{"id":24418,"date":"2025-10-08T12:39:37","date_gmt":"2025-10-08T16:39:37","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/?p=24418"},"modified":"2025-10-08T12:39:40","modified_gmt":"2025-10-08T16:39:40","slug":"fredric-brown-dont-look-behind-you","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/short-stories\/fredric-brown-dont-look-behind-you\/24418\/","title":{"rendered":"Fredric Brown: Don\u2019t Look Behind You"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Synopsis<\/strong>: \u201cDon\u2019t Look Behind You\u201d is a short story by Fredric Brown, published in May 1947 in Ellery Queen\u2019s Mystery Magazine<\/em>. It tells the story of Justin Dean, a modest engraver working at a printing shop in Ohio, whose life changes when he meets Harley Prentice, a handsome, refined, and enigmatic man. Fascinated by his elegance and confidence, Justin agrees to join him in a risky business venture that promises fortune. But beneath the appearance of success lie unsettling secrets that will drag them toward an increasingly ominous and uncertain fate.<\/p>\n\n\n

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\"Fredric<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

Don\u2019t Look Behind You<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Fredric Brown
(Full story)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Just sit back and relax, now. Try to enjoy this; it\u2019s going be the last story you ever read, or nearly the last. After you finish it you can sit there and stall a while, you can find excuses to hang around your house, or your room, or your office, wherever you\u2019re reading this; but sooner or later you\u2019re going to have to get up and go out. That\u2019s where I\u2019m waiting for you: outside. Or maybe closer than that. Maybe in this room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You think that\u2019s a joke of course. You think this is just a story in a book, and that I don\u2019t really mean you. Keep right on thinking so. But be fair; admit that I\u2019m giving you fair warning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harley bet me I couldn\u2019t do it. He bet me a diamond he\u2019s told me about, a diamond as big as his head. So you see why I\u2019ve got to kill you. And why I\u2019ve got to tell you how and why and all about it first. That\u2019s part of the bet. It\u2019s just the kind of idea Harley would have.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ll tell you about Harley first. He\u2019s tall and handsome, and suave and cosmopolitan. He looks something like Ronald Colman, only he\u2019s taller. He dresses like a million dollars, but it wouldn\u2019t matter if he didn\u2019t; I mean that he\u2019d look distinguished in overalls. There\u2019s a sort of magic about Harley, a mocking magic in the way he looks at you; it makes you think of palaces and far-off countries and bright music.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was in Springfield, Ohio, that he met Justin Dean. Justin was a funny-looking little runt who was just a printer. He worked for the Atlas Printing & Engraving Company. He was a very ordinary little guy, just about as different as possible from Harley; you couldn\u2019t pick two men more different. He was only thirty-five, but he was mostly bald already, and he had to wear thick glasses because he\u2019d worn out his eyes doing fine printing and engraving. He was a good printer and engraver; I\u2019ll say that for him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I never asked Harley how he happened to come to Springfield, but the day he got there, after he\u2019d checked in at the Castle Hotel, he stopped in at Atlas to have some calling cards made. It happened that Justin Dean was alone in the shop at the time, and he took Harley\u2019s order for the cards; Harley wanted engraved ones, the best. Harley always wants the best of everything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harley probably didn\u2019t even notice Justin; there was no reason why he should have. But Justin noticed Harley all right, and in him he saw everything that he himself would like to be, and never would be, because most of the things Harley has, you have to be born with.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And Justin made the plates for the cards himself and printed them himself, and he did a wonderful job\u2014something he thought would be worthy of a man like Harley Prentice. That was the name engraved on the card, just that and nothing else, as all really important people have their cards engraved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He did fine-line work on it, freehand cursive style, and used all the skill he had. It wasn\u2019t wasted, because the next day when Harley called to get the cards he held one and stared at it for a while, and then he looked at Justin, seeing him for the first time. He asked, \u201cWho did this?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And little Justin told him proudly who had done it, and Harley smiled at him and told him it was the work of an artist, and he asked Justin to have dinner with him that evening after work, in the Blue Room of the Castle Hotel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That\u2019s how Harley and Justin got together, but Harley was careful. He waited until he\u2019d known Justin a while before he asked him whether or not he could make plates for five and ten dollar bills. Harley had the contacts; he could market the bills in quantity with men who specialized in passing them, and\u2014most important\u2014he knew where he could get paper with the silk threads in it, paper that wasn\u2019t quite the genuine thing, but was close enough to pass inspection by anyone but an expert.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So Justin quit his job at Atlas and he and Harley went to New York, and they set up a little printing shop as a blind, on Amsterdam Avenue south of Sherman Square, and they worked at the bills. Justin worked hard, harder than he had ever worked in his life, because besides working on the plates for the bills, he helped meet expenses by handling what legitimate printing work came into the shop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He worked day and night for almost a year, making plate after plate, and each one was a little better than the last, and finally he had plates that Harley said were good enough. That night they had dinner at the Waldorf-Astoria to celebrate and after dinner they went the rounds of the best night clubs, and it cost Harley a small fortune, but that didn\u2019t matter because they were going to get rich.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They drank champagne, and it was the first time Justin ever drank champagne and he got disgustingly drunk and must have made quite a fool of himself. Harley told him about it afterwards, but Harley wasn\u2019t mad at him. He took him back to his room at the hotel and put him to bed, and Justin was pretty sick for a couple of days. But that didn\u2019t matter, either, because they were going to get rich.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then Justin started printing bills from the plates, and they got rich. After that, Justin didn\u2019t have to work so hard, either, because he turned down most jobs that came into the print shop, told them he was behind schedule and couldn\u2019t handle any more. He took just a little work, to keep up a front. And behind the front, he made five and ten dollar bills, and he and Harley got rich.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He got to know other people whom Harley knew. He met Bull Mallon, who handled the distribution end. Bull Mallon was built like a bull, that was why they called him that. He had a face that never smiled or changed expression at all except when he was holding burning matches to the soles of Justin\u2019s bare feet. But that wasn\u2019t then; that was later, when he wanted Justin to tell him where the plates were.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And he got to know Captain John Willys of the Police Department, who was a friend of Harley\u2019s, to whom Harley gave quite a bit of the money they made, but that didn\u2019t matter either, because there was plenty left and they all got rich. He met a friend of Harley\u2019s who was a big star of the stage, and one who owned a big New York newspaper. He got to know other people equally important, but in less respectable ways.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harley, Justin knew, had a hand in lots of other enterprises besides the little mint on Amsterdam Avenue. Some of these ventures took him out of town, usually over weekends. And the weekend that Harley was murdered Justin never found out what really happened, except that Harley went away and didn\u2019t come back. Oh, he knew that he was murdered, all right, because the police found his body\u2014 with three bullet holes in his chest\u2014in the most expensive suite of the best hotel in Albany. Even for a place to be found dead in Harley Prentice had chosen the best.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

All Justin ever knew about it was that a long distance call came to him at the hotel where he was staying, the night that Harley was murdered\u2014it must have been a matter of minutes, in fact, before the time the newspapers said Harley was killed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was Harley\u2019s voice on the phone, and his voice was debonair and unexcited as ever. But he said, \u201cJustin? Get to the shop and get rid of the plates, the paper, everything. Right away. I\u2019ll explain when I see you.\u201d He waited only until Justin said, \u201cSure, Harley,\u201d and then he said, \u201cAttaboy,\u201d and hung up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Justin hurried around to the printing shop and got the plates and the paper and a few thousand dollars\u2019 worth of counterfeit bills that were on hand. He made the paper and bills into one bundle and the copper plates into another, smaller one, and he left the shop with no evidence that it had ever been a mint in miniature.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He was very careful and very clever in disposing of both bundles. He got rid of the big one first by checking in at a big hotel, not one he or Harley ever stayed at, under a false name, just to have a chance to put the big bundle in the incinerator there. It was paper and it would burn. And he made sure there was a fire in the incinerator before he dropped it down the chute.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The plates were different. They wouldn\u2019t burn, he knew, so he took a trip to Staten Island and back on the ferry and, somewhere out in the middle of the bay, he dropped the bundle over the side into the water.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then, having done what Harley had told him to do, and having done it well and thoroughly, he went back to the hotel\u2014his own hotel, not the one where he had dumped the paper and the bills\u2014and went to sleep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the morning he read in the newspapers that Harley had been killed, and he was stunned. It didn\u2019t seem possible. He couldn\u2019t believe it; it was a joke someone was playing on him. Harley would come back to him, he knew. And he was right; Harley did, but that was later, in the swamp.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But anyway, Justin had to know, so he took the very next train for Albany. He must have been on the train when the police went to his hotel, and at the hotel they must have learned he\u2019d asked at the desk about trains for Albany, because they were waiting for him when he got off the train there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They took him to a station and they kept him there a long long time, days and days, asking him questions. They found out, after a while, that he couldn\u2019t have killed Harley because he\u2019d been in New York City at the time Harley was killed in Albany but they knew also that he and Harley had been operating the little mint, and they thought that might be a lead to who killed Harley, and they were interested in the counterfeiting, too, maybe even more than in the murder. They asked Justin Dean questions, over and over and over, and he couldn\u2019t answer them, so he didn\u2019t. They kept him awake for days at a time, asking him questions over and over. Most of all they wanted to know where the plates were. He wished he could tell them that the plates were safe where nobody could ever get them again, but he couldn\u2019t tell them that without admitting that he and Harley had been counterfeiting, so he couldn\u2019t tell them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They located the Amsterdam shop, but they didn\u2019t find any evidence there, and they really had no evidence to hold Justin on at all, but he didn\u2019t know that, and it never occurred to him to get a lawyer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He kept wanting to see Harley, and they wouldn\u2019t let him; then, when they learned he really didn\u2019t believe Harley could be dead, they made him look at a dead man they said was Harley, and he guessed it was, although Harley looked different dead. He didn\u2019t look magnificent, dead. And Justin believed, then, but still didn\u2019t believe. And after that he just went silent and wouldn\u2019t say a word, even when they kept him awake for days and days with a bright light in his eyes, and kept slapping him to keep him awake. They didn\u2019t use clubs or rubber hoses, but they slapped him a million times and wouldn\u2019t let him sleep. And after a while he lost track of things and couldn\u2019t have answered their questions even if he\u2019d wanted to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For a while after that, he was in a bed in a white room, and all he remembers about that are nightmares he had, and calling for Harley and an awful confusion as to whether Harley was dead or not, and then things came back to him gradually and he knew he didn\u2019t want to stay in the white room; he wanted to get out so he could hunt for Harley. And if Harley was dead, he wanted to kill whoever had killed Harley, because Harley would have done the same for him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So he began pretending, and acting, very cleverly, the way the doctors and nurses seemed to want him to act, and after a while they gave him his clothes and let him go.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He was becoming cleverer now. He thought, What would Harley tell me to do? And he knew they\u2019d try to follow him because they\u2019d think he might lead them to the plates, which they didn\u2019t know were at the bottom of the bay, and he gave them the slip before he left Albany, and he went first to Boston, and from there by boat to New York, instead of going direct.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He went first to the print shop, and went in the back way after watching the alley for a long time to be sure the place wasn\u2019t guarded. It was a mess; they must have searched it very thoroughly for the plates.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harley wasn\u2019t there, of course. Justin left and from a phone booth in a drugstore he telephoned their hotel and asked for Harley and was told Harley no longer lived there; and to be clever and not let them guess who he was, he asked for Justin Dean, and they said Justin Dean didn\u2019t live there any more either.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then he moved to a different drugstore and from there he decided to call up some friends of Harley\u2019s, and he phoned Bull Mallon first and because Bull was a friend, he told him who he was and asked if he knew where Harley was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Bull Mallon didn\u2019t pay any attention to that; he sounded excited, a little, and he asked, \u201cDid the cops get the plates, Dean?\u201d and Justin said they didn\u2019t, that he wouldn\u2019t tell them, and he asked again about Harley.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Bull asked, \u201cAre you nuts, or kidding?\u201d And Justin just asked him again, and Bull\u2019s voice changed and he said, \u201cWhere are you?\u201d and Justin told him. Bull said, \u201cHarley\u2019s here. He\u2019s staying under cover, but it\u2019s all right if you know, Dean. You wait right there at the drugstore, and we\u2019ll come and get you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They came and got Justin, Bull Mallon and two other men in a car, and they told him Harley was hiding out way deep in New Jersey and that they were going to drive there now. So he went along and sat in the back seat between two men he didn\u2019t know, while Bull Mallon drove.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was late afternoon then, when they picked him up, and Bull drove all evening and most of the night and he drove fast, so he must have gone farther than New Jersey, at least into Virginia or maybe farther, into the Carolinas. The sky was getting faintly gray with first dawn when they stopped at a rustic cabin that looked like it had been used as a hunting lodge. It was miles from anywhere, there wasn\u2019t even a road leading to it, just a trail that was level enough for the car to be able to make it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They took Justin into the cabin and tied him to a chair, and they told him Harley wasn\u2019t there, but Harley had told them that Justin would tell them where the plates were, and he couldn\u2019t leave until he did tell.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Justin didn\u2019t believe them; he knew then that they\u2019d tricked him about Harley, but it didn\u2019t matter, as far as the plates were concerned. It didn\u2019t matter if he told them what he\u2019d done with the plates, because they couldn\u2019t get them again, and they wouldn\u2019t tell the police. So he told them, quite willingly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But they didn\u2019t believe him. They said he\u2019d hidden the plates and was lying. They tortured him to make him tell. They beat him, and they cut him with knives, and they held burning matches and lighted cigars to the soles of his feet, and they pushed needles under his fingernails. Then they\u2019d rest and ask him questions and if he could talk, he\u2019d tell them the truth, and after a while they\u2019d start to torture him again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It went on for days and weeks\u2014Justin doesn\u2019t know how long, but it was a long time. Once they went away for several days and left him tied up with nothing to eat or drink. They came back and started in all over again. And all the time he hoped Harley would come to help him, but Harley didn\u2019t come, not then.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After a while what was happening in the cabin ended, or anyway he didn\u2019t know any more about it. They must have thought he was dead; maybe they were right, or anyway not far from wrong.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The next thing he knows was the swamp. He was lying in shallow water at the edge of deeper water. His face was out of the water; it woke him when he turned a little and his face went under. They must have thought him dead and thrown him into the water, but he had floated into the shallow part before he had drowned, and a last flicker of consciousness had turned him over on his back with his face out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I don\u2019t remember much about Justin in the swamp; it was a long time, but I just remember flashes of it. I couldn\u2019t move at first; I just lay there in the shallow water with my face out. It got dark and it got cold, I remember, and finally my arms would move a little and I got farther out of the water, lying in the mud with only my feet in the water. I slept or was unconscious again and when I woke up it was getting gray dawn, and that was when Harley came. I think I\u2019d been calling him, and he must have heard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He stood there, dressed as immaculately and perfectly as ever, right in the swamp, and he was laughing at me for being so weak and lying there like a log, half in the dirty water and half in the mud, and I got up and nothing hurt any more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We shook hands and he said, \u201cCome on, Justin, let\u2019s get you out of here,\u201d and I was so glad he\u2019d come that I cried a little. He laughed at me for that and said I should lean on him and he\u2019d help me walk, but I wouldn\u2019t do that, because I was coated with mud and filth of the swamp and he was so clean and perfect in a white linen suit, like an ad in a magazine. And all the way out of that swamp, all the days and nights we spent there, he never even got mud on his trouser cuffs, nor his hair mussed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I told him just to lead the way, and he did, walking just ahead of me, sometimes turning around, laughing and talking to me and cheering me up. Sometimes I\u2019d fall but I wouldn\u2019t let him come back and help me. But he\u2019d wait patiently until I could get up. Sometimes I\u2019d crawl instead when I couldn\u2019t stand up any more. Sometimes I\u2019d have to swim streams that he\u2019d leap lightly across.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And it was day and night and day and night, and sometimes I\u2019d sleep, and things would crawl across me. And some of them I caught and ate, or maybe I dreamed that. I remember other things, in that swamp, like an organ that played a lot of the time, and sometimes angels in the air and devils in the water, but those were delirium, I guess.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harley would say, \u201cA little farther, Justin; we\u2019ll make it. And we\u2019ll get back at them, at all of them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And we made it. We came to dry fields, cultivated fields with waist-high corn, but there weren\u2019t ears on the corn for me to eat. And then there was a stream, a clear stream that wasn\u2019t stinking water like the swamp, and Harley told me to wash myself and my clothes and I did, although I wanted to hurry on to where I could get food.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I still looked pretty bad; my clothes were clean of mud and filth but they were mere rags and wet, because I couldn\u2019t wait for them to dry, and I had a ragged beard and I was barefoot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But we went on and came to a little farm building, just a two-room shack, and there was a smell of fresh bread just out of an oven, and I ran the last few yards to knock on the door. A woman, an ugly woman, opened the door and when she saw me she slammed it again before I could say a word.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Strength came to me from somewhere, maybe from Harley, although I can\u2019t remember him being there just then. There was a pile of kindling logs beside the door. I picked one of them up as though it were no heavier than a broomstick, and I broke down the door and killed the woman. She screamed a lot, but I killed her. Then I ate the hot fresh bread.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I watched from the window as I ate, and saw a man running across the field toward the house. I found a knife, and I killed him as he came in at the door. It was much better, killing with the knife; I liked it that way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I ate more bread, and kept watching from all the windows, but no one else came. Then my stomach hurt from the hot bread I\u2019d eaten and I had to lie down, doubled up, and when the hurting quit, I slept.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harley woke me up, and it was dark. He said, \u201cLet\u2019s get going; you should be far away from here before it\u2019s daylight.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I knew he was right, but I didn\u2019t hurry away. I was becoming, as you see, very clever now. I knew there were things to do first. I found matches and a lamp, and lighted the lamp. Then I hunted through the shack for everything I could use. I found clothes of the man, and they fitted me\u2014not too badly except that I had to turn up the cuffs of the trousers and the shirt. His shoes were big, but that was good because my feet were so swollen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I found a razor and shaved; it took a long time because my hand wasn\u2019t steady, but I was very careful and didn\u2019t cut myself much.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I had to hunt hardest for their money, but I found it finally. It was sixty dollars.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And I took the knife, after I had sharpened it. It isn\u2019t fancy; just a bone-handled carving knife, but it\u2019s good steel. I\u2019ll show it to you, pretty soon now. It\u2019s had a lot of use.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then we left and it was Harley who told me to stay away from the roads, and find railroad tracks. That was easy because we heard a train whistle far off in the night and knew which direction the tracks lay. From then on, with Harley helping, it\u2019s been easy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You won\u2019t need the details from here. I mean, about the brakeman, and about the tramp we found asleep in the empty reefer, and about the near thing I had with the police in Richmond. I learned from that; I learned I mustn\u2019t talk to Harley when anybody else was around to hear. He hides himself from them; he\u2019s got a trick and they don\u2019t know he\u2019s there, and they think I\u2019m funny in the head if I talk to him. But in Richmond I bought better clothes and got a haircut and a man I killed in an alley had forty dollars on him, so I had money again. I\u2019ve done a lot of traveling since then. If you stop to think you\u2019ll know where I am right now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m looking for Bull Mallon and the two men who helped him. Their names are Harry and Carl. I\u2019m going to kill them when I find them. Harley keeps telling me that those fellows are big time and that I\u2019m not ready for them yet. But I can be looking while I\u2019m getting ready so I keep moving around. Sometimes I stay in one place long enough to hold a job as a printer for a while. I\u2019ve learned a lot of things. I can hold a job and people don\u2019t think I\u2019m too strange; they don\u2019t get scared when I look at them like they sometimes did a few months ago. And I\u2019ve learned not to talk to Harley except in our own room and then only very quietly so people in the next room won\u2019t think I\u2019m talking to myself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And I\u2019ve kept in practice with the knife. I\u2019ve killed lots of people with it, mostly on the streets at night. Sometimes because they look like they might have money on them, but mostly just for practice and because I\u2019ve come to like doing it. I\u2019m really good with the knife by now. You\u2019ll hardly feel it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But Harley tells me that kind of killing is easy and that it\u2019s something else to kill a person who\u2019s on guard, as Bull and Harry and Carl will be.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And that\u2019s the conversation that led to the bet I mentioned. I told Harley that I\u2019d bet him that, right now, I could warn a man I was going to use the knife on him and even tell him why and approximately when, and that I could still kill him. And he bet me that I couldn\u2019t and he\u2019s going to lose that bet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He\u2019s going to lose it because I\u2019m warning you right now and you\u2019re not going to believe me. I\u2019m betting that you\u2019re going to believe that this is just another story in a book. That you won\u2019t believe that this is the only copy of this book that contains this story and that this story is true. Even when I tell you how it was done, I don\u2019t think you\u2019ll really believe me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You see I\u2019m putting it over on Harley, winning the bet, by putting it over on you. He never thought, and you won\u2019t realize how easy it is for a good printer, who\u2019s been a counterfeiter too, to counterfeit one story in a book. Nothing like as hard as counterfeiting a five dollar bill.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I had to pick a book of short stories and I picked this one because I happened to notice that the last story in the book was titled Don\u2019t Look Behind You<\/em> and that was going to be a good title for this. You\u2019ll see what I mean in a few minutes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m lucky that the printing shop I\u2019m working for now does book work and had a type face that matches the rest of this book. I had a little trouble matching the paper exactly, but I finally did and I\u2019ve got it ready while I\u2019m writing this. I\u2019m writing this directly on a linotype, late at night in the shop where I\u2019m working days. I even have the boss\u2019 permission, told him I was going to set up and print a story that a friend of mine had written, as a surprise for him, and that I\u2019d melt the type metal back as soon as I\u2019d printed one good copy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I finish writing this I\u2019ll make up the type in pages to match the rest of the book and I\u2019ll print it on the matching paper I have ready. I\u2019ll cut the new pages to fit and bind them in; you won\u2019t be able to tell the difference, even if a faint suspicion may cause you to look at it. Don\u2019t forget I made five and ten dollar bills you couldn\u2019t have told from the original, and this is kindergarten stuff compared to that job. And I\u2019ve done enough bookbinding that I\u2019ll be able to take the last story out of the book and bind this one in instead of it and you won\u2019t be able to tell the difference no matter how closely you look. I\u2019m going to do a perfect job of it if it takes me all night.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And tomorrow I\u2019ll go to some bookstore, or maybe a newsstand or even a drugstore that sells books and has other copies of this book, ordinary copies, and I\u2019ll plant this one there. I\u2019ll find myself a good place to watch from, and I\u2019ll be watching when you buy it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The rest I can\u2019t tell you yet because it depends a lot on circumstances, whether you went right home with the book or what you did. I won\u2019t know till I follow you and keep watch till you read it\u2014and I see that you\u2019re reading the last story in the book.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If you\u2019re home while you\u2019re reading this, maybe I\u2019m in the house with you right now. Maybe I\u2019m in this very room, hidden, waiting for you to finish the story. Maybe I\u2019m watching through a window. Or maybe I\u2019m sitting near you on the streetcar or train, if you\u2019re reading it there. Maybe I\u2019m on the fire escape outside your hotel room. But wherever you\u2019re reading it, I\u2019m near you, watching and waiting for you to finish. You can count on that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You\u2019re pretty near the end now. You\u2019ll be finished in seconds and you\u2019ll close the book, still not believing. Or, if you haven\u2019t read the stories in order, maybe you\u2019ll turn back to start another story. If you do, you\u2019ll never finish it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But don\u2019t look around; you\u2019ll be happier if you don\u2019t know, if you don\u2019t see the knife coming. When I kill people from behind they don\u2019t seem to mind so much.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Go on, just a few seconds or minutes, thinking this is just another story. Don\u2019t look behind you. Don\u2019t believe this\u2014until you feel the knife.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

THE END<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cDon\u2019t Look Behind You\u201d is a short story by Fredric Brown, published in May 1947 in Ellery Queen\u2019s Mystery Magazine. It tells the story of Justin Dean, a modest engraver working at a printing shop in Ohio, whose life changes when he meets Harley Prentice, a handsome, refined, and enigmatic man. Fascinated by his elegance and confidence, Justin agrees to join him in a risky business venture that promises fortune. But beneath the appearance of success lie unsettling secrets that will drag them toward an increasingly ominous and uncertain fate.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":24410,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_kad_blocks_custom_css":"","_kad_blocks_head_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_body_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_footer_custom_js":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[559],"tags":[1445,572,570],"class_list":["post-24418","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-short-stories","tag-fredric-brown-en","tag-horror-en","tag-united-states","generate-columns","tablet-grid-50","mobile-grid-100","grid-parent","grid-33"],"acf":[],"taxonomy_info":{"category":[{"value":559,"label":"Short stories"}],"post_tag":[{"value":1445,"label":"Fredric Brown"},{"value":572,"label":"Horror"},{"value":570,"label":"United States"}]},"featured_image_src_large":["https:\/\/lecturia.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/Frederic-Brown-No-mires-hacia-atras.webp",1024,1024,false],"author_info":{"display_name":"Juan Pablo Guevara","author_link":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/author\/spartakku\/"},"comment_info":"","category_info":[{"term_id":559,"name":"Short stories","slug":"short-stories","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":559,"taxonomy":"category","description":"","parent":0,"count":419,"filter":"raw","cat_ID":559,"category_count":419,"category_description":"","cat_name":"Short stories","category_nicename":"short-stories","category_parent":0}],"tag_info":[{"term_id":1445,"name":"Fredric Brown","slug":"fredric-brown-en","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":1445,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":3,"filter":"raw"},{"term_id":572,"name":"Horror","slug":"horror-en","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":572,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":127,"filter":"raw"},{"term_id":570,"name":"United States","slug":"united-states","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":570,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":294,"filter":"raw"}],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/24418","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=24418"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/24418\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/24410"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=24418"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=24418"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=24418"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}