This is a modern-English version of Beyond the Door, originally written by Dick, Philip K.. It has been thoroughly updated, including changes to sentence structure, words, spelling, and grammar—to ensure clarity for contemporary readers, while preserving the original spirit and nuance. If you click on a paragraph, you will see the original text that we modified, and you can toggle between the two versions.

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Did you ever wonder at the lonely life the bird in a cuckoo clock has to lead—that it might possibly love and hate just as easily as a real animal of flesh and blood? Philip Dick used that idea for this brief fantasy tale. We're sure that after reading it you'll give cuckoo clocks more respect.

Have you ever thought about the lonely life of the bird in a cuckoo clock—how it might love and hate just like a real animal made of flesh and blood? Philip Dick explored this concept in this short fantasy story. We’re sure that after reading it, you’ll see cuckoo clocks with a new sense of respect.

beyond
the
door

by ... Philip K. Dick

Larry Thomas bought a cuckoo clock for his wife—without knowing the price he would have to pay.

Larry Thomas bought a cuckoo clock for his wife, not realizing the price he would have to pay.

That night at the dinner table he brought it out and set it down beside her plate. Doris stared at it, her hand to her mouth. "My God, what is it?" She looked up at him, bright-eyed.

That evening at the dinner table he took it out and placed it beside her plate. Doris stared at it, her hand over her mouth. "Oh my God, what is that?" She looked up at him, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"Well, open it."

"Go ahead and open it."

Doris tore the ribbon and paper from the square package with her sharp nails, her bosom rising and falling. Larry stood watching her as she lifted the lid. He lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall.

Doris ripped the ribbon and wrapping paper off the square package with her sharp nails, her chest rising and falling. Larry watched her as she opened the lid. He lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall.

"A cuckoo clock!" Doris cried. "A real old cuckoo clock like my mother had." She turned the clock over and over. "Just like my mother had, when Pete was still alive." Her eyes sparkled with tears.

"A cuckoo clock!" Doris exclaimed. "A genuine old cuckoo clock just like the one my mother had." She examined the clock from every angle. "Just like the one my mother had when Pete was still alive." Tears sparkled in her eyes.

"It's made in Germany," Larry said. After a moment he added, "Carl got it for me wholesale. He knows some guy in the clock business. Otherwise I wouldn't have—" He stopped.

"It's made in Germany," Larry said. After a moment, he added, "Carl got it for me at a discount. He knows someone in the clock business. Otherwise, I wouldn't have—" He paused.

Doris made a funny little sound.

Doris made a funny little noise.

"I mean, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to afford it." He scowled. "What's the matter with you? You've got your clock, haven't you? Isn't that what you want?"

"I mean, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to pay for it." He frowned. "What's wrong with you? You have your clock, right? Isn't that what you wanted?"

Doris sat holding onto the clock, her fingers pressed against the brown wood.

Doris sat with her hands on the clock, her fingers resting on the brown wood.

"Well," Larry said, "what's the matter?"

"Well," Larry said, "what's up?"

He watched in amazement as she leaped up and ran from the room, still clutching the clock. He shook his head. "Never satisfied. They're all that way. Never get enough."

He watched in disbelief as she jumped up and dashed out of the room, still holding the clock. He shook his head. "Never satisfied. They’re all like that. Never get enough."

He sat down at the table and finished his meal.

The cuckoo clock was not very large. It was hand-made, however, and there were countless frets on it, little indentations and ornaments scored in the soft wood. Doris sat on the bed drying her eyes and winding the clock. She set the hands by her wristwatch. Presently she carefully moved the hands to two minutes of ten. She carried the clock over to the dresser and propped it up.

The cuckoo clock wasn’t very big. It was handmade, though, and had countless decorative details, little indentations and ornaments etched into the soft wood. Doris sat on the bed, wiping her eyes and winding the clock. She adjusted the hands according to her wristwatch. Soon, she carefully moved the hands to two minutes to ten. She carried the clock over to the dresser and set it upright.

Then she sat waiting, her hands twisted together in her lap—waiting for the cuckoo to come out, for the hour to strike.

Then she sat waiting, her hands clasped together in her lap—waiting for the cuckoo to come out, for the hour to strike.

As she sat she thought about Larry and what he had said. And what she had said, too, for that matter—not that she could be blamed for any of it. After all, she couldn't keep listening to him forever without defending herself; you had to blow your own trumpet in the world.

As she sat there, she thought about Larry and what he had said. And what she had said too, for that matter—not that she was at fault for any of it. After all, she couldn't keep listening to him forever without standing up for herself; you have to speak up for yourself in the world.

She touched her handkerchief to her eyes suddenly. Why did he have to say that, about getting it wholesale? Why did he have to spoil it all? If he felt that way he needn't have got it in the first place. She clenched her fists. He was so mean, so damn mean.

She suddenly wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. Why did he have to say that about buying it in bulk? Why did he have to ruin everything? If he felt that way, he shouldn't have gotten it in the first place. She clenched her fists. He was so cruel, so incredibly cruel.

But she was glad of the little clock sitting there ticking to itself, with its funny grilled edges and the door. Inside the door was the cuckoo, waiting to come out. Was he listening, his head cocked on one side, listening to hear the clock strike so that he would know to come out?

But she was happy about the little clock sitting there, ticking away by itself, with its quirky grilles and the door. Inside the door was the cuckoo, waiting to come out. Was he listening, his head tilted to one side, waiting to hear the clock chime so he would know when to come out?

Did he sleep between hours? Well, she would soon see him: she could ask him. And she would show the clock to Bob. He would love it; Bob loved old things, even old stamps and buttons. He liked to go with her to the stores. Of course, it was a little awkward, but Larry had been staying at the office so much, and that helped. If only Larry didn't call up sometimes to—

Did he sleep during the night? Well, she would see him soon: she could ask him. And she would show the clock to Bob. He would love it; Bob loved vintage stuff, even old stamps and buttons. He liked to go with her to the stores. Of course, it was a little awkward, but Larry had been at the office so much, and that helped. If only Larry didn’t call sometimes to—

There was a whirr. The clock shuddered and all at once the door opened. The cuckoo came out, sliding swiftly. He paused and looked around solemnly, scrutinizing her, the room, the furniture.

There was a whirr. The clock shuddered, and suddenly the door opened. The cuckoo popped out, sliding quickly. He stopped and looked around seriously, examining her, the room, and the furniture.

It was the first time he had seen her, she realized, smiling to herself in pleasure. She stood up, coming toward him shyly. "Go on," she said. "I'm waiting."

It was the first time he had seen her, she realized, smiling to herself in happiness. She stood up, approaching him shyly. "Go ahead," she said. "I'm waiting."

The cuckoo opened his bill. He whirred and chirped, quickly, rhythmically. Then, after a moment of contemplation, he retired. And the door snapped shut.

The cuckoo opened its beak. It whirred and chirped rapidly, in rhythm. Then, after a moment's pause, it retreated. And the door slammed shut.

She was delighted. She clapped her hands and spun in a little circle. He was marvelous, perfect! And the way he had looked around, studying her, sizing her up. He liked her; she was certain of it. And she, of course, loved him at once, completely. He was just what she had hoped would come out of the little door.

She was thrilled. She clapped her hands and twirled in a little circle. He was amazing, perfect! And the way he had glanced around, observing her, sizing her up. He liked her; she was sure of it. And she, of course, fell for him instantly, completely. He was exactly what she had hoped would come out of the little door.

Doris went to the clock. She bent over the little door, her lips close to the wood. "Do you hear me?" she whispered. "I think you're the most wonderful cuckoo in the world." She paused, embarrassed. "I hope you'll like it here."

Doris walked over to the clock. She leaned down to the small door, her lips nearly touching the wood. "Can you hear me?" she whispered. "I think you're the most amazing cuckoo in the world." She stopped for a moment, feeling shy. "I hope you like it here."

Then she went downstairs again, slowly, her head high.

Then she went downstairs again, slowly, holding her head high.

Larry and the cuckoo clock really never got along well from the start. Doris said it was because he didn't wind it right, and it didn't like being only half-wound all the time. Larry turned the job of winding over to her; the cuckoo came out every quarter hour and ran the spring down without remorse, and someone had to be ever after it, winding it up again.

Larry and the cuckoo clock never really got along well from the beginning. Doris said it was because he didn't wind it properly, and it didn't like being only half-wound all the time. Larry let her take over the job of winding it; the cuckoo came out every fifteen minutes and ran the spring down without any care, and someone had to keep winding it back up again.

Doris did her best, but she forgot a good deal of the time. Then Larry would throw his newspaper down with an elaborate weary motion and stand up. He would go into the dining-room where the clock was mounted on the wall over the fireplace. He would take the clock down and making sure that he had his thumb over the little door, he would wind it up.

Doris tried her hardest, but she forgot a lot of the time. Then Larry would toss his newspaper aside with an exaggerated sigh and get up. He'd head into the dining room where the clock was hung on the wall above the fireplace. He'd take the clock down and, making sure to cover the little door with his thumb, he'd wind it up.

"Why do you put your thumb over the door?" Doris asked once.

"Why do you put your thumb over the door?" Doris asked one time.

"You're supposed to."

"You're meant to."

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? I wonder if it isn't that you don't want him to come out while you're standing so close."

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? I wonder if it’s just that you don’t want him to come out while you’re standing so close."

"Why not?"

"Maybe you're afraid of him."

"Maybe you're scared of him."

Larry laughed. He put the clock back on the wall and gingerly removed his thumb. When Doris wasn't looking he examined his thumb.

Larry laughed. He put the clock back on the wall and carefully removed his thumb. When Doris wasn't paying attention, he checked out his thumb.

There was still a trace of the nick cut out of the soft part of it. Who—or what—had pecked at him?

There was still a mark from the nick taken out of the soft part of it. Who—or what—had pecked at him?

One Saturday morning, when Larry was down at the office working over some important special accounts, Bob Chambers came to the front porch and rang the bell.

One Saturday morning, while Larry was at the office sorting through some important special accounts, Bob Chambers came to the front porch and rang the doorbell.

Doris was taking a quick shower. She dried herself and slipped into her robe. When she opened the door Bob stepped inside, grinning.

Doris was taking a quick shower. She dried off and put on her robe. When she opened the door, Bob stepped inside, grinning.

"Hi," he said, looking around.

"Hey," he said, looking around.

"It's all right. Larry's at the office."

"It's all good. Larry's at the office."

"Fine." Bob gazed at her slim legs below the hem of the robe. "How nice you look today."

"Fine." Bob looked at her slim legs peeking out from beneath the hem of the robe. "You look really nice today."

She laughed. "Be careful! Maybe I shouldn't let you in after all."

They looked at one another, half amused half frightened. Presently Bob said, "If you want, I'll—"

They looked at each other, half amused, half scared. Eventually, Bob said, "If you want, I'll—"

"No, for God's sake." She caught hold of his sleeve. "Just get out of the doorway so I can close it. Mrs. Peters across the street, you know."

"No, for God's sake." She grabbed his sleeve. "Just step out of the doorway so I can close it. You know Mrs. Peters across the street."

She closed the door. "And I want to show you something," she said. "You haven't seen it."

She shut the door. "And I want to show you something," she said. "You haven't seen it."

He was interested. "An antique? Or what?"

He was curious. "An antique? Or what else?"

She took his arm, leading him toward the dining-room. "You'll love it, Bobby." She stopped, wide-eyed. "I hope you will. You must; you must love it. It means so much to me—he means so much."

She took his arm and guided him toward the dining room. "You're going to love it, Bobby." She paused, her eyes wide. "I really hope you do. You have to love it. It means a lot to me—he means a lot."

"He?" Bob frowned. "Who is he?"

Doris laughed. "You're jealous! Come on." A moment later they stood before the clock, looking up at it. "He'll come out in a few minutes. Wait until you see him. I know you two will get along just fine."

Doris laughed. "You’re jealous! Come on." A moment later, they stood in front of the clock, looking up at it. "He'll come out in a few minutes. Wait until you see him. I know you two will get along just great."

"What does Larry think of him?"

"They don't like each other. Sometimes when Larry's here he won't come out. Larry gets mad if he doesn't come out on time. He says—"

"They don't like each other. Sometimes when Larry's around, he won't come out. Larry gets angry if he doesn't come out on time. He says—"

"Says what?"

"Say what?"

Doris looked down. "He always says he's been robbed, even if he did get it wholesale." She brightened. "But I know he won't come out because he doesn't like Larry. When I'm here alone he comes right out for me, every fifteen minutes, even though he really only has to come out on the hour."

Doris looked down. "He always says he's been robbed, even if he got it at wholesale prices." She brightened. "But I know he won't come out because he doesn't like Larry. When I'm here alone, he comes out for me every fifteen minutes, even though he really only needs to come out on the hour."

She gazed up at the clock. "He comes out for me because he wants to. We talk; I tell him things. Of course, I'd like to have him upstairs in my room, but it wouldn't be right."

She looked up at the clock. "He comes out for me because he wants to. We talk; I share things with him. Of course, I'd like to have him up in my room, but that wouldn't be right."

There was the sound of footsteps on the front porch. They looked at each other, horrified.

There was the sound of footsteps on the front porch. They looked at each other, terrified.

Larry pushed the front door open, grunting. He set his briefcase down and took off his hat. Then he saw Bob for the first time.

Larry pushed the front door open, making a grunt. He set his briefcase down and took off his hat. Then he saw Bob for the first time.

"Chambers. I'll be damned." His eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?" He came into the dining-room. Doris drew her robe about her helplessly, backing away.

"Chambers. I can't believe this." His eyes squinted. "What are you doing here?" He stepped into the dining room. Doris pulled her robe around her awkwardly, stepping back.

"I—" Bob began. "That is, we—" He broke off, glancing at Doris. Suddenly the clock began to whirr. The cuckoo came rushing out, bursting into sound. Larry moved toward him.

"I—" Bob started. "I mean, we—" He stopped, looking at Doris. Suddenly, the clock began to whirr. The cuckoo rushed out, bursting into sound. Larry moved towards him.

"Shut that din off," he said. He raised his fist toward the clock. The cuckoo snapped into silence and retreated. The door closed. "That's better." Larry studied Doris and Bob, standing mutely together.

"Shut that noise off," he said. He raised his fist at the clock. The cuckoo fell silent and withdrew. The door closed. "That's better." Larry looked at Doris and Bob, who were standing quietly together.

"I came over to look at the clock," Bob said. "Doris told me that it's a rare antique and that—"

"I came over to check out the clock," Bob said. "Doris told me it's a rare antique and that—"

"Nuts. I bought it myself." Larry walked up to him. "Get out of here." He turned to Doris. "You too. And take that damn clock with you."

He paused, rubbing his chin. "No. Leave the clock here. It's mine; I bought it and paid for it."

He stopped, rubbing his chin. "No. Leave the clock here. It's mine; I bought it and paid for it."

In the weeks that followed after Doris left, Larry and the cuckoo clock got along even worse than before. For one thing, the cuckoo stayed inside most of the time, sometimes even at twelve o'clock when he should have been busiest. And if he did come out at all he usually spoke only once or twice, never the correct number of times. And there was a sullen, uncooperative note in his voice, a jarring sound that made Larry uneasy and a little angry.

In the weeks that followed Doris's departure, Larry and the cuckoo clock got along even worse than before. For one thing, the cuckoo stayed inside most of the time, sometimes even at twelve o'clock when he should have been the most active. And if he did come out at all, he usually only chirped once or twice, never the right number of times. There was a grumpy, uncooperative tone in his voice, a harsh sound that made Larry feel uncomfortable and a bit annoyed.

But he kept the clock wound, because the house was very still and quiet and it got on his nerves not to hear someone running around, talking and dropping things. And even the whirring of a clock sounded good to him.

But he kept the clock ticking, because the house was very still and quiet, and it annoyed him not to hear someone moving around, talking, and dropping things. Even the ticking of a clock sounded nice to him.

But he didn't like the cuckoo at all. And sometimes he spoke to him.

But he didn't like the cuckoo at all. And sometimes he talked to him.

"Listen," he said late one night to the closed little door. "I know you can hear me. I ought to give you back to the Germans—back to the Black Forest." He paced back and forth. "I wonder what they're doing now, the two of them. That young punk with his books and his antiques. A man shouldn't be interested in antiques; that's for women."

"Listen," he said late one night to the closed little door. "I know you can hear me. I should really return you to the Germans—back to the Black Forest." He walked back and forth. "I wonder what those two are up to now. That young punk with his books and his antique stuff. A man shouldn't be into antiques; that's for women."

He set his jaw. "Isn't that right?"

He clenched his jaw. "Isn't that right?"

The clock said nothing. Larry walked up in front of it. "Isn't that right?" he demanded. "Don't you have anything to say?"

The clock was silent. Larry stepped up in front of it. "Isn't that right?" he challenged. "Don't you have anything to say?"

He looked at the face of the clock. It was almost eleven, just a few seconds before the hour. "All right. I'll wait until eleven. Then I want to hear what you have to say. You've been pretty quiet the last few weeks since she left."

He glanced at the clock. It was almost eleven, just a few seconds to go. "Okay. I'll wait until eleven. Then I want to hear what you have to say. You've been pretty quiet the last few weeks since she left."

He grinned wryly. "Maybe you don't like it here since she's gone." He scowled. "Well, I paid for you, and you're coming out whether you like it or not. You hear me?"

He smirked. "Maybe you don't like it here now that she's gone." He frowned. "Well, I paid for you, and you're coming out whether you want to or not. You got that?"

Eleven o'clock came. Far off, at the end of town, the great tower clock boomed sleepily to itself. But the little door remained shut. Nothing moved. The minute hand passed on and the cuckoo did not stir. He was someplace inside the clock, beyond the door, silent and remote.

Eleven o'clock arrived. In the distance, at the edge of town, the big tower clock chimed lazily to itself. But the small door stayed closed. Nothing was happening. The minute hand continued on, and the cuckoo stayed quiet. He was somewhere inside the clock, behind the door, silent and far away.

"All right, if that's the way you feel," Larry murmured, his lips twisting. "But it isn't fair. It's your job to come out. We all have to do things we don't like."

"Okay, if that's how you feel," Larry murmured, his lips twisting. "But it’s not fair. It's your job to come out. We all have to do things we don't want to."

He went unhappily into the kitchen and opened the great gleaming refrigerator. As he poured himself a drink he thought about the clock.

He walked gloomily into the kitchen and opened the big, shiny refrigerator. As he poured himself a drink, he thought about the clock.

There was no doubt about it—the cuckoo should come out, Doris or no Doris. He had always liked her, from the very start. They had got along well, the two of them. Probably he liked Bob too—probably he had seen enough of Bob to get to know him. They would be quite happy together, Bob and Doris and the cuckoo.

There was no question about it—the cuckoo should come out, Doris or not. He had always liked her from the very beginning. They got along well, the two of them. He probably liked Bob too—he had likely seen enough of Bob to know him well. They would be pretty happy together, Bob, Doris, and the cuckoo.

Larry finished his drink. He opened the drawer at the sink and took out the hammer. He carried it carefully into the dining-room. The clock was ticking gently to itself on the wall.

Larry finished his drink. He opened the drawer by the sink and took out the hammer. He carried it carefully into the dining room. The clock was ticking softly to itself on the wall.

"Look," he said, waving the hammer. "You know what I have here? You know what I'm going to do with it? I'm going to start on you—first." He smiled. "Birds of a feather, that's what you are—the three of you."

"Look," he said, waving the hammer. "You know what I've got here? You know what I'm going to do with it? I'm going to start with you—first." He smiled. "You three are just alike—birds of a feather."

The room was silent.

The room was quiet.

"Are you coming out? Or do I have to come in and get you?"

"Are you coming out? Or do I need to come in and get you?"

The clock whirred a little.

The clock ticked softly.

"I hear you in there. You've got a lot of talking to do, enough for the last three weeks. As I figure it, you owe me—"

"I hear you in there. You have a lot to say, enough for the last three weeks. As I see it, you owe me—"

The door opened. The cuckoo came out fast, straight at him. Larry was looking down, his brow wrinkled in thought. He glanced up, and the cuckoo caught him squarely in the eye.

The door swung open. The cuckoo popped out quickly, heading right for him. Larry was staring down, his forehead creased with thought. He looked up, and the cuckoo hit him straight in the eye.

Down he went, hammer and chair and everything, hitting the floor with a tremendous crash. For a moment the cuckoo paused, its small body poised rigidly. Then it went back inside its house. The door snapped tight-shut after it.

Down he went, hammer and chair and everything, hitting the floor with a huge crash. For a moment, the cuckoo paused, its small body frozen in place. Then it went back inside its house. The door slammed shut behind it.

The man lay on the floor, stretched out grotesquely, his head bent over to one side. Nothing moved or stirred. The room was completely silent, except, of course, for the ticking of the clock.

The man lay on the floor, stretched out in an awkward position, his head tilted to one side. Nothing moved or stirred. The room was completely silent, except, of course, for the ticking of the clock.

"I see," Doris said, her face tight. Bob put his arm around her, steadying her.

"I see," Doris said, her expression tense. Bob wrapped his arm around her, offering support.

"Doctor," Bob said, "can I ask you something?"

"Of course," the doctor said.

"Sure," the doctor said.

"Is it very easy to break your neck, falling from so low a chair? It wasn't very far to fall. I wonder if it might not have been an accident. Is there any chance it might have been—"

"Is it really that easy to break your neck falling from such a low chair? It wasn't a long drop. I wonder if it could have been an accident. Is there any possibility it might have been—"

"Suicide?" the doctor rubbed his jaw. "I never heard of anyone committing suicide that way. It was an accident; I'm positive."

"Suicide?" the doctor rubbed his jaw. "I've never heard of anyone committing suicide like that. It was an accident; I'm sure."

"I don't mean suicide," Bob murmured under his breath, looking up at the clock on the wall. "I meant something else."

"I don't mean suicide," Bob murmured quietly, glancing up at the clock on the wall. "I meant something else."

But no one heard him.

But no one listened to him.

Transcriber's Note:

Transcriber's Note:

This etext was produced from Fantastic Universe January 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.

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