Produced by Greg Weeks, Katherine Ward and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net Science fiction, in collaboration with the idea-men and technicians of Hollywood, has been responsible for many horrors, dating back to "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" and "The Lost World." But Hollywood has created one real-life horror that tops all creations of fantasy--the child star. In this story we at last see such a brat meet Things from Alien Space. jimsy and the monsters by ... Walt Sheldon Hollywood could handle just about anything--until Mildume's machine brought in two real aliens. Mr. Maximilian Untz regarded the monsters with a critical eye. Script girls, cameramen, sometimes even stars quailed under Mr. Untz's critical eye--but not these monsters. The first had a globelike head and several spidery legs. The second was willowy and long-clawed. The third was covered with hair. The prop department had outdone itself. "Get Jimsy," said Mr. Untz, snapping his fingers. A young earnest assistant producer with a crew cut turned and relayed the summons. "Jimsy--Jimsy LaRoche!" Down the line of cables and cameras it went. _Jimsy_ ... _Jimsy_.... A few moments later, from behind the wall flat where he had been playing canasta with the electricians, emerged Jimsy LaRoche, the eleven-year-old sensation. He took his time. He wore powder-blue slacks and a sports shirt and his golden hair was carefully ringleted. He was frowning. He had been interrupted with a meld of a hundred and twenty. "Okay, so what is it now?" he said, coming up to Mr. Untz. Mr. Untz turned and glared down at the youth. Jimsy returned the glare. There was a sort of cold war between Mr. Untz and Master Jimsy LaRoche, the sort you could almost hear hotting up. Mr. Untz pointed to the monsters. "Look, Jimsy. Look at them. What do you think?" He watched the boy's expression carefully. Jimsy said, "To use one of your own expressions, Max--_pfui_. They wouldn't scare a mouse." And then Jimsy shrugged and walked away. Mr. Untz turned to his assistant. "Harold," he said in an injured tone. "You saw it. You heard it. You see what I've got to put up with." "Sure," said Harold Potter sympathetically. He had mixed feelings toward Mr. Untz. He admired the producer's occasional flashes of genius, he deplored his more frequent flashes of stupidity. On the whole, however, he regarded himself as being on Mr. Untz's side in the war between Mr. Untz and the world and Hollywood. He knew Mr. Untz's main trouble.