsome, virile he-man to come along and woo me, like they do in the comic books. And what do I get? A bunch of weaklings, namby-pamby characters who are afraid of everything—lions, snakes, hurricanes.”

And you’re not afraid of anything?”

Of course not.”

You’re sure?”

There was a crash overhead and suddenly the lights went out. The room was black—an inky vacuum in the dark womb of storm.

I winced, but the girl’s voice rose strong and clear in the darkness.

I fear nothing,” she told me. “Not even the Faceless Fiend himself.”

That’s very good to hear. I’d hate to have caused you any discomfort.”

What’s that?” I yelled. “Who said that?”

Me. The Faceless Fiend.”

You’re here—in this room?”

Just came in through a secret staircase,” the slow voice hissed. “I’ve been waiting to get my hands on you ever since you arrived.”

You don’t say,” I answered, hurling myself in the direction of the door. Thunder boomed and wind howled.

Don’t try to escape,” chuckled the unseen presence. “You can’t see in the dark, but I can. And I’m going to get you.”

Help!” I yelled. “Albino—save me!”

Stay where you are,” the girl commanded. “I’m coming.”

So am I!” cackled the menacing voice.

I whirled, then cried out.

Ouch!” I yelled. Something hit me in the back of my neck.

It was the ceiling.

 

X

When I opened my eyes, I was lying strapped to a table in a long, narrow underground chamber. Blue light flickered in mephitic gloom. Crouching above me was a cloaked figure. I stared up and was rewarded only by a blank look. This creature, this monster, this being with an empty gap between neck and hairline, was something not to be countenanced. It was beyond all doubt the Faceless Fiend. His chuckle sounded out of emptiness, slithering off the slimy walls.

Don’t look so unhappy, my friend,” he purred. “You ought to thank me for rescuing you. Here you are, safe and sound in a nice, comfortable sewer, while above us the entire laboratory has collapsed.”

Collapsed? Was it lightning?”

No, just rain. The place just melted away.”

How could that be?”

Simple,” explained my captor. “Doctor Nork built it all of guano. Apparently, he didn’t feed the seagulls enough cement. At any rate, the entire structure has been demolished—and your friends have all perished. No one is left but the two of us.”

Dead?” I cried. “All of them—you’re sure?”

Beyond a doubt. It’s an end to the whole insane scheme; the comic books will go out of existence, and Doctor Nork will no longer be free to perpetrate his wicked experiments in the name of science.”

But the girl,” I persisted. “Albino, she was in the room with us—”

I snatched you through the trapdoor and down the secret staircase just in time. I’m afraid you’ll have to face it. We’re alone. And now, speaking of facing it—”

The cloaked figure stooped to the side of the table and rose again. One hand clutched a small saw. “Speaking of facing it,” he continued, “I am about to perform a small experiment of my own. Ever since I lost my face, I’ve waited for a chance to find another. I hid down here in the sewers under the laboratories and bided my time. I didn’t want to take a stupid mug like Nork’s and I certainly wouldn’t appropriate the visage of any of his monsters.

But when you flew in to the island this morning, I knew my long vigil was over. Sorry, I cannot offer you any anesthetic, but time is short.”

You—you mean you’re going to steal my face?” I screamed.

I prefer to think of it as a little face-lifting job,” answered my captor. “Please now; just relax.”

The Faceless Fiend bent forward, saw in hand. It was a typical scene from a comic-book story—as such, it probably would have delighted ten million dear little I kiddies throughout the land. But it didn’t amuse me in I the least.

The saw grazed my neck—

A roar shattered the walls. A tawny blur bore the cloaked figure backwards into the shadows. There were screams, and growls, and other less pleasant noises generally heard only at presidential conventions or zoos.

Good work!”

Albino was at my side, using the saw on the ropes that bound me. She gestured toward the shadows of the sewers beyond, where the lion was now creating a Bodiless Fiend.

We got through the trapdoor in time, just behind ‘ you. Then part of the walls gave, and we were delayed—but not too long.”

Then it’s true,” I said. “The laboratory is destroyed?”

Everything’s gone,” she sighed. “Even this sewer isn’t safe much longer. Let’s get out of here.”

A crash accented her words. Turning, I saw that the I shadowed portion of the sewer had disappeared, hiding both the lion and the Faceless Fiend from view forever beneath fresh debris.

This way,” Albino urged, pulling me along the corridor. “There should be a sewer outlet to the beach.”

Thanks for rescuing me,” I panted.

Think nothing of it,” the girl answered. “That’s just a reflex action, you know. Been rescuing people for years now for the comics.”

The damp walls of the sewer twisted and turned. We raced along, Albino taking a lithe-limbed lead. She rounded a curve ahead of me and I blundered forward.

Suddenly she screamed.

I turned the comer and grasped her arm.

What’s the matter?” I said.

The girl stood there shaking in a frenzy of fear.

Eeeeeh!” she shrieked. “Take it away!”

Huh?” I said. For answer, she clung to me and threw herself forward and upward into my arms. I held her close.

Look!” she sobbed. “Down there—make it go away!”

Where?” I asked.

There.”

But—it’s only a mouse,” I said.

She began to cry. I stepped forward, carrying her in my arms, and the mouse retreated to its burrow with a shrill squeak.

Albino was weeping hysterically, and the more she cried the more I grinned.

There, there,” I said. “Don’t you worry. I’ll protect you.”

There isn’t much more to tell. By the time we emerged upon the broad expanse of the beach, the hurricane had blown away and only a gentle rain fell upon the ruins of the big laboratory on the cliff.

Despite my fears, I found the plane quite undamaged, save for a minor accident that had crumpled part of the landing gear. As it was, I managed a takeoff and a subsequent landing some hours later in the airport at Jamaica.

Within a day Albino and I were back in civilization. I managed to sell her on the notion, while en route, that her brand of courage was of no value in New York.

People seldom encounter lions and tigers in the city,” I told her, “but the place is simply lousy with mice. What you need is someone like me to protect you.”

She agreed, meekly enough. And that’s why we were married, even before I reported to my editor with the story.

That episode is still painful in my memory. Being called a liar and a drunkard is bad enough, but when he accused me of opium-smoking, there was only one course left open to me.

I resign!” I shouted, as he booted me down the stairs.

Still, it’s all over now, and Albino doesn’t mind. I have a new job—bought a little newsstand over on Seventh Avenue. I don’t make much money selling newspapers, but there’s always enough to buy a few mousetraps for the house.

Besides, I manage to sell quite a lot of comic books…

---

Host Commentary

PseudoPod, Episode 872 for June 30th, 2023.

The Strange Island of Dr. Nork, by Robert Bloch

Narrated by John Bell; hosted by Kat Day and audio by Chelsea Davis

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Hey everyone, hope you’re all doing okay. I’m Kat, Assistant Editor at PseudoPod, your host for this week, and this week we have

The Strange Island of Dr. Nork, by Robert Bloch

This story was first published in Weird Tales in March 1949
One thing before we go further, a content warning: like many stories of the time period, unfortunately, this piece contains some language and phrasing that isn’t acceptable today, particularly with regard to race.

 

Author bio:
Robert Bloch was an American fiction writer, primarily of crime, psychological horror and fantasy, much of which has been dramatized for radio, cinema and television. Best known as the writer of Psycho (1959), the basis for the film of the same name by Alfred Hitchcock, which really blew the doors off Plainfield, Wisconsin. Bloch wrote hundreds of short stories and over 30 novels. He won the Hugo Award, the Bram Stoker Award, and the World Fantasy Award. He served a term as president of the Mystery Writers of America and was a member of that organization and of Science Fiction Writers of America, the Writers Guild of America, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences and the Count Dracula Society. So, yeah. He… knew a couple of things about stories.

Narrator bio:
And our narrator this week is the AMAZING John Bell, a former radio guy who has extensive experience in writing/voicing/producing commercials, audiobooks, video game characters, and so on. Currently, he writes/voices/produces the comedy podcast, “Bell’s in the Batfry“, available at iTunes, various other sources, and at http://thebatfry.com.

Are you excited for this one? I know I am. Get ready…

… we have a story for you, and we promise you, it’s true.

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ENDCAP

Well done, you’ve survived another story.

Although this time, hopefully, it wasn’t too traumatic, because this story is SO MUCH FUN! And didn’t John Bell just knock the narration of the park? That Dr Nork voice! Thank you, John! Okay, back to the story: there are some obvious references here, the most obvious being The Island of Doctor Moreau. In that H. G. Wells story, first published in 1869, Edward Prendick is shipwrecked and subsequently left on the island home of Doctor Moreau, a mad scientist who creates human-like hybrid beings.

Bloch, of course, knows his references, which is precisely why, although our hero in this story isn’t shipwrecked, he immediately alludes to that idea when our protagonist reflects that he’s Robinson Crusoe, seeing the symbol of life itself: a Pepsi cola bottle.

I can’t lie, I laughed.

Another interesting point from early on is the yelled-at-the-magazine-editor:

“Find out for me. Tell our readers. That’s what I’m paying you fifty grand a year for—to find out facts.”

This story was published in 1949 and when I threw that figure into Google it said it was equivalent to a spending power of $638,922.27 today.

Which. Hoooo boooy. Obviously Bloch wasn’t one to shy from hyperbole, but still, that feels like an astonishingly large sum of money for a managing editor. Imagine anyone in the publishing industry earning that kind of cash today?

Mind you, according to some reports, former British Prime Minister Boris Johnson is earning a six-figure fee for his Daily Mail column….

…. D’you think we can send him off to a mysterious island overseen by a mad scientist?

 

Anyway.

There’s so much to enjoy here, but it’s also dark – which makes it perfect for us, of course. In particular, the idea of having a man tied up so that you can smack him around for authentic noises is both awful and delightful. Hey, he’s paid well. And he enjoys pain.

And, particularly considering the current discourse around AI, there’s another undercurrent: Hey, explains the evil scientist, comic books used to be made “by artists and writers who worked solely with their imaginations“. But he’s applied the scientific method – which, reminder, involves actually hurting people – and now everything is so much better. Mm hm.

Yeah.

Even darker, the wealthy narcissist who sets up an enormous vanity project and cuts corners – in this case, by building the laboratory out of bat guano and not feeding the seagulls enough cement – and then the whole thing collapses on top of everyone’s heads. It’s all demolished and everyone dies.

MM HMMM.

This story may be seventy-four years old but some things… apparently… do not change.

I do have a personal gripe with this story, and it’s Albino marrying the hapless protagonist because… well, because of an unpleasant piece of emotional manipulation, namely: “I managed to sell her on the notion, while en route, that her brand of courage was of no value in New York.” And, “the place is simply lousy with mice. What you need is someone like me to protect you.”

Yuck. She should have found a good therapist to treat her musophobia and dumped him in the sea.

But, oh well, I suppose you can’t have everything.

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PseudoPod is part of the Escape Artists Foundation, a 501(c)(3) non-profit, and this episode is distributed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International license. Download and listen to the episode on any device you like, but don’t change it or sell it. Theme music is by permission of Anders Manga.

Next week we have ….

See you soon, folks, take care, stay safe.