... speaking of monsters, Hollywood horrors, and alien intelligences...
The monster here belongs to John W. Campbell, Jr., editor of Astounding Science Fiction—a little horror he created back in 1938 in his alter ego of Don A. Stuart in a novelette entitled “Who Goes There?”
Some ten or twelve years later, Hollywood heard that science-fiction was a coming thing. “Who Goes There?” was one of the first stories sold to the movies in the early “boom,” and after a publicity campaign to end all, THE THING stalked through the moving picture palaces of the country in a positive horror of a picture.
Randall Garrett, as alien an intelligence as I have known, apparently felt that the record needed setting straight, so he wrote the story all over again (in simplified form, designed for reading by creature-movie fans).
Here’s a tale of chilling horror
For the sort of guy who more or
Less thinks being an explorer
Is the kind of life for him.
If he finds his life a bore, he
Ought to read this gory story,
For he’ll find exploratory
Work is really rather grim.
For the story starts by stating
That some guys investigating
The Antarctic are debating
On exactly what to do
With a monster they’ve found frozen
Near the campsite they have chosen,
And the quarrel grows and grows, un-
Til they’re in an awful stew.
There’s a guy named Blair who wants to r-
Eally check up on this monster
And dissect it. To his conster-
Nation, everyone’s in doubt
So, of course, he starts in pleading,
And the rest of them start heeding
All his statements, and conceding
That the Thing should be thawed out.
So they let this Thing of evil
Start to melt from its primeval
Sheath of ice; they don’t perceive a l-
Ot of trouble will ensue.
When the Thing is thawed, it neatly
Comes to life, and, smiling sweetly,
It absorbs some men completely,
Changing them to monsters, too!
Now we reach the story’s nub, ill
Uminating all the trouble:
Each new monster is a double
For the men they each replace.
Since it seems a man’s own mother
Couldn’t tell one from the other,
These guys all watch one another,
Each with fear upon his face.
And so then the men are tested
To see who has been digested,
And who’s been left unmolested.
But the test don’t work! It’s hexed!
So each man just sits there, shrinking
From the others, madly thinking,
As he watches with unblinking
Gaze, and wonders—Who Goes Next?
Now, they’ve found that executing
Monsters can’t be done by shooting;
They require electrocuting,
Or cremation with a torch.
When they find these Things, they grab ‘em;
They don’t try to shoot or stab ‘em;
With high-voltage wires, they jab ‘em
‘Til their flesh begins to scorch.
So the entire expedition
Eye each other with suspicion,
For they’re in a bad position,
And there’s no denying that!
Now, to clear this awful scramble,
The ingenious Mr. Campbell,
Suddenly, without preamble,
Pulls a rabbit from the hat.
Here’s the way they solve the muddle:
They discover that a puddle
Of a pseudo-human’s blood’ll
Be a little monster, too!
With this test for separating
Men from monsters, without waiting,
They start right in liquidating
All the monsters in the crew.
Thus, the story is completed,
And the awful Thing’s defeated,
But he still was badly treated;
It’s a shame, it seems to me.
Frozen since the glaciation,
This poor Thing’s extermination
Is as sad as the cremation
Of the hapless Sam McGee.