The Moon Fell Down

by Lee Bulmer

Originally appearing in Planet Comics #64 in 1950.

Gertrude had been after me to take her to the Planetarium for a long time, so I finally gave in. It was a hot night in July, and they were having a show telling people how the world might end someday. Ever since she was just a kid, Gertrude had been interested in the world ending, and though I told her often enough that she was morbid and had a tendency toward unhealthy thoughts, I always had to admit that it—the world ending—was pretty fascinating stuff if you didn't overthink it! Anyway, what with the atom bomb and all, it gave me kind of a chill to think that we might be a lot closer to the end of the world than most people thought.

So to get back to this hot night in July. After I tried to talk Gertrude into seeing Bob Hope instead and failed, we went to the Planetarium. At least it was air-conditioned, and they had a tiny spot in the basement. After a drink, upon which I insisted, we went upstairs and into the vast room they had fixed up to represent the cosmos or the sky, or whatever you want to call it.

Gertrude was really excited. She grabbed my arm and squealed so hard that it got us a couple of shushes and dirty looks from people who looked like the world had ended for them a long time ago.

"Look," Gertrude said. "Look at that, Harry! They've got the moon and the sun and all the planets—right up there in that artificial sky. Gee, ain't it wonderful?"

Well, I didn't gush as she did, but it was pretty incredible. The whole cosmic scheme was laid out as neat as you please. And when we took our seats and got comfortable, the lecturer started to tell us how the world might end. He was a good talker, and he made things pretty clear. I enjoyed it, and I looked over at Gertrude and saw that she was too. She already had her shoes off and drank in every word the man said.

Pretty soon, though, I felt myself getting fuzzy and nodding and wanting to drop off to sleep. It had been a hard day at the plant and hot as sin, and I was beaten. Even at that, it didn't seem like I'd dozed for more than five minutes when Gertrude poked me with a brutal look in her eye and said it was time to go. Sure enough, she had her shoes back on, and the lecturer lad stopped talking about the world ending and was standing there on his little platform looking sort of bored. I guess even the end of the world can get to be old stuff—if you have to talk about it every day to a bunch of droops that go to sleep on you.

We stepped out into the street, and it was like walking into one of Carnegie's steel furnaces. Sweat started to dribble down my back and soak through my shirt. And Gertrude was mad.

"A fine thing," she said, "Going to sleep while that nice man was trying to tell you all about the world ending. Gee, Harry, don't you ever want to learn anything? Except maybe did the Dodgers win today? I was so ashamed of you."

It was too hot to argue, and I let that pass. Anyway, I'd just noticed something mighty funny. All around us, people had stopped on the sidewalk and were staring up into the sky. Most of them had funny looks on their faces—half puzzled and half scared. As though they couldn't make up their minds whether to laugh or cry—or maybe scream. Pretty soon, I ask a guy what's cooking.

He points with a hand that shakes a little. "It's the moon," he says. "It's acting funny. Getting bigger or something. See how plain you can see the mountains now. And the air is all full of dust, too. Big black clouds of it."

He was right. The air was full of dust, and it was getting hotter. Downtown, all around the top of the Empire State building, there was a funny-looking black cloud. And the moon did look more prominent. Sort of like you were looking at it through a telescope-only we didn't have a telescope. Gertrude and I looked for a time, with the rest of them, and listened to the chatter, and then a cop came along and said to break up the crowd.

Gertrude grabbed my arm, and we hurried off, but not before I noticed that something was wrong with that cop. He was big and Irish; only he didn't have a red face. He was white, and I quickly realized he was afraid of something.

As we started up the steps of our brownstone, Gertrude grabbed me again. "Look," Harry! The moon is more giant now. Oh, Harry, I'm frightened! See—it looks like it fills most of the sky. Oh—what's happening?"

By now, I know something is wrong, but I don't let on to her, yet I tell her that she sees things, that the show she has just seen is upsetting her, and remembering how Orson Welles got the whole country on its ear one time with a broadcast about men from Mars. We are not going to be suckered like that, I tell her. If the moon looks more prominent, it is just some kind of an illusion and nothing to be afraid of. I don't admit that I am getting pretty nervous myself.

When we get into the house, Gertrude bustles around and pulls down all the shades so we can't see out into the street. She keeps talking all the time about the man at the Planetarium and about how he said that one of the ways the world can end is for the moon to fall toward the Earth, maybe to smash into it and kill us all, or perhaps just to cause a lot of giant tidal waves and storms, and so kill everyone that way. Pretty soon, she gets on my nerves, talking like that, and I tell her to shut up. Funny thing, but she does shut up and goes into the bedroom and closes the door.

Then I did what I had wanted to do ever since we came home, and what I knew Gertrude had wanted to do, only both of us had been afraid to do it. I walked over to the radio and switched it on, and the man's voice came into the room.

"... the President has just called an emergency meeting of the Cabinet. We expect a bulletin at any moment. All Army and Navy forces are standing by for orders. Earlier, in a plea direct from the White House, the President asked that all citizens be as calm as possible, that they stay in their homes and off the streets. He promised that everything possible will be done, although, and I quote, 'we are all in the hands of the Almighty now'. End quote."

I spun through the stations on the dial. All of them squawked and sputtered the same story. Then I got a guy speaking from some observatory in California, some professor with a voice like chilled cream. As I listen to him, I notice that, although I'm still sweating, the sweat is cold now. Outside in the street, I can hear sirens and something else that sounds like wind blowing. Only I never heard the wind blow like that before, shaking the whole house and squirting little puffs of black dust in through the cracks of the window. I'm not really scared now, but sort of numb, and for a minute, I think how funny it is, but true, that most people won't be afraid of dying—not if it will happen to everyone at once.

The professor on the radio is saying: "We can only guess at the causes of this phenomenon. In layman's terminology, somewhere in the cosmos, a cog has slipped, and the moon has left its orbit and is falling, if that term can be applied, toward the Earth. It is doubtful that the moon will strike the Earth. This, however, will not make the slightest difference to any of us. Hurricanes and tidal waves will undoubtedly have killed us all in a few hours. Probably the seas will be displaced and will pour inland, inundating everything to a depth of several hundred feet. This will be accompanied by winds that will reach a velocity of thousands of miles an hour. Again none of this will matter much to us..."

I turned him off. What a character! Yakking like that—like he was telling a class of college kids what might happen. I ran around the dial again and got a man speaking about thousands of people committing suicide. Not for me, buddy, I say. I'll take my chances with those tidal waves! Then I hear a bishop praying on the air, and after he finishes, I feel better.

Finally, I go to the bedroom door but hesitate with my hand on the knob. Gertrude is in there, asleep, and I've got to tell her what I've heard. For a minute, I stand there and think of the good times we've had together, and how she never loved anyone but me, and I know that if the world is ending—as I know it—I'm lucky because I've got my wife and we can face it together...

Suddenly someone is shaking me. I open my eyes, and I'm in the Planetarium. So help me, I've been dreaming. Gertrude is glaring at me, and I see that she has her shoes on and is ready to leave. I started to tell her about my dream, but I figured it would be better to wait until later. So we go outside where it is like a blast furnace. But am I glad to feel that humidity. The sweat running down me feels good, and I take deep breaths of that muggy New York air.

Gertrude says: "A fine thing. Going to sleep while that nice man was trying to tell you all about the world ending. Gee, Harry, don't you ever want to ..."

"Be quiet," I tell her. I'm looking at the guy on the sidewalk just in front of us. He's staring up at the sky.

"The moon," he says. "It's getting bigger!"

I don't want to turn and look downtown, at the Empire State building, but I do. I've just got to. And there is a big black cloud around it, and as I look, I hear a siren somewhere off in the city. And then a cop with a white face told us to move on.

END