an intriguing and thrilling

story about Jules de Grandin,

master of the supernatural
By SEABURY QUINN

Paul Ernst
Robert Bloch
Robert E. Howard
Thorp McClusky
COMING NEXT MONTH
T HE Afghan was gazing in fearful fascination at the great stone, as a hypnotized
bird stares into a serpent’s eye.
"Look at it, sahib!” he whispered. "What is it? No such gem as this was ever
cut by mortal hands! Look how it throbs and pulses like the heart of a cobra!”
Steve was looking, and he was aware of a strange undefined feeling of uneasiness. Well
versed in the knowledge of precious stones, he had never seen a stone like this. At first
glance he had supposed it to be a monster ruby, as told in the legends. Now he was not
sure, and he had a nervous feeling that Yar Ali was right, that this was no natural, normal
gem. He could not classify the style in which it was cut, and such was the power of its
lurid radiance that he found it difficult to gaze at it closely for any length of time. The
whole setting was not one calculated to soothe restless nerves. The deep dust on the floor
suggested an unwholesome antiquity; the gray light evoked a sense of unreality, and the
heavy black walls towered grimly, hinting at hidden things.
"Let’s take the stone and go!” muttered, Steve, an unaccustomed panicky dread rising
in his bosom.
"Wait!” Yar Ali’s eyes were blazing, and he gazed, not at the gem, but at the sullen
stone walls. "We are flies in the lair of the spider! Sahib, as Allah lives, it is more than
the ghosts of old fears that lurk over this city of horror! I feel the presence of peril, as I
have felt it before—as I felt it in a jungle cavern where a python lurked unseen in the
darkness—as I.felt it in the temple of Thuggee where the hidden stranglers of Siva crouched
to spring upon us—as I feel it now, tenfold!” . . .
You cannot afford to miss this splendid tale of weird adventure, by the late Robert E.
Howard—the story of a gem that shone with living fire, and of the skeleton that sat upon
a throne. This superb weird novelette will appear complete in the next issue’of Weird
Tales:

The Fire of Asshurbanipal

By Robert E. Howard

THE HAUNTER OF THE DARK PORTRAIT OF A MURDERER

By H. P. Lovecraft By John Russell Fearn
A powerful story about an old church in Provi- An odd story of hypnotic power and a gruesome
dence, Rhode Island, that was shunned and feared tragedy in the chasm which yawns at the foot of
by all who knew of it. Coniston Crag.
OUT OF THE SUN
By Granville S. Hoss
Is there life in the swirling heat of the sun? This
is the story of a scientist who determined to find

THE WOMAN AT LOON POINT THE CYCLOPS OF XOATL

By August W. Derleth By Otis Adelbert Kline
■and and
Mark Schorer E. Hoffmann Price
What was that snarling thing that growled and What was the weird monster that struck by night
cowered in the lonely lodge in the woods, guarded and spread death and panic terror over a peaceful
by a hysterical girl, as the long howl of a timber Mexican countryside? Read this fascinating tale of
• wolf sounded outside in the forest? a gruesome horror.

Next Issue WEIRD TALES ... On Sale Nov. 1st

 A MAGAZINE OF THE BIZARRE AND UNUSUAL

| Volume 28_CONTENTS FOR NOVEMBER, 1936_Number 4 |

Cover Design.. M. Brundage

Illustrating a scene is "Witch-House”
Witch-House...Seabury Quinn 386
A tale of Jules de Grandht, ghost-breaker, occultist, and master of the supernatural
Black Hound of Death.Robert E. Howard 410
The story of a blighting horror from Mongolia, and a direful retribution
The Crawling Horror.Thorp McQusky 427
A tale of the weird terror that wrought ghastly death and panic at Brubaker Farm
The Man in Black.Paul Ernst 440
A grim figure, clad in format black, mingled with the maskers but did not dance

The Dark Demon...Robert Bloch 449

The strange tale of a man who communed too closely with things from beyond space
Midas.Bassett Morgan 457
A shuddery graveyard rale, through which blows an icy breath of horror
The Black Gang.. Edgar Daniel Kramer 467
Verse
Mice.Robert Barbour Johnson 468
A ghastly fate pursued the dweller in that vermin-infested mansion
The Blue Room.. Gordon Philip England 480
The story of a haunted chamber and a fatal hoax
The Wizard’s Death ............. Richard F. Searight 488
Verse
Brother Lucifer...Chandler H. Whipple 489
Strange and spectacular was the doom that lurked in that weird book from the old monastery
Weird Story Reprint:
Pickman’s Model ....H. P. Lovecraft 495
This much-admired story from an early issue h reprinted here by popular request
The Eyrie.. 506
Our readers exchange opinions

ithly by the Popular Fiction Publishing

_.ter March 20, 1923, at the post office
23 cents. Subscription rates: Oat year in the United L,___i possessions, Cuba, Mexico, South America, Spain, $2.30;
Canada, $2.75; elsewhere, $3.60. English office: Otis A. Kline,. c/o John Paradise, 86 Strand, W. C. 2, London. The pub-
lishers are not responsible for the loss of unsolicited
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their possession. The contents of this magazi are fully protected by copyright and must not be reproduced either wholly or in
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NOTE—All m-~J-~ should be addressed to the publishers’ Chicago office at 840 North Michigan
Avenue, Chicago, II FARNSWORTH WRIGHT, Editor.
Copyright 1936, by the Popular Fiction Publishing Company.
COPYRIGHTED II
WEIRD TALES ISSUED 1st OF EACH MONTH
W. T,—1
 m itch-House
By SEABURY QUINN

A vivid, fascinating and gripping tale of the blight that fell upon a lovely and
beautiful American girl—a tale of Jules de Grandin, ghost-breaker,
occultist, and master of the supernatural

S TREET lights were coming on and

the afterglow was paling in the
glass of kaiserschmamn, "say what you
will, Friend Trowbridge, I insist there is
west beneath the first faint stars as no process half so pleasant as the com¬
we completed our late dinner and moved bination of digestion and slow poisoning
to the veranda for coffee and liqueurs. by nicotine and alcohol. It is well worth
Sinking lazily into a wicker deck chair, going hungry to enjoy—ah, pour 1’amour
Jules de Grandin stretched his woman¬ d’une souris verte, be quiet, great-mouthed
ishly .small feet out straight before him one!" he broke off as the irritable stutter
and regarded the gleaming tips of his of the 'phone bell cut in on his philoso¬
brightly polished calfskin pumps with phizing. "Parbleu, the miscreant who in¬
every evidence of satisfaction. vented you was one of humankind’s
"Morbleu," he murmured dreamily as worst enemies!"
he drained his demi-tasse and set his "Hullo, Trowbridge,” hailed a voice
cigar glowing before he raised his tiny across the wire, "this is Friebergh. Sorry
to trouble you, but Greta’s in bad shape.
Can you come out right away?"
O It is eleven years since the first “Yes, I suppose so,” I replied, not es¬
story about Jules de Grandin ap¬ pecially pleased at having my post¬
peared in WEIRD TALES—a fascinat¬ prandial breathing-spell impinged on by
ing story of weird surgery and a a country call. "What seems to be the
giant ape, called "The Horror on the matter?”
Links." The hero of that bizarre story "I wish I knew,” he answered. "She
was a little French scientist and phy¬ just came home from Wellesley last
sician named Jules de Grandin — week, and the new house seemed to set
occultist and ghost-breaker, mercu¬ her nerves on edge. A little while ago
rial, vain, boastful, quick to wrath, her mother thought she heard a noise up
yet altogether lovable—who enlisted in her bedroom, and when she went in,
the sympathies of the readers at there was Greta lying on the floor in some
once. Since then, sixty-four stories sort of fainting-fit. We don’t seem able
about his exploits have been printed, to rouse her, and-”
end Jules de Grandin has become one "All right,” I interrupted, thinking
of the most popular heroes in modern regretfully of my less than half-smoked
fiction. The tale published in this cigar, "I’ll be right out Keep her head
issue, "Witch-House," describes one low and loosen any tight clothing. If you
of his most amazing exploits. We can make her swallow, give her fifteen
commend it to you. drops of aromatic ammonia in a wine-
glassful of water. Don’t attempt to force
386
 WITCH-HOUSE 387

any liquids down her throat, though; she exhaustive one, I grant,” he answered,
Slight strangle.” "but if every layman understood the art
“And this Monsieur Friebergh was un¬ of diagnosis we doctors might be forced
able to give you any history of the casual to go to work, n’est-ce-pas?”
condition of his daughter’s swoon?” de
Grandin asked as we drove along the
Albemarle Road toward the Friebergh
T hough Greta Friebergh had recov¬
ered partial consciousness when we
place at Scandia. arrived, she looked like a patient just
"No,” I responded. "He said that emerging from a lingering fever. At¬
she’s just home from college and has tempts to get a statement from her met
been nervous ever since her arrival. with small response, for she answered
Splendid case history, isn’t it?” slowly, almost incoherently, and seemed
"Eb bien, it is far from being an to have no idea concerning the cause of

‘It wasn't I reflected in that mirror. Re I looked, the moonlight seemed to break and sepa¬
rate into a million little points oi light,"
388 WEIRD TALES

her illness. Once she murmured ami? Her pulse is soft and frequent,
drowsily, "Did you find the kitten? Is she has a fluttering heart, her eyes are all
it all right?” suffused, her skin is hot and dry, her face
"What?” I demanded. "A kitten-” is flushed and hectic. No ordinary faint¬
"She’s delirious, poor child,” whis¬ ing-fit, you’ll say? No case of heat-
pered Mrs. Friebergh. "Ever since I prostration?”
found her she’s been talking of a kitten "No-o,” I replied as I shook my head
she found in the bathroom. in wonder, "there’s certainly no evidence
"I thought I heard Greta cry,” she of heat-prostration. I’d be inclined to
added, "and ran up here to see if she say she’d suffered an arterial hemorrhage,
were all right. Her bedroom was de¬ but there’s no blood about, so-”
serted, but the bathroom door was open "Let us make a more minute examina¬
and I could hear the shower running. tion,” he ordered, and rapidly inspected
When I called her and received no Greta’s face and scalp, throat, wrists and
answer I went in and found her lying calves, but without finding so much as a
on the floor. She was totally unconscious, pin-prick, much less a wound sufficient to
and remained so till just a few minutes cause syncope.
ago.” "Mon Dieu, but this is strange!” he
"LTm?” murmured Jules de Grandin muttered. "It has the queemess of the
as he made a quick inspection of the devil, this! Perhaps she bled internally,
patient, then rose and stalked into the but—ab-ha, regardez-vous, mon vieux!"
bathroom which adjoined the chamber. Searching further for some sign of
'Tell me, Madame," he called across his wound, he had unfastened her pajama
shoulder, "is it customary that you leave jacket, and the livid spot he pointed to
the windows of your bathroom screen- seemed the key which might unlock the
less?” mystery that baffled us. Against the
‘Why, no, of course not,” Mrs. Frie¬ smooth white flesh beneath the gentle
bergh answered. "There’s an opaque swell of her left breast there showed a
screen in—good gracious, it’s fallen out!” red and angry patch, such as might have
The little Frenchman turned to her shone had a vacuum cup been pressed
with upraised brows. "Fallen, Madame? some time against the skin, and in the
It was not fastened to the window-casing, center of the ecchymosis were four tiny
then?” punctures spaced so evenly apart that
"Yes, it was,” she answered posi¬ they seemed to make an almost perfect
tively. "I saw to that myself. The car¬ square three-quarters of an inch or so in
penters attached it to the casing with two size.
bolts, so that we could take it out and The discolored spot with its core of
dean it, but so firmly that it could not tiny wounds seemed insignificant to me,
be blown in. I can’t understand-’’ but the little Frenchman looked at it as
"No matter,” he broke in. "Forgive my though he had discovered a small, deadly
idle curiosity, if you please. I’m sure reptile coiled against the girl’s pale skin.
that Doctor Trowbridge has completed "Dieu de Dieu de Dieu de Dieu!" he
his examination, now, so we can discuss murmured softly to himself. "Can such
your daughter’s ailment with assurance.” things be here, in New Jersey, in the
To me he whispered quickly as the twentieth centennial of our time?”
mother left the room: "What do you "What are you maundering about?” I
make of the objective symptoms, tnon asked him irritably. “She couldn’t pos-
 WITCH-HOUSE 38?

sibly have lost much blood through these. De Grandin eyed him speculatively
Why, she seems almost drained dry, yet a moment; then: "In just what way has
there’s not a spot of blood upon those Mademoiselle Greta’s nervousness been
punctures. They look to me like insect noticeable, Monsieurhe asked. "Your
bites of some kind; even if they were theory of hysteria has much to recom¬
wide open they’re not large enough to mend it, but an outline of the case might
leak a cubic centimeter of blood in half help us greatly toward a diagnosis.
an hour.” Friebergh stirred his highball thought¬
"Blood is not entirely colloidal,” he fully a moment; then, “D’ye know about
responded slowly. "It will penetrate the this house?” he asked irrelevantly.
tissues to some slight extent, especially "But no, Monsieur; what has it to do
if sufficient suction be employed.” with Mademoiselle your daughter?"
"But it would have required a power¬ "Just what I’m wondering,” Friebergh
ful suction-” answered. "Women are weird brutes,
"PrScisement, and I . make no doubt Doctor, all of ’em. You never know
that such was used, my friend. Me, I do what fool tricks nerves will play on ’em.
not like the look of this at all. No, This place belonged to one of my re¬
certainly.” Abruptly he raised his motest ancestors. You’re probably aware
shoulders in a shrug. "We are here as that this section was originally settled by
physicians,” he remarked. "I think a the Swedes under William Usselinx, and
quarter-grain of morphine is indicated. though the Dutch captured it in 1655
After that, bed-rest and much rich food. many of the Swedish settlers stayed on,
Then, one hopes, she will achieve a good not caring much who governed them as
recovery.” long as they were permitted to pursue
their business in peace. Oscar Friebergh,
“TTOW is she, Trowbridge?” Olaf my great-great-grandfather’s half-brother,
JCjL Friebergh asked as we joined him built this house and had his piers and
in the pleasant living-room. He was a warehouses down on Raritan Bay. It was
compact, lean man in his late fifties, from here he sent his ships to Europe
but appeared younger, and the illusion of and even to the Orient, and to this house
youth was helped by the short mustache, he brought the girl he married late in
still quite dark, the firm-cheeked, sun¬ life.
burned face and hazel eyes which, under "Theirs was quite a romance. Loaded
clear-cut brows, had that brightness with silks and wine, the Good Intent, my
which betokens both good health and an uncle’s fastest ship, put in at Portugal for
interest in life. a final replenishment of victuals and
"Why, there’s nothing really serious water before setting sail for America on
the matter,” I answered. "She seems quite the last Sunday in June, 1672. The
weak, and there’s something rather townsfolk were making holiday, for a
queer——” company of witches and wizards, duly
"There’s something queer about the convicted by ecclesiastical courts, had
whole dam’ case,” he cut in almost been turned over to the secular arm for
bruskly. "Greta’s been on edge since execution, and a great fire had been
the moment that she came here; nervous kindled on the Monte Sao Jorge. My
as a cat and jumpy and irritable as the uncle and the master of the ship, together
very devil. D’ye suppose hysteria could with several of the seamen, were curious
have caused this fainting-fit?” to see what was going on, so they
390 WEIRD TALES

ascended the hill where, surrounded by a and bore her to the Good Intent, and the
cordon of soldiers, a perfect forest of moment that he set her down upon the
stakes had been set up, arid to each of deck she fell upon her knees and took
these were tied two or three poor his hands and kissed them and thanked
wretches who writhed and shrieked as the him for his charity in a flood of mingled
faggots round their feet took fire. The Portuguese and English.
tortured outcasts’ screams and the stench "For many days she lay like death,
of burning flesh fairly sickened the only occasionally jumping from her bunk
Swedish sailors, and they were turning and screaming, 'Padre, Madre—el juego!
away from the accursed place to seek the el fuegof then falling back, hiding her
dear air of the harbor when my uncle’s face in her hands and laughing horribly.
attention was attracted to a little girl My uncle Coaxed and comforted her,
who fought desperately with the soldiers feeding her with his own hands and
to break through to the flaming stakes. waiting on her like a nurse; so by de¬
She was the daughter of a witch and a grees she quieted, and long before they
warlock who were even then roasting at raised the coast of Jersey off their bow
the same stake, chained back to back as she was restored to complete health and,
they were said to dance at meetings of though she still seemed sad and troubled,
the witches’ coven. The soldiers cuffed her temper was so sweet and her desire
her back good-naturedly, but a Domini¬ to please everybody so apparent that every
can friar who stood by bade them let her man aboard the ship, from cabin boy to
through to bum, since, being of the captain, was more than half in love with
witch-folk, her body would undoubtedly her.
bum soon or later, just as her soul was "No one ever knew her real age. She
doomed to bum eternally. The sailor- was very small and so thin from under¬
men protested vigorously at this, and my nourishment that she seemed more like
uncle caught the wild girl by the wrists a child than a young woman when they
and drew her back to safety. brought her on the Good Intent. None
’’She was a thin little tiling, dressed in of the seamen spoke Portuguese, and her
filthy rags, half starved, and unspeak¬ English was so slight that they could not
ably dirty. In her arms she clutched a ask her about her parents or her birth¬
draggled-looking white kitten which place while she lay ill, and when she
arched its back and fluffed its tail and had recovered normal health it seemed
spat venomously at the soldiers and the her memory was gone; for though she
priest. But when my uncle pulled the took to English with surprizing aptitude,
girl to him both child and kitten ceased she seemed unable to remember any¬
to struggle, as if they realized that they thing about her former life, and for
had found a friend. The Spanish priest kindness’ sake none would mention the
ordered them away with their pitiful auto da fe in which her parents perished.
prize, saying she was bom of the Witch- She didn’t even know her name, appar¬
people and would surely grow to witch¬ ently, so my uncle formally christened
craft and work harm to all with whom her Kristina, using the Lutheran bap¬
she came in contact, but adding it was tismal ceremony, and for surname chose
better that she work heir wicked spells to call her Beacon as a sort of poetical
on Englishmen and heretics than on true commemoration of the fire from which
children of the Church. he saved her when her parents had been
"My uncle lifted the child in his arms burnt. It seems she-•’*
 WITCH-HOUSE 391

“TkJTY dear chap,” I broke in, "this is of a cook and staff of Negro slaves, soon
J-VA an interesting story, I’ll admit, became one of the best kept and most
but what possible connection can it have orderly households in New Jersey. No
one could get the better of Kristina in a
"Be silent, if you please, my friend," bargain. When cheating tradesmen
de Grandin ordered sharply. "The con¬ sought to take advantage of her obvious
nection which you seek is forming like youth and probable inexperience, she
the image as the sculptor chips away the would fix her great, unfathomable eyes
stone, or I am a far greater fool than I on them, and they would flush and stam¬
have reason to suspect. Say on, Mon¬ mer like schoolboys caught in mischief
sieur,” he ordered Friebergh, "this story and own their fault at once. Besides her
is of greater import than you realize, I church and household duties she seemed
think. You were informing us of the to have no interest but my uncle, and
strange girl your uncle-several-times- the young men who came wooing met
removed had rescued from the Hounds with cool reception. Less than a year
of God in Portugal?” from the day she disembarked, the banns
Friebergh smiled appreciation of the for her wedding to my uncle were posted
little Frenchman’s interest. "The sea air on the church door, and before die
and good food, and the genuine affection gossip which her advent caused had time
with which everyone on shipboard re¬ to cool, she was Mistress Friebergh, and
garded her had made a great change in assumed a leading place in the com¬
the half-starved, half-mad little found¬ munity.
ling by the time the Good Intent came "For nineteen years they lived quietly
bade to Jersey,” he replied. "From a in this house, and while my uncle aged
scrawny little ragamuffin she had grown and weakened she grew into charming,
into a lovely, blooming girl, and there’s mature womanhood, treating the old
not much doubt the townsfolk held a man with a combination of wifely and
carnival of gossip when the Good Intent daughterly devotion, and taking over
discharged the beautiful young woman active management of his affairs when
along with her cargo of Spanish wines failing sight and memory rendered him
and French silks at the quay. incompetent.”
“Half the young bloods of the town
were out to court her; for in addition to F riebergh paused and drew reflec¬
her beauty she was Oscar Friebergh’s tively at his cigar. “I don’t suppose
ward, and Oscar Friebergh was the rich¬ you’d know what happened in New
est man for miles around, a bachelor England in 1692?” he asked de Grandin.
and well past fifty. Anyone who got The Frenchman answered with a vigor¬
Kristina for his wife would certainly ous double nod. "Parbleu, I do, indeed.
have done himself a handsome favor. Monsieur. That year, in Salem, Massa¬
"Apparently the girl had everything to chusetts, there were many witchcraft
recommend her, too. She was as good trials, and-”
and modest as she was lovely, her de¬ "Quite so,” our host broke in. “Parish
voutness at church service was so great and the Mathers set the northern colonies
it won the minister’s unstinted praise, afire with their witchcraft persecutions.
her ability as a housekeeper soon proved Fortunately, not much of the contagion
itself, and my uncle’s house, which had spread outside New England, but:
been left to the casual superintendence “Old Oscar Friebergh had been fail-
392 TALES

Ing steadily, and though they cupped never played on flute or violin or spinet,
and leeched him and fed him mixtures yet for all their softness seemed to fill the
of burnt toads, bezoar stone, doves, and air with melody as the woods are filled
even moss scraped from the skull of a with bird-songs in late April. People
pirate who had been hanged in chains, shook their heads at recollection of those
he died in a coma following a violent songs, remembering how witches spoke
seizure of delirium in which he cursed a jargon of their own, known only to
the day that he had taken the witch’s brat each other and their master, Satan, and
to his bosom. recalling further that the music used in
"Oscar had sworn his crew to secrecy praise of God was somber as befitted
concerning Kristina’s origin, and it seems solemn thoughts of death and judgment
that they respected the vow while he and the agonies of hell.
lived; but some few of them, grown old "Her kitten caused much comment,
and garrulous, found their memories too. The townsfolk recollected how she
suddenly quickened over their glasses of bore a tiny white cat beneath her arm
grog after the sexton had set the sods when first she tripped ashore, and though
above old Oscar’s grave, and evinced a a score of years had passed, the kitten had
desire to serve gossip and scandal rather not grown into a cat, but still as small as
than the memory of a master no longer when it first touched land, frisked and
able to reproach them for oath-breaking. frolicked in the Friebergh house, and
There were those who recollected perfect¬ played and purred and still persisted in
ly how the girl Kristina had passed un¬ perpetual, supernatural youth.
harmed through the flames and bid her "Among the villagers was a young man
burning parents fond farewell, then came named Karl Pettersen, who had wooed
again straight through the flames to put Kristina when she first came, and took
her hand in Oscar Friebergh’s and bid the disappointment of refusal of his mar¬
him carry her beyond the seas. Others re¬ riage offer bitterly. He had married in
called how she had calmed a storm by the intervening years, but a smallpox epi¬
standing at the ship’s rail and reciting in¬ demic had robbed his wife of such good
cantations in a language not of human looks as she originally had, and continued
origin, and still others told with bated business failures had conspired to rob
breath how the water of baptism had him of his patrimony and his wife’s
scalded her as though it had been boiling dowry as well; so when Oscar Friebergh
when Oscar Friebergh poured it on her died he held Karl’s notes of hand for
brow. upward of five hundred pounds, secured
“The whole township knew her sing¬ by mortgages upon his goods and chattels
ing, too. When she was about her house¬ and some farming-land which had come
hold tasks or sewing by the window, or to him at marriage.
merely sitting idly, she would sing, not “When the executors of Oscar's will
loudly, but in a sort of crooning voice; made inventory they found these docu¬
yet people passing in the road before the ments which virtually made the widow
house would pause to listen, and even mistress of the Pettersen estate, and noti¬
children stopped their noisy play to hear fied the debtor that he must arrange for
her as she sang those fascinating songs in payment. Karl went to see Kristina late
a strange tongue which the far-voyaged one evening, and what took place at the
sailor folk had never heard and which interview we do not know, though her
were set to times the like of which were servants later testified that he shrieked
 witch-house 393

and shouted and cried out as though in ashore. No natural cat could Eve so long;
torment, and that she replied by laughing nothing but a devil’s imp disguised in
at his agony. However that might be, feline shape could have retained its youth
the records show that he was stricken so marvelously. This, the village wise
with a fit as he disrobed for bed that ones held, was proof sufficient that Kris¬
night, that he frothed and foamed at the tina was a witch and harbored a familiar
mouth like a mad dog, and made queer, spirit. The clergyman preached a sermon
growling noises in his throat. It is re¬ on the circumstance, taking for his text
corded further that he lay in semi-con¬ the twenty-seventh verse of the twentieth
sciousness for several days, recovering chapter of Leviticus: 'A man also or
only long enough to eat his meals, then woman that hath a familiar spirit, or that
lapsing back again into delirium. Finally, is a wizard, shall surely he put to death.’
weak but fully conscious, he sat up in “They held her trial on the village
bed, sent for the sheriff, the minister and green. The records say she wore a shift
the magistrate, and formally denounced of scarlet silk, which is all her persecutors
Kristina as a witch. would allow her from her wardrobe. Pre¬
'Tve said that we escaped the general liminary search had failed to find the
horror of witch persecution which visited devil’s mark or witch-teat through which
New England, but if old records are to her familiar was supposed to nourish it¬
be believed we made up in ferocity what self by sucking her blood; so at her own
we lacked in quantity. Kristina’s old and request Mistress Pettersen was appointed
influential friends were dead, the Swedish to the task of hunting for it coram judite.
Lutheran churdt had been taken over by She had supplied herself with
the Episcopacy and the incumbent was an pricking-pins, and at a signal from the
Englishman whose youth had been indel¬ magistrate ripped the scarlet mantle from
ibly impressed by Matthew Hopkins’ Kristina, leaving her stark naked in the
witch-findings. Practically every impor¬ center of a ring of cruel and lustful eyes.
tant man in the community was a former A wave of smothering shame swept over
disappointed suitor, and while they might her, and she would have raised her hands
have forgotten this, their wives did not. to shield her bosom from the lecherous
Moreover, while care and illness and mul¬ stares of loafers congregated on the green,
tiple maternity had left their traces on but her wrists were firmly bound behind
these women, Kristina was more charm¬ her. As she bent her head in a paroxysm
ingly seductive in the ripeness of matur¬ of mortification, the four-inch boeflrin in
ity than she had been in youth. What the Pettersen woman’s hand fleshed itself
chance had she? first in her thigh, then her side, her shoul¬
der, her neck and her breast, and she
“Qhe met their accusations haughtily, writhed in agonizing postures as her ten¬
Cy and refused to answer vague and der flesh was stabbed now here, now
rambling statements made against her. It there, while the rabble roared and shouted
seemed the case against her would break in delight.
down for want of evidence until Karl "The theory, you know, was that at
Pettersen’s wife remembered her familiar. initiation into witch-hood the devil
Uncontradicted testimony showed this marked his new disciple with a bite; and
same small animal, still a kitten, romped from this spot the imp by which the
and played about the house, though witch worked her blade magic drew its
twenty years had passed since it first came sustenance by sucking her blood. This
394 WEIRD TALES

devil's mark or witch-teat was said to be but in a little while the air escaped from
insensible to pain, but as it often failed the wet sheet, and though Kristina sank
to differ in appearance from the rest of as far down in the water as the length of
the body’s surface, it was necessary for rope permittted, there was no effort
the searcher to spear and stab the witch made to draw her up until the boat had
repeatedly until a spot insensible to pain beached. She was dead when finally they
was found. The nervous system can en¬ dragged her out upon the shingle.
dure a limited amount of shock, after "Karl Pettersen confessed his error and
which it takes refuge in defensive anes¬ declared the devil had misled him into
thesia. This seems to have been the case making a false accusation, and, her in¬
with poor Kristina; for after several min¬ nocence proved by her drowning, Kris¬
utes of torment she ceased to writhe and tina was accorded Christian burial in con¬
scream, and her torturer announced the secrated ground, and her husband’s
mark found. It was a little area of flesh property, in which she had a life estate,
beneath the swell of her left breast, reverted to my ancestor. One of the first
roughly square in shape and marked off things he did was to sell this house, and
by four small scars which looked like it went through a succession of owner¬
needle-wounds set about three-quarters of ships till I bought it at auction last
an inch apart. autumn and had it reconditioned as a
"But the finding of the mark was in¬ summer home. We found the old bam
conclusive. While a witch would surely filled with household goods, and had
have it, an innocent person might pos¬ them reconditioned, too. This furniture
sess something simulating it; so lucre re¬ was once Kristina Friebergh’s.”
mained the test of swimming. Water was
supposed to reject a witch’s body; so if I looked around the big, low-ceilinged
she were tied and thrown into a pond or room with interest. Old-fashioned
stream, proof of guilt was deemed estab¬ chintz, patterned with quaint bouquets of
lished if she floated. roses, hung at the long windows. Deep
"They cross-tied her, making her sit chairs and sofas were covered with a
tailor-fashion and binding the thumb of warm rose-red that went well with the
her right hand so tightly to the great toe gray woodwork and pale green walls. A
of her left foot that the digits soon turned low coffee table of pear wood, waxed to
blue for lack of circulation, then doing a satin finish, stood before a couch; an
the same with her left thumb and right ancient mirror framed in gilt hung
great toe, after which she was bundled against one wall, while against another
in a bed-sheet which was tied at the stood a tall buhl cabinet and a chest of
comers above her head, and the parcel drawers of ancient Chinese nanmu wood,
was attached to a three-fathom length of brown as withered oak leaves and still
rope and towed behind a rowboat for a exhaling a subtly faint perfume. Above
distance of three-quarters of a mile in the open fireplace hung an ancient paint¬
Raritan Bay. ing framed in a narrow strip of gold.
"At first the air within the sheet "That’s Kristina,’’ volunteered our host
buoyed up the bundle and its contents, as he nodded toward the portrait.
and the crowd gave vent to yells of exe¬ The picture was of a woman not
cration. ‘She floats, she floats, the water young, not at all old; slender, mysterious,
will have none of her; bring the filthy blade hair shining smoothly back, deep
witch ashore and bum her!’ they shouted. blue eyes holding a far-off vision, as
 WITCH-HOUSE 395

though they sensed the sufferings of the before the ink on their diplomas has had
hidden places of the world and brooded much chance to dry.”
on them; a keen, intelligent face of a "All of which brings us bade three
dear pallor with small, straight nose, centuries, and down to date—and Greta/*
short upper lip and a mouth which would I responded somewhat sharply. "If I re¬
have been quite lovely had it not been so member, you’d begun to tell us something
serious. She held a tiny kitten, a mere about her hysterical condition and the ef¬
ball of white fluffiness, at her breast, and fect this house had on her, when you
the hand supporting the small animal detoured to that andent family romance.’*
was the hand of one in whom the blood "Precisement, Monsieur, the house,’*
of ancient races ran, with long and slimly de Grandin prompted. "I think that I
pointed fingers tipped with rosy nails. antidpate you, but I should like to
There was something to arrest attention hear your statement-” He paused
in that face. The woman had -the cold with interrogatively raised brows.
knowledge of death, ominous and ever “Just so,” our host returned. "Greta
present, on her. has never heard the story of Kristina and
"La pauvre!” de Gran din murmured Karl Pettersen, I’m sure, for I didn’t
as he gazed with interest at the portrait. know it very well myself till I bought this
"And what became of Monsieur Petter- house and started digging up the andent
isen and his so highly unattractive wife?” records. She’d certainly never been in
Friebergh laughed, almost delightedly. the house, nor even seen the plans, since
"'History seems to parallel itself in this the work of restoration was done while
case,” he answered. "Perhaps you’ve she was off to school; yet the moment she
heard how the feud resulting from the arrived she went directly to her room, as
Salem persecutions was resolved when if she knew the way by heart. Inri-
descendants of accusers and accused were dentally, her room is die same one--’*
married? Well . . „ it seems that after "Occupied by Madame Kristina in the
Kristina drowned, executors of Oscar olden days!” supplied de Grandin.
Friebergh’s will could not find clue or "Good Lord! How’d you guess?”
trace of the notes and mortgages which "I did not guess, Monsieur,” the little
Pettersen had signed. Everybody had sus¬ Frenchman answered levelly; "I knew.”
picions how they came to disappear, for "Humph. Well, the child has seemed
Mistress Pettersen was among the most to hate the place from the moment she
earnest searchers of Kristina’s private first entered it. She’s been moody and
papers when they sought a copy of the distrait, complaining of a constant feeling
compact she had signed with Satan, but of malaise and troubled sleep, and most
—in any event, Karl Pettersen began to of the time she’s been so irritable that
prosper from the moment that Kristina there’s scarcely any living with her. D’ye
died. Every venture which he undertook suppose there’s something psychic in the
met with success. His descendants pros¬ place—something that the rest of us don’t
pered, too. Two years ago the last male feel, that’s worked upon her nerves until
member of his line met Greta at a Christ¬ she had this fainting-fit tonight?”
mas dance, and”—he broke off with a "Not at all,” I answered positively,
chuckle—"and they’ve been that way "The child’s been working hard at school*
about each other from the first. I’m and-
thinking they’ll be standing side by side "Very likely,” Jules de Grandin inter¬
beneath a floral bell and saying 'I do’ rupted, “Women are more finely attuned
596 WEIRD TALES

to such influences than men, and it is en¬ "Yes, there was!” responded Greta.
tirely possible that the tragedy these walls “And that-”
have witnessed has been felt sub¬ "Last night I came in rather late, all
consciously by your daughter, Monsieur tired and out of sorts. Karl Pettersen
Friebergh.” and I had been playing tennis in the
afternoon, and drove over to Keyport for
“T'Voctor TROWBRIDGE, I don’t like dinner afterward. Karl’s a sweet lad,
this place,” Greta Friebergh told and the moonlight was simply divine on
me when we called on her next day. "It the homeward drive, but-” The
—there’s something about it that terrifies quick blood stained her face and throat
me; makes me feel as though I were as she broke off her narrative.
somebody else.” "Yes, Mademoiselle, but?” de Grandin
She raised her eyes to mine, half fright¬ prompted.
ened, half wondering, and for a moment She smiled, half bashfully, at him, and
I had the eery sensation of being con¬ she was quite lovely when she smiled.
fronted with the suffering ghost of a girl It brightened the faintly sad expression
in the flesh. of her mouth and raised her eyes, ever
“Like someone else?” I echoed. "How so little, at the comers. "It can’t have
'd’ye mean, my dear?” been so long since you were young,
"I’m afraid I can’t quite say, sir. Some¬ Doctor,” she returned. "What did you
thing queer, a kind of feeling of vague do on moonlight summer nights when
uneasiness coupled with a sort of 'I’ve you were alone with someone you loved
been here before’ sensation came to me terribly?"
the moment I stepped across the "Morbleu,” the little Frenchman
threshold. Everything, the house, the chuckled, "the same as you, petite; no
furniture, the very atmosphere, seemed more, I think, and certainly no less!”
to combine to oppress me. It was as if She smiled again, a trifle sadly, this
something old and infinitely evil—like time. "That’s just the trouble," she la¬
the wiped-over memory of some terrify¬ mented. "I couldn’t.”
ing childhood nightmare—were trying to "Hein, how is it you say, Mademoi¬
break through to my consciousness. I selle?”
kept reaching for it mentally, as one "I wanted to, Lord knows my lips
reaches for a half-remembered tune or a were hungry and my arms were aching
forgotten name; yet I seemed to realize for him, but something seemed to come
hat if I ever drew aside the veil of between us. It was as if I’d had a dish
memory my sanity would crack. Do you of food before me and hadn’t eaten for
understand me, Doctor?” a long, long time, then, just before I
"I’m afraid I don’t, quite, child,” I tasted it, a whisper came, 'It’s poisoned!’
answered. "You’ve had a trying time at "Karl was hurt and puzzled, naturally,
school, and with your social program and I tried my best to overcome my feel¬
speeded up-” ing of aversion, but for a moment when
Something like a grimace, the parody his lips were pressed to mine I had a
of a smile, froze upon de Grandin’s face positive sensation of revulsion. I felt I
as he leant toward the girl. "Tell us. couldn’t bear his touch, his kisses seemed
Mademoiselle,” he begged, "was there to stifle me; if he hadn’t let me go I
something more, some tangibility, which think that I’d have fainted.
matched this feeling of malaise?” "I ran right in the house when we
 WITCH-HOUSE 397

got home, just flinging a good-night to were braced back, for she held her hands
Karl across my shoulder, and rushed up behind her as though they had been tied,
to my room. 'Perhaps a shower will pull and on her breast and throat and sides
me out of it,’ I thought, and so I started were numerous little wounds as though
to disrobe, when-” Once more she she had been stabbed repeatedly with
paused, and now there was no doubt of something sharp and slender, and from
it: the girl was terrified. every wound the fresh blood welled and
"Yes, Mademoiselle, and then?” the trickled out upon the pale, smooth skin.”
Frenchman prompted softly. "She was-” began de Grandin, but
"I’d slipped my jumper and culottes the girl anticipated him.
off, and let down my hair, preparatory "Yes,” she told him, "she was nude.
to knotting it up to fit inside my shower Nothing clothed her but her glorious
cap, when I chanced to look into the hair and the bright blood streaming from
mirror. I hadn't turned the light on, but her wounds.
the moonlight slanted through the win¬ "For a minute, maybe for an hour,
dow and struck right on the glass; so I we looked into each other’s eyes, this
could see myself as a sort of silhouette, lovely, naked girl and I, and it seemed
only”—again she paused, and her narrow to me that she tried desperately to tell
nostrils dilated—"only it wasn’t l!” me something, but though I saw the
"Sucre nom d’un jromage vert, what veins and muscles stand out on her throat
is it that you tell us. Mademoiselle?" with the effort that she made, no sound
asked Jules de Grandin. came from her tortured lips. Somehow,
"It wasn’t I reflected in that mirror. as we stood there, I felt a queer, uncanny
As I looked, the moonlight seemed to feeling creeping over me. I seemed in
break and separate into a million little some way to be identified with this other
points of light, so that it was more like a girl, and with that feeling of a loss of
mist powdered with diamond dust than a personality, a bitter, blinding rage seemed
solid shaft of light; it seemed to be at surging up in me. Gradually, it seemed
once opaque yet startlingly translucent, to take some sort of form, to bend itself
with a sheen like that of flowing water, against a certain object, and with a start
yet absorbing all reflections. Then sud¬ I realized that I was consumed with
denly, where I should have seen myself hatred; dreadful, crushing, killing hatred
reflected in the mirror, I saw another toward someone named Karl Pettersen.
form take shape, half veiled in the spark¬ Not my Karl, especially, but toward
ling mist that seemed to fill the room, yet everybody in the world who chanced to
startlingly distinct. It was a woman, a bear that name. It was a sort of all-
girl, perhaps, a little older than I, but inclusive hatred, something like the
not much. She was tall and exquisitely hatred of the Germans which your gen¬
slender, with full-blown, high-set breasts eration had in the World War. 'I can’t—
and skin as pale as ivory. Her hair was I won’t hate Karl!’ I heard myself ex¬
blade and silken-fine and rippled down claiming, and turned to face the other
across her shoulders till it almost girl. But she was not there.
reached her knees, and her deep-blue eyes “There I stood alone in the darkened,
and lovely features held a look of such empty room with nothing but the moon¬
intense distress that I thought involun¬ light—ordinary moonlight, now—slant¬
tarily of those horribly realistic mediaeval ing down across the floor.
pictures of the Crucifixion. Her shoulders "I turned the lights on right away and
 WEIRD TALES

took a dose of aromatic spirits of am¬ "And this so mysterious lady without
monia, for my nerves were pretty badly clothing whom you saw reflected in your
shot. Finally I got calmed down and mirror, Mademoiselle? Could you, by
went into the bathroom for my shower. any chance, identify her?”
"I was just about to step into the spray "Of course,” responded Greta, matter-
when I heard a little plaintive mew out¬ of-factly as though he’d asked her if she
side the window. When I crossed the had studied algebra at school, "she was
room, there was the sweetest little fluffy the girl whose portrait’s in the living-
white kitten perched on the sill outside room downstairs, Kristina Friebergh.”
the screen, its green eyes blinking in the
light which streamed down from the “XTITill you leave me in the village?”
ceiling-lamp and the tip of its pink * * asked de Grandin as we left the
tongue sticking out like the little end of Friebergh house. “I would supplement
thin-sliced ham you sometimes see peep¬ the so strange story which we heard last
ing from behind the rolls in railway sta¬ night by searching through the records at
tion sandwiches. I unhooked the screen tiie church and court-house, too.”
and let the little creature in, and it Dinner was long overdue when he
snuggled up against my breast and purred returned that evening, and, intent upon
and blinked its knowing eyes at me, and his dressing, he waved my questioning
then put up a tiny, pink-toed paw and aside while he shaved and took a hasty
began to wash its face. shower. Finally, when he had done jus¬
" Would you like to take a shower tice to the salad and meringue glace, he
with me, pussy?’ I asked it, and it stopped leant his elbows on the table, lit a cig¬
its washing and looked up at me as if arette and faced me with a level, serious
to ask, 'What did you say?’ then stuck glance.
its little nose against my side and began "I have found out many things today, '
to lick me. You can’t imagine how its my friend,” he told me solemnly. "Some
little rough tongue tickled.” supplement the story which Monsieur
"And then, Mademoiselle?” de Friebergh related; some cast new light
Grandin asked as Greta broke off smil¬ upon it; others are, I fear, disquieting.
ingly and lay back on her pillows. "By example: There is a story of the
"Then? Oh, there wasn’t any then, tittle kitten of which Monsieur Friebergh
sir. Next tiling I knew I was in bed, with told us, the kitten which refused to grow
you and Doctor Trowbridge bending over into a cat. When poor Madame Kris¬
me and looking as solemn and learned as tina was first haled before the magis¬
a pair of owls. But the funny part of it trates for trial, a most careful search was
all was that I wasn’t ill at all; just too made for it, but nowhere could the
tired to answer when you spoke to me.” searchers find it; yet during the al fresco
“And what became of this small kit¬ trial several persons saw it now here, now
ten, Mademoiselle?” de Grandin asked. there, keeping just outside the range of
"Mother didn’t see it. I’m afraid the stone-throw, but at all times present.
little thing was frightened when I fell, Further, when the ban of witchcraft had
and jumped out of the bathroom apparently been lifted by Madame Kris¬
window.” tina’s inability to float and her burial
"U*m?” Jules de Grandin teased the within the churchyard close had been
needle-points of his mustache between a permitted, this so tittle kitten wis seen ,
thoughtful thumb and forefinger; then; nightly at her grave, curled up tike aj
 WITCH-HOUSE 399

patch of snow against the greenery of Attend me, if you please: For several
the growing grass. Small boys shied years the small cat persisted in its nightly
stones at it, and more than once the vil¬ vigils at the grave. Then it disappeared,
lage men went to the graveyard and took and people thought no more about it.
shots at it, but stone and bullet both One evening Sarah Spotswood, a young
were ineffective; the small animal would farmer’s daughter, was passing by the
raise its head and look at those who graveyard, when she was accosted by a
sought to harm it with a sadly thought¬ small white cat. The little creature came
ful glance, then go bade to its napping out in the road near where it winds
on the grave. Only when approached too within a stone’s-throw of the grave of
closely would it rouse itself, and when Kristina Friebergh. It was most friendly,
the hunter had almost succeeded in tip¬ and when she stooped to fondle it, it
toeing close enough to strike it with a leaped into her arms.”
club or sword it would completely vanish, He paused and blew another smoke¬
only to reappear upon the grave when, ring.
tired out with waiting, its assailant had "Yes?” I prompted as he watched the
withdrawn to a safe distance. cloudy circle sail a lazy course across the
"Eventually the townsfolk became used table-candles.
to it, but no horse would pass the ceme¬ "Quite yes,” he answered imperturb¬
tery while it lay upon its mistress’ grave ably. "Sarah Spotswood went insane with¬
without shying violently, and the most in a fortnight. She died without regain¬
courageous of the village dogs shunned ing reason. Generally she was a harmless,
the graveyard as a place accursed. Once, docile imbecile, but occasionally she broke
indeed, a dtizen took out a pair of savage out raving in delirium. At such times
mastiffs, determined to exterminate the she would shriek and writhe as though in
little haunting beast, but the giant dogs, torment, and bleeding wounds appeared
which would attack a maddened bull upon her sides and breast and throat.
without a moment’s hesitation, quailed 1116 madhouse-keepers thought she had
and cowered from the tiny bit of fluffy inflicted injury upon herself, and placed
fur, nor could their master’s kicks and her in a strait jacket when they saw the
blows and insults force them past the signs of the seizure coming on. It made
graveyard gateway.” no difference: the wounds accompanied
"Well, what's disquieting in that?” I each spell of madness, as though they
asked. "It seems to me that if there were were stigmata. Also, I think it worth
any sort of supernatural intervention in while mentioning, a small white kitten,
the case, it was more divine than dia¬ unknown to anybody in the madhouse,
bolical. Apparently the townsfolk tried was always observed somewhere about
to persecute the little harmless cat to the place when Sarah’s periods of mania
death exactly as they had its mistress. came.
The poor thing died eventually, I
suppose?” “TTER end came tragically, too. She
"One wonders,” he returned as he A A escaped surveillance on a summer
pursed his lips and blew a geometrically afternoon, fled to a little near-by stream
perfect smoke-ring. and cast herself into it. Though the
"Wonders what?” water was a scant six inches deep, she lay
"Many things, parbleu. Especially con- upon her face until she died by drowning.
1, cerning its death and its harmlessness. 'Two other similar cases are recorded.
.400 WEIRD TALES

Since Sarah Spotswood died in 1750 need of sustenance. Hus the wkch sup¬
there have teen three young women plies with her blood. It is at the insensi¬
similarly seized, the history of each case tive spot known as the witch-mark or
revealing that the maniac had taken a witch’s teat that the familiar is suckled.
stray white kitten for pet shortly before When Monsieur Friebergh told us of
the onset of incurable madness, and that Madame Kristina’s trial, you will recall
in every instance the re-appearance of this that he described the spot in which she
kitten, or an animal just like it, had co¬ felt no pain as an area roughly square in
incided with return of manic seizures. shape marked off by four small scars
Like their predecessor, each of these un¬ which looked like needle-wounds set
fortunate young women succeeded in about three-quarters of an inch apart?
drowning herself. In view of these things Consider, my friend—think carefully—
would you call this kitten either dead or where have you seen a cicatrix like that
harmless?” within the last few days?” His eyes,
"You have a theory?” I countered. round and unwinking as those of a
"Yes—and no,” he answered enigmat¬ thoughtfully inclined tom-cat, never left
ically. "From such information as we mine as he asked the question.
have I am inclined to think the verdict "Why”—I temporized—"oh, it’s too
rendered in Madame Kristina’s witch- absurd, de Grandinf”
trial was a false one. While not an ill- "You do not answer, but I see you
intentioned one—unknowingly, indeed, recognize the similarity,” he returned.
perhaps—I think the lady was what we Those little 'needle-wounds,’ man vieux,
might call a witch; one who had power, were made by little kitten-teeth which
whether she chose to exercise it or not, pierced the white and tender skin of
of working good or bad to fellow hu¬ Mademoiselle Greta just before she
mans by means of supernatural agencies. swooned. She exhibited the signs of
It seems this little kitten which never hemorrhage, that you will agree; yet we
grew to cathood, which lay in mourning found no blood. Pourquoi? Because the
on her grave and which afflicted four un¬ little fluffy kitten which she took into
fortunate young women with insanity, her arms, the little beast which licked
was her familiar—a beast-formed demon her with its tongue a moment before
through whose aid she might accomplish she lost consciousness, sucked it from bet
magic.” body. This cat-thing seems immortal,
"But that’s too utterly absurd!” I but it is not truly so. Once in so many
scoffed. "Kristina Friebergh died three years it must have sustenance, the only
centuries ago, while this kitten-” kind of sustenance which will enable it
"Did not necessarily die with her,” he to mock at time, the blood of a young
interjected. "Indeed, my friend, there are woman. Sarah Spotswood gave it
many instances in witch-lore where the nourishment, and lost her reason in the
familiar has outlived its witch.” process, becoming, apparently, identified
"But why should it seek out other with the unfortunate Madame Kristina5
girls-” even to showing the stigmata of the
"PrecisSmenthe answered soberly. needle-wounds which that poor creature
That, I damn think, is most significant. suffered at her trial. The manner of her
Witches' imps, though they may be am¬ death—by drowning—paralleled Kris¬
bassadors from hell, are clothed in tina’s, also, as did those of die other three
pseudo-natural bodive. Thus they have who followed her in madness—after.
W. T.—1
 WITCH-HOUSE 401

having been accosted by a small white "Stop this childish weeping. Your
kitten." wound is but a skin-scratch. It will heal
"Then what d’ye suggest?” I asked almost with one night’s sleep, but its
him somewhat irritably, but the cachin- cause is of importance. How did you get
nation of the telephone cut in upon the it, if you please?”
question. "Oh, Greta-” Karl began again,
"Good Lord!” I told him as I hung but the smacking impact of de Grandin’s
Up the receiver. "Now it’s young Karl hand against his cheek cut short his wail.
Pettersen! His mother ’phoned to tell me "Nom d’un coq, you make me to lose
he’s been hurt, and-” patience with you!” cried the Frenchman.
"Right away, at once; immediately,” he "Here, take a dose of this!” From his
broke in. "Let us hasten to him with all jacket pocket he produced a flask of
speed. Unless I make a sad mistake, his cognac, poured a liberal portion out into
is no ordinary hurt, but one which casts a cup and thrust it into Karl’s unsteady
a challenge in our faces. Yes, assuredly!” hand. "Ah, so; that is better,” he pro¬
nounced as the lad gulped down the
I do not think I ever saw a man more liquor. "Now, take more, mon vieux; we
utterly unstrung than young Karl Pet¬ need the truth, and quickly, and never
tersen. His injury was trivial, amounting have I seen a better application of the
to scarcely more than a briar-scratch proverb that in alcohol dwells truth.”
across his throat, but the agony of grief Within five minutes he had forced
and horror showing in his face was the better portion of a pint of brandy
truly pitiful, and when we asked him down the young man’s throat, and as the
how the accident occurred his only answer potent draft began to work, his incoher¬
was a wild-eyed stare and a sob-torn sen¬ ent babbling gave way to a melancholy
tence he reiterated endlessly: "Greta, oh, but considered gravity which in other
Greta, how could you?” circumstances would have appeared
"I think that there is something comic.
devilish here, Friend Trowbridge,” whis¬ “Now, man to man, compagtton de
pered Jules de Grandin. debauche, inform us what took place,”
"So do I,” I answered grimly. "From the Frenchman ordered solemnly.
that wound I’d say the little fool has tried "Greta and I were out driving after
to kill himself after a puppy-lovers’ dinner,” answered Karl. "We’ve been
quarrel. See how the cut starts under¬ nuts about each other ever since we met,
neath the condile of the jaw, and tapers and today I asked her if she’d marry me.
off and loses depth as it nears the median She’d been actin’ sort o’ queer and distant
line? I’ve seen such cuts a hundred times, lately, so I thought that maybe she’d
and-” been failin’ for another bird, and I’d
"But no,” he interrupted sharply. "Un¬ better hurry up and get my brand on
less the young Monsieur is left-handed he her. Catch on?”
would have made the cut across the left De Grandin nodded somewhat doubt¬
side of his throat; this wound describes a fully. "I think I apprehend your mean¬
slant across the right side. It was made ing,” he replied, "though the language
by someone else—someone seated on his which you use is slightly strange to me.
right, as, by example, in a motorcar. And when you had completed your pro¬
”Monsieuri” he seized the boy by both posal-”
his shoulders and shook him roughly. "She didn’t say a word, but just
W. T.—2
<402 WEIRD TALES

pointed to the sky, as though she'd seen these occurrences, we might apply the
some object up there that astonished her.” term; but when three young women are
"Quite so. One understands; and so similarly stricken, parbleu, to fall back
then?” on coincidence is but to shut your eyes
“Naturally, I looked up, and before I against the facts, mon vieux. One case,
realized what was happening she slashed yes; two cases, perhaps; three cases—non,
a penknife across my throat and jumped it is to pull the long arm of coincidence
out of the car screaming with laughter. completely out of joint, by blue!”
I wasn’t very badly hurt, but-” He "Oh, well,” I answered wearily, "if
paused, and we could fairly see his you—good Lord!”
alcoholic aplomb melt and a look of in¬ Driven at road-burning speed a small,
fantile distress spread on his features. light car with no lamps burning came
"O-o-o!” he wailed disconsolately. careening crazily around the elbow of
‘'Greta, my dear, why did you-” the highway, missed our left fender by a
"The needle, if you please, Friend hair and whizzed past us like a bullet
Trowbridge,” Jules de Grandin whis¬ from a rifle.
pered. "There is nothing further to be "Is it any wonder our insurance rates
learned, and the opiate will give him are high with idiots like that out upon
merciful oblivion. Half a grain of the public roads?” I stuttered, inarticu¬
morphine should be more than ample.” late with fury, but the whining signal of
a motorcycle's siren cut my protest short
his is positively the craziest piece as a state policeman catapulted around the
A of business I ever heard of!” I bend in hot pursuit of the wild driver.
exclaimed as we left the house. "Only "D’ye see um?” he inquired as he
the other night she told us that she loved stopped beside us with a scream of
the lad so much that her heart ached brakes. "Which way did ’e go?”
with it; this afternoon she interrupts his "Took the turn to the right,” I
declaration by slashing at his throat. I answered. "Running like a streak with
never heard of anything so utterly no lights going, and-”
fantastic-” "My friend mistakes,” de Grandin in¬
"Except, perhaps, the case of Sarah terrupted as he smiled at the policeman;
Spotswood and the other three unfortu¬ "the wild one turned abruptly to the left,
nates who followed her to madness and and should be nearly to the village by this
the grave?" he interrupted in a level time.”
voice. "I grant the little demoiselle has "Why, I’m positive he took the right-
acted in a most demented manner. Ha, hand turn-” I began, when a vicious
but is she crazier than-” kick upon my shin served notice that de
"Oh, for the love of mercy, stop it!” Grandin wished deliberately to send the
I commanded querulously. "Those cases trooper on a wild-goose chase. Accord¬
were most likely mere coincidences. ingly: "Perhaps I was mistaken,” I
There’s not a grain of proof-” amended lamely; then, as the officer set'
"If a thing exists we must believe it, out:
whether it is susceptible of proof or not,” "What was your idea in that?” I
he told me seriously. "As for coincidence asked.
—had only one girl graduated into death "The speeder whom the gendarme fol¬
from madness after encountering a kitten lowed was Mademoiselle Greta,” he re¬
such as that which figures in each of plied. “I recognized her in our head-
 WITCH-HOUSE 403

lights’ flash as she went by, and I sug¬ I drew away with a suppressed ejacu¬
gest we follow her.” lation. The metal was hot as a teakettle
"Perhaps we’d better,” I conceded; full of boiling water.
"driving as she was, she’s likely to end "Not only that, mon vieux,” he added
up in a ditch before she reaches home.” as we turned away; "when I pretended
to be counting Mademoiselle Greta’s res¬
hy, Greta’s not been out to¬ piration I took occasion to turn back the
night,” said Mrs. Friebergh covers of her bed. She was asleep, but
when we readied the house. "She went most curiously, she was also fully dressed,
out walking in the afternoon and came even to her shoes. Her window was wide
home shortly after dinner and went di¬ open, and a far less active one than she
rectly to her room. I’m sure she’s sleep- could climb from it to earth and back
fag.” again.”
"But may we see her anyway, "Then you think-”
Madame?” de Grandin asked. "If she "Non, non, I do not think; I wish I
sleeps we shall not waken her.” did; I merely speculate, my friend. Her
"Of course,” the mother answered as mother told us that she went eut walk¬
she led the way upstairs. ing in the afternoon. That is what she
It was dark and quiet as a tomb in thought. Plainly, that is what she was
Greta’s bedroom, and when we switched meant to think. Mademoiselle Greta
on the night-light we saw her sleeping walked out, met the young Monsieur Pet-
peacefully, her head turned from us, the tersen and drove with him, cut him with
bedclothes drawn up close about her her ninety-six tiines cursed knife, then
chin. leaped from his car and walked back
"You see, the poor, dear child’s ex¬ home. Anon, when all the house was
hausted,” Mrs. Friebergh said as she quiet, she clambered from her window,
paused upon the threshold. drove away upon some secret errand,
De Grandin nodded acquiescence as then returned in haste, re-entered her
he tiptoed to the bed and bent an ear room as she had left it, and”—he pursed
above the sleeping girl. For a moment his lips and raised his shoulders in a
he leant forward; then, "I regret that we shrug—"there we are, my friend, but
should so intrude, Madame,” he apolo¬ just where is it that we are, I ask to
gized, “but in cases such as this-” know.”
An eloquently non-committal shrug com¬ "On our way to home and bed,” I
pleted the unfinished sentence. answered with a laugh. “After ail this
Outside, he ordered in a sharp-edged mystery and nonsense, I’m about ready
whisper: "This way, my friend, here, for a drink and several hours’ sleep.”
beneath this arbor!” In the vine-draped "An excellent idea,” he nodded, "but
pergola which spanned the driveway run¬ I should like to stop a moment at the
ning past the house, he pointed to a cemetery, if you will be so kind. I
little single-seated roadster. "You recog¬ desire to see if what I damn suspect is
nize him?” he demanded. true.”
"Well, it looks like the car that passed Fifteen minutes’ drive sufficed to bring
us on the road-•” us to the lich-gate of the ancient burying-
"Feel him!” he commanded, taking my ground where generations of the
hand in his and pressing it against the county’s founders slept. Unerringly he
iradiator top. led the way between the sentinel tomb-
404 WEIRD TALES

stones till, a little distance from the ivy- reason for you to forswear die testimony
mantled wall which bordered on the of your sight,” he assured me. "A
highway, he pointed to a moss-grown hundred others have done just as I did.
marker. If all the missiles which have been
"There is Madame Kristina’s tomb," directed at that small white cat-thing
he told me in a whisper. "It was there— were gathered in a pile, I think that
by blue! Behold, my friend!” they would reach a tall man’s height; yet
Following his indicating finger’s line never one of them has caused it to for¬
I saw a little spot of white against the sake its vigil on this grave. It has visited
mossy grass about the tombstone’s base, this spot at will for the past two hun¬
and even as I looked, the little patch of dred years and more, and always it has
lightness moved, took shape, and showed meant disaster to some girl in the vicinity.
itself a small, white, fluffy kitten. The Come, let us leave it to its brooding; we
tiny animal uncoiled itself, raised to a have plans to make and things to do.
sitting posture, and regarded us with Of course.”
round and shining eyes.
"Why, the poor little thing!” I began, RAND Dieu des chats, c*est rex-
advancing toward it with extended hand. plication terrible!" de Grandin’s
"It’s lost, de Grandin-” exclamation called me from perusal of
"Pardieu, I think that it is quite at the morning’s mail as we completed
home,” he interrupted as he stooped and breakfast the next day.
snatched a piece of gravel from the grave "What is it?” I demanded.
beneath his feet. "Regardez, s’il vous "Parbleu, what is it not?” he answered
'plait!” as he passed a folded copy of the
In all the years I’d known him I had Journal to me, indicating the brief item
never seen him do an unkind thing to with a well-groomed forefinger.
woman, child or animal; so it was with
TREASURE HUNTERS VIOLATE
something like a gasp of consternation
THE DEAD
that I saw him hurl the stone straight at
the headline read, followed by the short
the little, inoffensive kitten. But great
account:
as my surprize had been at his unwonted
Shortly after eleven o'clock last night vandals
cruelty, it was swallowed up in sheer
entered the home of the late Timothy McCaffrey,
astonishment as I saw the stone strike Argyle Road near Scandia, and stole two of the
through the little body, drive against the candles which were burning by his casket while
he lay awaiting burial. The body was reposing
granite tombstone at its back, then in the front room of the house, and several mem¬
bounce against the grave-turf with a bers of the family were in the room adjoining.
Miss Monica McCaffrey, 17, daughter or the
muffled thud. And all the while the little deceased, was sitting near the doorway leading to
cat regarded him with a fixed and slightly the front room where the body lay, and heard
somebody softly opening the front door of the
amused stare, making no movement to house. Thinking it was a neighbor come to pay
evade his missile, showing not the slight¬ respects to the dead, she did not rise immedi¬
ately, not wishing to disturb the visitor at his
est fear at his approach. devotions, but when she noticed an abrupt diminu¬
"You see?” he asked me simply. tion of the light in the room in which her father’s
body lay, as though several of the candles had
"I—I thought—I could have sworn been extinguished, she rose to investigate.
»-” I stammered, and the laugh with As she stepped through the communicating
doorway she saw what she took to be a young
which he greeted my discomfiture was man in a light tan sports coat running out the
far from mirthful. front door of the house. She followed the in¬
truder to the porch and was in time to see him
"You saw, my friend, nor is there any jump into a small sports roadster standing by the
 WITCH-HOUSE 405

front gate with Its engine running, and drive powers of Evil. On Midsummer's Eve the
away at breakneck speed.
Later, questioned by state troopers, she was witches and the wizards wake to power;
undetermined whether the trespasser was a man tonight, if ever, that which menaces our
or woman, as the overcoat worn by the intruder
readied from heck to knees, and she could not little friend will manifest itself. Let us be
definitely say whether the figure wore a skirt or on hand to thwart it—if we can.”
knickerbockers underneath the coat.
When Miss McCaffrey returned to the house
She found that all the vigil lights standing by rbta's dancing at the Country
the coffin had been extinguished and two or the VXciub,” said Mrs. Friebergh when
candles had been taken.
Police believe the act of wanton vandalism we called to see our patient late that
was committed by some member of the fashionable evening. "I didn’t want her to go, she’s
summer colony at Scandia who were engaged in a
"treasure hunt,” since nothing but two candles seemed so feverish and nervous all day
had been taken by the intruder. long, but she insisted she was well
"For goodness’ sake!" I looked at de enough, so-”
Grandin in blank amazement. "Precisely, Madame," Jules de Grandin
His eyes, wide, round and challenging, nodded. "It is entirely probable that she
were fixed on mine unwinkingly. "Non," will feel no ill effects, but for precau¬
he answered shortly, "not for goodness’ tion’s sake we will look in at the dance
sake, my friend; far from it, I assure you. and see how she sustains the strain of
The thief who stole these candles from exercise.”
the dead passed us on her homeward way "But I thought you said that we were
last night.” going to the club,” I remonstrated as he
"Her homeward way? You mean-” touched my arm to signal a left turn.
"But certainly. Mademoiselle Greta "But we are headed toward the cem¬
wore such a coat as that le journal men¬ etery-”
tions. Indubitably it was she returning "But naturally, my friend; there is the
from her gruesome foray." grave of Madame Kristina; there the
"But what could she be wanting small white cat-thing keeps its watch;
corpse-lights for?” there we must go to see the final act
"Those candles had been exorcised played to its final curtain.”
and blessed, my friend; they were, as one He shifted the small bundle on his
might say, spiritually antiseptic, and it knees and began unfastening the knots
was a law of the old witch covens that which bound it.
things stolen from the church be used to "What’s that?” I asked.
celebrate their unclean rites. All evidence For answer he tore off the paper and
points to a single horrid issue, and to¬ displayed a twelve-gage shotgun, its
night we put it to the test." double barrels sawed off short against
"Tonight?” the wood.
"Precisiment. This is the twenty-third "Good Lord!” I murmured; "what¬
of June, Midsummer’s Eve. Tonight in ever have you brought that for?”
half the world the bonfires spring in sud¬ He smiled a trifle grimly as he an¬
den flame on mountain and in valley, by swered, "To test the soundness of the
rushing river and by quiet lake. In advice which I bestowed upon myself
France and Norway, Hungary and Spain, this morning.”
Rumania and Sweden, you could see the "Advice you gave yourself—good
flares stand out against the blackness of heavens, man, you’re raving!”
the night while people dance about "Perhapsly so,” he grinned. "There
t them and chant charms against the are those who would assure you that de
406 WEIRD TALES

Grandin’s cleverness is really madness, against the blackened background of the

•while others will maintain his madness is night; a second spot of orange light
but cleverness disguised. We shall know shone out, and I descried the form of
more before we grow much older, I Greta Friebergh coming slowly toward
damn think.” us. She was dressed in red, a bright-red
evening dress of pleated net with sur¬
T he air seemed thick and heavy with
a brooding menace as we made our
plice sleeves and fluted hem, fitted tightly
at the waistline, molding her slender,
way across the mounded graves. Silence, shapely hips, swirling about her toeless
choking as the dust of ages in a mummy- silver sandals. In each hand she bore a
tomb, seemed to bear down on us, and candle which licked hungrily against the
the chirping of a cricket in the grass shadows with its little, flickering tongue
seemed as loud and sharp as the scraping of orange flame. Just before her, at the
of metal against metal as we picked our outer fringe of candlelight, walked a
path between the tombstones. The stars, little chalk-white kitten, stepping sound¬
caught in a web of overhanging cloud, lessly on dainty paws, leading her unhur¬
were paling in the luminance which riedly toward the grave where Kristina
spread from the late-rising moon, and Friebergh lay as a blind man’s poodle
despite myself I felt the ripple of a might escort its master.
chill run up my back and neck. The I would have spoken, but de Grandin’s
dead had lain here quietly two hundred warning pressure on my arm prevented
years and more, they were harmless, utterance as he pointed silently across the
powerless, but—reason plays no part graveyard to the entrance through which
when instinct holds the reins, and my Greta had just come.
heart beat faster and my breathing quick¬ Following cautiously, dodging back of
ened as we halted by the tombstone tombstones, taking cover behind bushes,
which marked Kristina Friebergh’s grave. but keeping at an even distance from the
I cannot compute the time we waited. slowly pacing girl, was another figure. At
Perhaps it was an hour, perhaps several, a second glance I recognized him. It was
but I felt as though we had crouched young Karl Pettersen.
centuries among the moon-stained shrub¬ Straight across the churchyard Greta
bery and the halftones of the purple marched behind her strange conductor,
shadows when de Grandin’s fingers on halted by the tombstone at the head of
my elbow brought me from my semi¬ Kristina’s grave, and set her feebly flar¬
dream to a sort of terrified alertness. ing candles in the earth as though upon
Down by the ancient lich-gate through an altar.
which ten generations of the village dead For a moment she stood statue-still,
had come to their last resting-place, a profiled against the moon, and I saw her
'shadow moved among the shadows. Now fingers interlace and writhe together as
it lost itself a moment; now it stood in if she prayed for mercy from inexorable
silhouette against the shifting highlights fate; then she raised her hands, undid
On the corpse-road where the laurel snap-fasteners beneath her arms and
bushes swayed in the light breeze. Terror shook her body with a sort of lazy undu¬
touched me like a blast of icy wind. I lation, like a figure in a slowed-down
was like a little, frightened boy who motion picture, freeing herself from the
finds himself deserted in the darkness. scarlet evening gown and letting it fall
Now a tiny spot of lightness showed from her.
 WITCH-HOUSE 407

Straight, white and slim she posed her damn think it has found its last one,”
ivory nakedness in silhouette against the interrupted Jules de Grandin as he rested
moon, so still that she seemed the image his shotgun in the crook of his left elbow
of a woman rather than a thing of flesh and pulled both triggers with a jerk of
and blood, and we saw her clasp her his right hand.
hands behind her, straining wrists and el¬ Through a smoky pompon flashed twin
bows pressed together as though they had flares of flame, and the shotgun’s bellow
been bound with knotted thongs, and on was drowned out by a strangling scream
her features came a look of such excru¬ of agony. Yet it was not so much a cry of
ciating pain that I was forcibly reminded pain as of wild anger, maniacal, frenzied
of the pictures of the martyrs which the with thwarted rage. It spouted up, a
mediaeval artists painted with such dread¬ marrow-freezing geyser of terrifying
ful realism. sound, and the kitten which had crouched
She turned and writhed as though in at Greta’s feet seemed literally to fly to
deadly torment, her head swayed toward pieces. Though the double charge of
one shoulder, then the other; her eyes shotgun slugs had hit it squarely, it did
were staring, almost starting from their not seem to me that it was ripped to
sockets; her lips showed ruddy froth shreds, but rather as though its tiny body
where she gnashed them with her teeth; had been filled with some form of high
and on her sides and slim, white flanks, explosive, or a gas held at tremendous
upon her satin-gleaming shoulders, her pressure, and that the penetrating slugs
torture-corded neck and sweetly rounded had liberated this and caused a detonation
breasts, there flowered sudden spots of which annihilated every vestige of the
red, cruel, blood-marked wounds which small, white, furry form.
spouted little streams of ruby fluid as
though a merciless, sharp skewer probed
and stabbed and pierced the tender, winc¬
A s thb kitten vanished, Greta dropped
t down to the ground unconscious,
ing flesh. and, astoundingly, as though they had
A wave of movement at the grave’s been wiped away by magic, every sign
foot drew our glance away from the of pulsing, bleeding wounds was gone,
tormented girl. Karl Pettersen stood leaving her pale skin unscarred and with¬
there at the outer zone of candlelight, out blemish in the faintly gleaming
his face agleam with perspiration, eyes candlelight.
bright and dilated as though they had "And now, Monsieur, s’il vous plait!”
been filled with belladonna. His mouth With an agile leap de Grandin crossed
began to twist convulsively and his hands the grave, drew bade his sawed-off shot¬
shook in a nervous frenzy. gun and brought its butt-plate down upon
"Look—look,” he slobbered thickly, Karl’s head.
"she’s turning to the witch! She’s not "Good heavens, man, have you gone
my Greta, but the wicked witch they crazy?” I demanded as the youngster
killed so long ago. They’re testing her to slumped down like a pole-axed ox.
find the witch-mark; soon they’ll drown "Not at all, by no means; otherwise,
her in the bay—I know the story; every entirely, I assure you,” he answered as
fifty years the witch-cat claims another he gazed down at his victim speculatively.
victim to go through the needle-torture, "Look to Mademoiselle, if you will be so
kind; then help me carry this one to the
"You have right, mon vieux, but I motorcar.”
408 WEIRD TALES

Clumsily, I drew the scarlet ballgown either. No. The same process was begin¬
over Greta’s shoulders, then grasped her ning in this case. First came a feeling of
underneath the arms, stood her on un¬ aversion for her lover, a reluctance to em¬
conscious feet a moment and let the gar¬ brace him. That was the will of wicked¬
ment fall about her. She was scarcely ness displacing her volition. Then, all
heavier than a child, and I bore her to the unconsciously, she struck him with a
car with little effort, then returned to knife, but the subjugation of her will
help de Grandin with Karl Pettersen. was not complete. The will of evilness
"What ever made you do it?” I de¬ forced her hand to strike the blow, but
manded as we set out for my office. her love for him withheld it, so that he
Pleased immensely with himself, he suffered but a little so small scratch."
hummed a snatch of tune before he an¬ "Do you mean to tell me Kristina Frie-
swered: "It was expedient that he should bergh was responsible for all these
be unconscious at this time, my friend. goings-on?” I asked.
Undoubtlessly he followed Mademoiselle "No-o, I would not say it,” he re¬
Greta from the dance, saw her light the sponded thoughtfully. "I think she was a
candles and disrobe herself, then show most unfortunate young woman, more
the bleeding stigma of the witch. You sinned against than sinning. That sacre
heard what he cried out?” petit chat—that wicked little cat-thing—
•Tes.” was her evil genius, and that of Sarah
"Tres bon. They love each other, these Spotswood and the other girls, as well as
two, but the memory of the things which Mademoiselle Greta. You remember
he has seen tonight would come between Monsieur Friebergh’s story, how his
them and their happiness like a loath¬ several times great-uncle found the little
some specter. We must eliminate every Kristina trying to force her way into the
vestige of that memory, and of the wound flames which burnt her parents, with a
she dealt him, too. But certainly. When little kitten clutched tight in her arms?
they recover consciousness I shall be ready That is the explanation. Her parents
for them. I shall wipe their memories were undoubtlessly convicted justly for
clean of those unpleasant things. As¬ the crime of witchcraft, and the little cat-
suredly; of course.” thing was the imp by which they worked
"How can you do that?” their evil spells. When they were burnt,
"By hypnotism. You know I am an the cat-familiar lingered on and attached
adept at it, and these two, exhausted, all itself to their poor daughter. It had no
weakened with the slowly leaving burden evil work to do, for there is no record
of unconsciousness, will offer little oppo¬ that Kristina indulged in witchery. But
sition to my will. To implant suggestions it was a devil’s imp, instinct with wicked¬
which shall ripen and bear fruit within ness, and her very piety and goodness
their minds will be but child’s play for angered it; accordingly it brought her to
me.” a tragic death. Then it must find fresh
We drove along in silence a few min¬ source of nourishment, since witches’
utes; then, chuckling, he announced: imps, like vampires, perpetuate them¬
"Tiens, she is the lucky girl that Jules selves by sucking human blood. Accord¬
de Grandin is so clever. Those other ones ingly it seized on Sarah Spotswood as a
were not so fortunate. There was no victim, and took her blood and sanity,
Jules de Grandin to rescue Sarah Spots- finally her life. For half a century it
wood from her fate, nor the others, lived on the vitality it took from that
 WITCH-HOUSE 409

Unfortunate young woman, then—pouf! request, he placed them side by side upon
■—another victim suffers, goes insane and the couch and took his stance before
dies. Each fifty years the process is re¬ them.
peated till at last it comes to Madem¬ When I tiptoed back some fifteen
oiselle Greta—and to me. Now all is minutes later, Greta lay sleeping peace¬
finished.” fully upon the sofa, while Karl was gaz¬
"But I saw you toss a stone at it last ing fascinated into Jules de Grandin’s
night without effect,” I argued, "yet eyes.
tonight-” "... and you will remember nothing
"Rrecisement. That gave me to think. but that you love her and she loves you,
"It can make a joke of ordinary missiles,’ MonsieurI heard de Grandin say, and
I inform me when I saw it let the stone heard the boy sigh sleepily in acqui¬
I threw pass through its body. This
escence.
being so, what are we to do with it,
"Why, we’re in Doctor Trowbridge’s
Jules de Grandin?’
surgery!” exclaimed Greta as she opened
“ 'Phantoms and werewolves which
her eyes.
are proof against the ordinary bullet can
"But yes, of course,” de Grandin
be killed by shots of silver,’ I reply.
answered. "You and Monsieur Karl had
“ 'Very well, then, Jules de Grandin,
a little, trifling accident upon the road,
I say to me; 'let us use a silver bullet.’
and we brought you here.”
*’ 'Ha, but this small cat-thing are an
artful dodger, you might miss it,’ I re¬ "Karl dear”—for the first time she
mind me; so I make sure there shall be seemed to notice the scratch upon his
no missing. From the silversmith I get neck—"you’ve been hurt!”
some silver filings, and with these I stuff "Ah bah, it is of no importance,
some shotgun shells. 'Now, Monsieur le Mademoiselle,” de Grandin told her with
Chat/ I say, 'if you succeed in dodging a laugh. “Those injuries are of the past,
these, you will astonish me.’ and tonight the past is dead. See, we
"Eh bien, it was not I who was aston¬ are ready to convey you home, but first”
ished, I damn think.” —he filled the glasses with champagne

W E TOOK the children to my surgery,

and while I went to seek some
and handed them each one—"first we
shall drink to your happiness and forget¬
fulness of all the things which happened
wine and biscuit at de Grandin’s urgent in the bad old days.”
 Hound of Death
By ROBERT E. HOWARD

rA grim tale of stark horror—of the terrible disfigurement inflicted upon Adam.
Grimm by the dark priests of Inner Mongolia, and the frightful
vengeance that pursued his enemy to the United States

1. The Killer in the Dark sound that would presage murder strik¬

E GYPTIAN darkness! The phrase

is too vivid for complete comfort,
ing from the black shadows. The crea¬
ture which, I feared, haunted Egypt was
more to be dreaded than any gibbering
suggesting not only blackness, but phantom.
unseen things lurking in that blackness; That morning the worst negro des¬
things that skulk in the deep shadows and perado in that part of the state had
shun the light of day; slinking figures broken from the clutches of the law,
that prowl beyond the edge of normal leaving a ghastly toll of dead behind him.
life. Down along the river, bloodhounds were
Some such thoughts flitted vaguely baying through the brush and hard-eyed
through my mind that night as I groped men with rifles were beating up the
along the narrow trail that wound thickets.
through the deep pinelands. Such They were seeking him in the fastness¬
thoughts are likely to keep company with es near the scattered black settlements,
any man who dares invade, in the night, knowing that a negro seeks his own kind
that lonely stretch of densely timbered in his extremity. But I knew Tope Brax¬
river-country which the black people call ton better than they did; I knew he de¬
Egypt, for some obscurely racial reason. viated from the general type of his race.
There is no blackness this side of Hell’s He was unbelievably primitive, atavistic
unlighted abyss as absolute as the black¬ enough to plunge into uninhabited wil¬
ness of the pine woods. The trail was derness and live like a blood-mad gorilla
but a half-guessed trace winding between in solitude that would have terrified and
walls of solid ebony. I followed it as daunted a more normal member of his
much by the instincts of the piny woods race.
dweller as by the guidance of die external So while the hunt flowed away in
senses. I went as hurriedly as I dared, another direction, I rode toward Egypt,
but stealth was mingled with my haste, alone. But it was not altogether to look
and my ears were whetted to knife-edge for Tope Braxton that I plunged into that
alertness. This caution did not spring isolated fastness. My mission was one of
from the uncanny speculations roused by warning, rather than search. Deep in the
the darkness and silence. I had good, mazy pine labyrinth, a white man and his
material reason to be wary. Ghosts might servant lived alone, and it was the duty of
roam the pinelands with gaping, bloody any man to warn them that a red-handed
throats and cannibalistic hunger as the killer might be skulking about their
negroes maintained, but it was no ghost cabin.
I feared. I listened for the snap of a I was foolish, perhaps, to be traveling
twig under a great, splay foot, for any on foot; but men who wear the name of
410
 BLACK HOUND OF DEATH 411

Garfield are not in the habit of turning old cabin in the heart of Egypt far about
back on a task once attempted. When my six months.
horse unexpectedly went lame, I left him
Suddenly, as I forged through the
at one of the negro cabins which fringe
darkness, my speculations regarding the
the edge of Egypt, and went on afoot.
mysterious recluse were cut short; wiped
Night overtook me on the path, and I in¬
clear out of my mind. I stopped dead,
tended remaining until morning with the
the nerves tingling in the skin an the
man I was going to warn—Richard
backs of my hands. A sudden shriek in
Brent. He was a taciturn recluse, sus¬
the dark has that effect, and this scream
picious and peculiar, but he could scarcely
refuse to put me up for the night. He was edged with agony and terror. It came
was a mysterious figure; why he chose to from somewhere ahead of me. Breathless
hide himself in a southern pine forest silence followed that cry, a silence in
none knew. He had been living in an which the forest seemed to hold its
.412 WEIRD TALES

breath and the darkness shut in more gigantic beast had ripped it out with his
blackly still. fangs.
Again the scream was repeated, this "What in God’s name did this?” I
time closer. Then I heard the pound of ejaculated as die match went out, and he
bare feet along the trail, and a form became merely an indistinct blob in the
hurled itself at me out of the darkness. darkness below me. “A bear?” Even as
I spoke I knew that no bear had been
M y revolver was in my hand, and I seen in Egypt for thirty years.
"He done it!” The thick, sobbing
instinctively thrust it out to fend
the creature off. The only thing that mumble welled up through the dark.
kept me from pulling the trigger was the "De white man dat come by my cabin and
noise the object was making—gasping, ask me to guide him to Mistuh Brent’s
sobbing noises of fear and pain. It was a house. He said he had a tooth-ache, so he
man, and direly stricken. He blundered had his head bandaged; but de bandages
full into me, shrieked again, and fell slipped and I seen his face—he killed me
sprawling, slobbering and yammering. for seein’ him.”
"You mean he set dogs on you?” I
"Oh, my God, save me! Oh, God have
demanded, for,his wounds were such as
mercy on me!”
I have seen on animals worried by vicious
"What the devil is it?” I demanded,
hounds.
my hair stirring on my scalp at the
“No, suh,” whimpered the ebbing
poignant agony in the gibbering voice.
voice. “He done it hisself—aaaggghhh!”
The wretch recognized my voice; he
The mumble broke in a shriek as he
clawed at my knees. twisted his head, barely visible in the
"Oh, Mas' Kirby, don’ let him tetch gloom, and stared back the way he had
tae! He’s done killed my body, and now come. Death must have struck him in
he wants my soul! It’s me—po' Jim Tike. the midst of that scream, for it broke
Don’ let him git me!” short at the highest note. He flopped
I struck a match, and stood staring in convulsively once, like a dog hit by a
amazement, while the match burned truck, and then lay still.
down to my fingers. A black man grov¬ I strained my eyes into the darkness,
eled in the dust before me, his eyes roll¬ and made out a vague shape a few yards
ing up whitely. I knew him well—one away in the trail. It was erect and tall as
of the negroes who lived in their tiny log a man; it made no sound.
cabins along the fringe of Egypt. He was I opened my mouth to challenge the
spotted and splashed with blood, and I unknown visitant, but no sound came.
believed he was mortally wounded. Only An indescribable chill flowed over me,
abnormal energy rising from frenzied freezing my tongue to my palate. It was
panic could have enabled him to run as fear, primitive and unreasoning, and
far as he had. Blood jetted from tom even while I stood paralyzed I could not
veins and arteries in breast, shoulder and understand it, could not guess why that
neck, and the wounds were ghastly to silent, motionless figure, sinister as it was,
see, great ragged tears, that were never should rouse such instinctive dread.
made by bullet or knife. One ear had Then suddenly the figure moved quick¬
been tom from his head, and hung loose, ly toward me, and I found my voice.
with a great piece of flesh from the "Who comes there?”
angle of his jaw and neck, as if some No answer; but the form came on in a
 BLACK HOUND OF DEATH 413

rush, and as I groped for a match, it was sion. I had set out to perform a task. If
almost upon me. I struck the match— a murderous criminal besides Tope Brax¬
with a ferocious snarl the figure hurled ton were abroad in the piny woods, there
itself against me, the match was struck was all the more reason for warning the
from my hand and extinguished, and I men in that lonely cabin. As for my own
felt a sharp pain on the side of my neck. danger, I was already more than half-way
My gun exploded almost involuntarily to the cabin. It would scarcely be more
and without aim, and its flash dazzled me, dangerous to advance than to retreat. If
obscuring rather than revealing the tall I did turn back, and escape from Egypt
man-like figure that struck at me; then alive, before I could rouse a posse, any¬
with a crashing rush through the trees thing might happen in that isolated cabin
my assailant was gone, and I staggered under the black trees.
alone on the forest trail. So I left Jim Tike’s body there in the
Swearing angrily, I felt for another trail, and went on, gun in hand, and
match. Blood was trickling down my nerves sharpened by the new peril. That
shoulder, soaking through my shirt. visitant had not been Tope Braxton. I
When I struck the match and investi¬ had the dead man’s word for it that the
gated, another chill swept down my spine. attacker was a mysterious white man; the
My shirt was tom and the flesh beneath glimpse I had had of the figure had con¬
slightly cut; the wound was little more firmed the fact that he was not Tope
than a scratch, but the thing that roused Braxton. I would have known that squat,
nameless fear in my mind was the fact apish body even in the dark. This man
that the wound was similar to those on was tall and spare, and die mere recollec¬
foot Jim Tike. tion of that gaunt figure made me shiver,
unreasoningly.
2. "Dead Men with Torn T hr oatsr It is no pleasant experience to walk
along a blade forest trail with only the
J IM tike was dead, lying face down in stars glinting through the dense brandies,
a pool of his own blood, his red-dab¬ and the knowledge that a ruthless mur¬
bled limbs sprawling drunkenly. I stared derer is lurking near, perhaps within
uneasily at the surrounding forest that arm’s length in the concealing darkness.
hid the thing that had killed him. That The recollection of the butchered blade
it was a man I knew; the outline, in the man burned vividly in my brain. Sweat
brief light of the match, had been vague, beaded my face and hands, and I wheeled
but unmistakably human. But what sort a score of times, glaring into the black¬
of a weapon could make a wound like the ness where my ears had caught the rustle
merciless champing of great bestial teeth? of leaves or the breaking of a twig—how
I shook my head, recalling the ingenuity could I know whether the sounds were
of mankind in the creation of implements but the natural noises of the forest, or the
of slaughter, and considered a more acute stealthy movements of the killer?
problem. Should I risk my life further Once I stopped, with an eery crawling
by continuing upon my course, or should of my skin, as far away, through the black
I return to the outer world and bring in trees, I glimpsed a faint, lurid glow. It
men and dogs, to carry out poor Jim was not stationary; it moved, but it was
Tike’s corpse, and hunt down his mur¬ too far away for me to make out the
derer? source. With my hair prickling unpleas¬
1 did not waste much time in indeci¬ antly I waited, for I knew not what; but
414 WEIRD TALES

presently the mysterious glow vanished, broke out of jail this morning. I think
and so keyed up I was to unnatural hap¬ he took refuge in Egypt. I thought you
penings, that it was only then that I real¬ ought to be warned.”
ized the light might well have been made "Well, you’ve warned me,” he snapped,
by a man walking with a pine-knot torch. in his short-clipped Eastern accent. "Why
I hurried on, cursing myself for my fears, don’t you be off?”
the more baffling because they were so "Because I have no intention of going
nebulous. Peril was no stranger to me in back through those woods tonight,” I an¬
that land of feud and violence where swered angrily. "I came in here to warn
century-old hates still smoldered down you, not because of any love of you, but
the generations. Threat of bullet or knife simply because you’re a white man. The
openly or from ambush had never shaken least you can do is to let me put up in
my nerves before; but I knew now that I your cabin until morning. All I ask is a
was afraid—afraid of something I could pallet on the floor; you don’t even have
not understand, or explain. to feed me.”
I sighed with relief when I saw Rich¬ That last was an insult I could not
ard Brent’s light gleaming through the withhold, in my resentment; at least in
pines, but I did not relax my vigilance. the piny woods it is considered an insult.
Many a man, danger-dogged, has been But Richard Brent ignored my thrust at
struck down at the very threshold of his penuriousness and discourtesy. He
safety. Knocking on the door, I stood scowled at me. I could not see his hands.
sidewise, peering into the shadows that "Did you see Ashley anywhere along
ringed the tiny clearing and seemed to the trail?” he asked finally.
repel the faint light from the shuttered Ashley was his servant, a saturnine fig¬
windows. ure as taciturn as his master, who drove
"Who’s there?” came a deep harsh into the distant river village once a month
voice from within. "Is that you, Ashley?” for supplies.
"No; it’s me—Kirby Garfield. Open "No; he might have been in town, and
the door.” left after I did.”
The upper half of the door swung in¬ “I guess I’ll have to let you in,” he
ward, and Richard Brent’s head and muttered, grudgingly.
shoulders were framed in the opening. "Well, hurry up,” I requested. "I’ve
The light behind him left most of his got a gash in my shoulder I want to wash
face in shadow, but could not obscure the and dress. Tope Braxton isn’t the only
harsh gaunt lines of his features nor the killer abroad tonight.”
gleam of the bleak gray eyes. At that he halted in his fumbling at the
"What do you want, at this time of lower door, and his expression changed.
night?” he demanded, with his usual "What do you mean?”
bruskness. "There’s a dead nigger a mile or so up
I replied shortly, for I did not like the the trail. The man who killed him tried
man; courtesy in our part of the country to kill me. He may be after you, for all
is an obligation no gentleman thinks of I know. The nigger he killed was guid¬
shirking. ing him here.”
"I came to tell you that it’s very likely
that a dangerous negro is prowling in R ichard brent started violently, and
your vicinity. Tope Braxton killed Con¬ ■ his face went livid.
stable Joe Sorley and a negro trusty, and “Who—what do you mean?” His
 BLACK HOUND OF DEATH 415

voice cracked, unexpectedly falsetto. It was surely no friend who had sought
l,*What man?” guidance to his cabin! The man’s frantic
"I don’t know. A fellow who manages fear had bordered on insanity. I won¬
to rip his victims like a hound-” dered if it had been to escape this man
"A hound!” The words burst out in a that Brent had exiled himself in this
Scream. The change in Brent was hid¬ lonely stretch of pinelands and river.
eous. His eyes seemed starting from his Surely it had been to escape something
head; his hair stood up stiffly on his scalp, that he had come; for he never concealed
and his skin was the hue of ashes. His his hatred of the country nor his contempt
lips drew back from his teeth in a grin for the native people, white and black.
of sheer terror. But I had never believed that he was a
He gagged and then found voice. criminal, hiding from the law.
"Get out!” he choked. "I see it, now! The light fell away behind me, van¬
I know why you wanted to get into my ished among the black trees. A curious,
house! You bloody devil! He sent you! chill, sinking feeling obsessed me, as if
You’re his spy! Go!" The last was a the disappearance of that light, hostile as
scream and his hands rose above the was its source, had severed the only link
lower half of the door at last. I stared that connected this nightmarish adventure
into the gaping muzzles of a sawed-off with the world of sanity and humanity.
shotgun. "Go, before I kill you!” Grimly taking hold of my nerves, I strode
I stepped back off the stoop, my skin on up the trail. But I had not gone far
crawling at the thought of a close-range when again I halted.
blast from that murderous implement of This time it was the unmistakable
destruction. The black muzzles and the sound of horses running; the rumble of
livid, convulsed face behind them prom¬ wheels mingled with the pounding of
ised sudden demolition.
hoofs. Who would be coming along that
"You cursed fool!” I growled, court¬ nighted trail in a rig but Ashley? But in¬
ing disaster in my anger. "Be careful stantly I realized that the team was
with that thing. I’m going. I’d rather headed in the other direction. The sound
take a chance with a murderer than a receded rapidly, and soon became only a
madman.”
distant blur of noise.
Brent made no reply; panting and shiv¬
I quickened my pace, much puzzled,
ering like a man smitten with ague, he
and presently I heard hurried, stumbling
crouched over his shotgun and watched
footsteps ahead of me, and a quick,
me as I turned and strode across the clear¬
breathless panting that seemed indicative
ing. Where the trees began I could have
of panic. I distinguished the footsteps of
wheeled and shot him down without
two people, though I could see nothing in
much danger, for my .45 would outrange
the intense darkness. At that point the
his shortened scatter-gun. But I had come
branches interlaced over the trail, forming
there to warn the fool, not to kill him.
a black arch through which not even
The upper door slammed as I strode in
the stars gleamed.
under the trees, and the stream of light
"Ho, there!” I called cautiously. "Who
was cut abruptly off. I drew my gun and
plunged into the shadowy trail, my ears are you?”
whetted again for sounds under the black Instantly the sounds ceased abruptly,
branches. and I could picture two shadowy figures
My thoughts reverted to Richard Brent. standing tensely still, with bated breath.
416 WEIRD TALES

"Who’s there?” I repeated. "Don’t be bronzed face as ashy as that of his mas¬
afraid. It’s me—Kirby Garfield.” ter had been. The match went out, and
"Stand where you are!” came a hard we stood silent.
voice I recognized as Ashley’s. "You “Well,” I said impatiently, "speak up,
sound like Garfield—but I want to be man! Who’s the lady with you?”
sure. If you move you’ll get a slug "She’s Mr. Brent’s niece.” The answer
through you.” came tonelessly through dry lips.
There was a scratching sound and a "I am Gloria Brent!” she exclaimed in
tiny flame leaped up. A human hand a voice whose cultured accent was not lost
was etched in its glow, and behind it the in the fear that caused it to tremble.
square, hard face of Ashley peering in "Uncle Richard wired for me to come to
my direction. A pistol in his other hand him at once-”
caught the glint of the fixe; and on that "I’ve seen the wire,” Ashley mut¬
arm rested another hand—a slim, white tered. "You showed it to me. But I don’t
hand, with a jewel sparkling on one fin¬ know how he sent it. He hasn't been to
ger. Dimly I made out the slender figure the village, to my knowledge, in months.”
of a woman; her face was like a pale "I came on from New York as fast as
blossom in the gloom. I could!” she exclaimed. "I can’t under¬
"Yes, it’s you, all right,” Ashley stand why the telegram was sent to me,
grunted. "What are you doing here?” instead of to somebody else in the fam-
"I came to warn Brent about Tope
Braxton,” I answered shortly; I do not "You were always your uncle’s favor¬
relish being called on to account for my ite, Miss,” said Ashley.
actions to anybody. "You’ve heard about "Well, when I got off the boat at the
it, naturally. If I’d known you were in village just before nightfall, I found Ash¬
town, it would have saved me a trip. ley, just getting ready to drive home. He
What are you-all doing on foot?” was surprized to see me, but of course he
“Our horses ran away a short distance brought me on out; and then—that—that
back,” he answered. "There was a dead dead man-”
negro in the trail. But that’s not what She seemed considerably shaken by
frightened the horses. When we got out the experience. It was obvious that she
to investigate, they snorted and wheeled had been raised in a very refined and
and bolted with the rig. We had to come sheltered atmosphere. If she had been
on on foot. It’s been a pretty nasty ex¬ bom in the piny woods, as I was, the
perience. From the looks of the negro I sight of a dead man, white or black,
judge a pack of wolves killed him, and would not have been an uncommon
the scent frightened the horses. We’ve phenomenon to her.
been expecting an attack any minute.” “The—the dead man-” she stam¬
"Wolves don’t hunt in packs and drag mered, and then she was answered most
'down human beings in these woods. It hideously.
was a man that killed Jim Tike,” From the black woods beside the trail
rose a shriek of blood-curdling laughter.
I n the waning glow of the match Ash¬ Slavering, mouthing sounds followed it,
so strange and garbled that at first I did
ley stood staring at me in amazement,
and then I saw the astonishment ebb from not recognize them as human words.
his countenance and horror grow there. Their unhuman intonations sent a drill
Slowly his color ebbed, leaving his down my spine.
W. T—2
 BLACK HOUND OF DEATH 417

"Dead men!” the inhuman voice of a demoniacal clawed and fanged thing
chanted. "Dead men with tom throats! hurling itself upon my shoulders.
There will be dead men among the pines The girl’s little feet scarcely touched
before dawn! Dead men! Fools, you are the ground, as we almost carried her be¬
all dead!” tween us. Ashley was almost as tall as I,
Ashley and I both fired in the direc¬ though not so heavy, and was strongly
tion of the voice, and in the crashing re¬ made.
verberations of our shots the ghastly Ahead of us a light glimmered be¬
chant was drowned. But the weird laugh tween the trees at last, and a gusty sigh
rang out again, deeper in the woods, and of relief burst from his lips. He increased
then silence closed down like a black fog, his pace until we were almost running.
in which I heard the semi-hysterical gasp¬ "The cabin at last, thank God!” he
ing of the girl. She had released Ashley gasped, as we plunged out of the trees.
and was clinging frantically to me. I "Hail your employer, Ashley,” I
could feel the quivering of her lithe body grunted. "He’s driven me off with a gun
against mine. Probably she had merely once tonight. I don’t want to be shot by
followed her feminine instinct to seek the old-” I stopped, remembering the
refuge with the strongest; the light of the girl.
match had shown her that I was a bigger "Mr. Brent!” shouted Ashley. "Mr.
man than Ashley. Brent! Open the door quick! It’s me—
"Hurry, for God’s sake!” Ashley’s Ashley!”
voice sounded strangled. "It can’t be far Instantly light flooded from the door
to the cabin. Hurry! You’ll come with as the upper half was drawn back, and
us, Mr. Garfield?” Brent peered out, shotgun in hand, blink¬
"What was it?” the girl was panting. ing into the darkness.
"Oh, what was it?” "Hurry and get in!” Panic still
"A madman, I think,” I answered, thrummed in his voice. Then: "Who’s
tucking her trembling little hand under that standing beside you?” he shouted
my left arm. But at the bade of my mind furiously.
was whispering the grisly realization that "Mr. Garfield and your niece, Miss
no madman ever had a voice like that. It Gloria.”
sounded—God!—it sounded like some "Unde Richard!” she cried, her voice
bestial creature speaking with human catching in a sob. Pulling loose from us,
words, but not with a human tongue! she ran forward and threw her lithe body
"Get on the other side of Miss Brent, half over the lower door, throwing her
Ashley,” I directed. "Keep as far from arms around his neck. "Uncle Richard,
the trees as you can. If anything moves I’m so afraid! What does this all mean?”
on that side, shoot first and ask questions He seemed thunderstruck.
later. I’ll do the same on this side. Now
"Gloria!” he repeated. "What in
come on!”
heaven’s name are you doing here?”
He made no reply as he complied; his
"Why, you sent for me!” She fumbled
fright seemed deeper than that of the
out a crumpled yellow telegraph form.
girl; his breath came in shuddering gasps.
The trail seemed endless, the darkness "See? You said for me to come at once!”

abysmal. Fear stalked along the trail on He went livid again.

either hand, and slunk grinning at our "I never sent that, Gloria! Good God,
backs. My flesh crawled with the thought why should I drag you into my particular
W. T.—3
418 WEIRD TALES

hell? There’s something devilish here. our cleverness. We have trapped our¬
Come in—come in quickly!” selves! In a city, we might buy protec¬
tion; but here, in this accursed forest,
H e jerked open the door and pulled who will hear our cries or come to our
her inside, never relinquishing the aid when the fiend closes in upon us?
shotgun. He seemed to fumble in a daze. What fools—what fools we were to think
Ashley shouldered in after her, and ex¬ to hide from him in this wilderness!”
claimed to me: "Come in, Mr. Garfield! "I heard him laugh,” shuddered Ash¬
Come in—come in!” ley. "He taunted us from the bushes in
I had made no move to follow them. his beast’s voice. I saw the man he killed
At the mention of my name, Brent, who —ripped and mangled as if by the fangs
seemed to have forgotten my presence, of Satan himself. What—what are we to
jerked loose from the girl with a choking do?”
cry and wheeled, throwing up the shot¬ "What can we do except lock ourselves
gun. But this time I was ready for him. in and fight to the last?” shrieked Brent.
My nerves were too much on edge to His nerves were in frightful shape.
let me submit to any more bullying. Be¬ "Please tell me what it is all about?”
fore he could bring the gun into position, pleaded the trembling girl.
he was looking in the muzzle of my .45. With a terrible despairing laugh Brent
"Put it down, Brent,” I snapped. threw out his arm, gesturing toward the
"Drop it, before I break your arm. I’m black woods beyond the faint light. "A
fed up on your idiotic suspicions.” devil in human form is lurking out
He hesitated, glaring wildly, and be¬ there!” he exclaimed. "He has tracked me
hind him the girl shrank away. I suppose across the world, and has cornered me at
that in the full flood of the light from last? Do you remember Adam Grimm?”
the doorway I was not a figure to inspire "The man who went with you to Mon¬
confidence in a young girl, with my frame golia five years ago? But he died, you
which is built for strength and not looks, said. You came back without him.”
and my dark face, scarred by many a "I thought he was dead,” muttered
brutal river battle. Brent. "Listen, I will tell you. Among
"He’s our friend, Mr. Brent,” inter¬ the black mountains of Inner Mongolia,
posed Ashley. "He helped us, in the where no white man had ever penetrated,
woods.” our expedition was attacked by fanatical
"He’s a devil!” raved Brent, clinging devil-worshippers—the black monks of
to his gun, though not trying to lift it. Erlik who dwell in the forgotten and ac¬
"He came here to murder us! He lied cursed city of Yahlgan. Our guides and
when he said he came to warn us against servants were killed, and all our stock
a black man. What man would be fool driven off but one small camel.
enough to come into Egypt at night, just "Grimm and I stood them off all day,
to warn a stranger? My God, has he got firing from behind the rocks when they
you both fooled? I tell you, he wears the tried to rush us. That night we planned
brand of the hound!” to make a break for it, on the camel that
'Then you know he’s here!” cried remained to us. But it was evident to me
Ashley. that the beast could not carry us both to
"Yes; this fiend told me, trying to safety. One man might have a chance.
worm his way into the house. God, Ash¬ When darkness fell, I struck Grimm
ley, he’s tracked us down, in spite of all from behind with my gun butt, knocking
 BLACK HOUND OF DEATH 419.

him senseless. Then I mounted the that door, you little fool! Ashley, hold
camel and fled-” your tongue. I tell you, he is one of
He did not heed the look of side amaze¬ Adam Grimm’s creatures! He shall not
ment and abhorrence growing in the set foot in this cabin!”
girl’s lovely face. Her wide eyes were She looked at me, pale, helpless and
fixed on her unde as if she were seeing forlorn, and I pitied her as I despised
the real man for the first time, and was Richard Brent; she looked so small and
stricken by what she saw. He plunged bewildered.
on, too obsessed and engulfed by fear to "I wouldn’t sleep in your cabin if all
care or heed what she thought of him. the wolves of hell were howling outside,”
The sight of a soul stripped of its conven¬ I snarled at Brent. "I’m going, and if
tional veneer and surface pretense is not you shoot me in the back. I’ll kill you
always pleasant. before I die. I wouldn’t have come back
"I broke through the lines of the be¬ at all, but the young lady needed my pro¬
siegers and escaped in the night. Grimm, tection. She needs it now, but it’s your
naturally, fell into the hands of the devil- privilege to deny her that. Miss Brent,”
worshippers, and for years I supposed I said, "if you wish, I’ll come back to¬
that he was dead. They had the reputa¬ morrow with a buckboard and carry you
tion of slaying, by torture, every alien to the village. You’d better go back to
that they captured. Years passed, and I New York.”
had almost forgotten the episode. Then, “Ashley will take her to the village,”
seven months ago, I learned that he was roared Brent. "Damn you, will you go?”1
alive—was, indeed, back in America,
thirsting for my life. The monks had not
killed him; through their damnable arts
W ith a sneer that brought the blood
purpling his countenance, I turned
they had altered him. The man is no squarely upon him and strode off. The
longer wholly human, but his whole soul door banged behind me, and I heard his
is bent on my destruction. To appeal to falsetto voice mingled with the tearful
the police would have been useless; he accents of his niece. Poor girl, it must
would have tricked them and wreaked his have been like a nightmare to her: to
vengeance in spite of them. I fled from have been snatched out of her sheltered
him up and down across the country for urban life and dropped down in a coun¬
more than a month, like a hunted animal, try strange and primitive to her, among
and finally, when I thought I had thrown people whose ways seemed incredibly
him off the track, I took refuge in this savage and violent, and into a bloody
God-forsaken wilderness, among these episode of wrong and menace and ven¬
barbarians, of whom that man Kirby Gar¬ geance. The deep pinelands of the South¬
field is a typical example.” west seem strange and alien enough at any
"You can talk of barbarians!” she time to the average Eastern city-dweller;
flamed, and her scorn would have cut the and added to their gloomy mystery and
soul of any man who was not so totally primordial wildness was this grim phan¬
engrossed in his own fears. tom out of an unsuspected past, like the
She turned to me. "Mr. Garfield, figment of a nightmare.
please come in. You must not try to I turned squarely about, stood motion¬
traverse this forest at night, with that less in the black trail, staring back at the
fiend at large.” pin-point of light which still winked
“No!” shrieked Brent. "Get back from through the trees. Peril hovered over the
420 WEIRD TALES

cabin in that tiny clearing, and it was no verse with blinding sparks, and this one
part of a white man to leave that girl was accompanied by a thunderous re¬
with the protection of none but her half¬ verberation. Consciousness was blotted
lunatic uncle and his servant. Ashley out too suddenly for me to know that I
looked like a fighter. But Brent was an had been struck on the head from behind,
unpredictable quantity. I believed he terrifically and without warning.
was tinged with madness. His insane
rages and equally insane suspicions 3. Black Hands
seemed to indicate as much. I had no
sympathy for him. A man who would
sacrifice his friend to save his own life
A FLICKERING light was the first thing
that impressed itself upon my
deserves death.
awakening faculties. I blinked, shook
But evidently Grimm was mad. His
my head, came suddenly fully awake. I
slaughter of Jim Tike suggested homi¬
was lying on my back in a small glade,
cidal insanity. Poor Jim Tike had never
walled by towering black trees which fit¬
wronged him. I would have killed
fully reflected the uncertain light that
Grimm for that murder, alone, if I had
emanated from a torch stuck upright in
had the opportunity. And I did not in¬
the earth near me. My head throbbed,
tend that the girl should suffer for the
and blood clotted my scalp; my hands
sins of her uncle. If Brent had not sent
were fastened together before me by a
that telegram, as he swore, then it looked
pair of handcuffs. My clothes were tom
much as if she had been summoned for a
and my skin scratched as if I had been
sinister purpose. Who but Grimm him¬
dragged brutally through the brush.
self would have summoned her, to share
the doom he planned for Richard Brent? A huge black shape squatted over me

Turning, I strode back down the trail. —a black man of medium height but of
If I could not enter the cabin, I could at gigantic breadth and thickness, dad only
in ragged, muddy breeches—Tope Brax¬
least lurk in the shadows ready at hand
if my help was needed. A few moments ton. He held a gun in each hand, and
later I was under the fringe of trees that alternately aimed first one and then the

ringed the clearing. other at me, squinting along the barrel.

One pistol was mine; the other had once
Light still shone through the cracks in
belonged to the constable that Braxton
the shutters, and at one place a portion
of the window-pane was visible. And had brained.

even as I looked, this pane was shattered, I lay silent for a moment, studying the
as if something had been hurled through play of the torchlight on the great black
it. Instantly the night was split by a sheet torso. His huge body gleamed shiny
of flame that burst in a blinding flash out ebony or dull bronze as the light flickered.
of the doors and windows and chimney He was like a shape from the abyss
of the cabin. For one infinitesimal in¬ whence mankind crawled ages ago. His
stant I saw the cabin limned blackly primitive ferocity was reflected in the
against the tongues of flame that flashed bulging knots of muscles that corded his
from it. With the flash came the thought long, massive apish arms, his huge slop¬
that the cabin had been blown up—but ing shoulders; above all the bullet-shaped
no sound accompanied the explosion. head that jutted forward on a column¬
Even while the blaze was still in my like neck. The wide, flat nostrils, murky
eyes, another explosion filled the uni¬ eyes, thick lips that writhed back from
 BLACK HOUND OF DEATH Alt

tusk-like teeth—all proclaimed the man’s were not tied, but my hands were mana¬
kinship with the primordial. cled, and a single movement would bring
"Where the devil do you fit into this hot lead crashing through my brain. In
nightmare?” I demanded. my desperation I plumbed the depths of
He showed his teeth in an ape-like black folklore for a dim, all but forgotten
grin. superstition.
"I thought it was time you was cornin’ "These handcuffs belonged to Joe Sor-
to, Kirby Garfield,” he grinned. ”1 ley, didn’t they?" I demanded.
wanted you to come to ’fo’ I kill you, so "Uh huh,” he grinned, without ceasing
you know who kill you. Den I go back to squint along the sights. "I took ’em
and watch Mistuh Grimm kill de ol’ man ’long with his gun after I beat his head
and de gal.” in with window-bar. I thought I might
"What do you mean, you black devil?” need ’em.” i
I demanded harshly. "Grimm? What do "Well,” I said, "if you kill me while
you know about Grimm?” I’m wearing them, you're eternally;
”1 meet him in de deep woods, after damned! Don’t you know that if you kill
he kill Jim Tike. I heah a gun fire and a man who’s wearing a cross, his ghost
come with a torch to see who—thought will haunt you for ever after?”
maybe somebody after me. I meet Mis¬ He jerked the gun down suddenly, and
tuh Grimm.” his grin was replaced by a snarl.
"So you were the man I saw with the ’What you mean, white man?”
torch,” I grunted. "Just what I say. There’s a cross
"Mistuh Grimm smaht man. He say if scratched on the inside of one of these
I help him kill some folks, he help me cuffs. I’ve seen it a thousand times. Now
git away. He take and throw bomb into go ahead and shoot, and I’ll haunt you
de cabin; dat bomb don’t kill dem folks, into hell.”
just paralyze ’em. I watchin’ de trail, and
"Which cuff?” he snarled, lifting a
hit you when you come back. Dat man
gun-butt threateningly.
Ashley ain’t plumb paralyze, so Mistuh
"Find out for yourself,” I sneered.
Grimm, he take and bite out he throat
"Go ahead; why don’t you shoot? I hope
like he done Jim Tike.”
you’ve had plenty of sleep lately, because
"What do you mean, bite out his
I’ll see to it that you never sleep again.
throat?” I demanded.
In the night, under the trees, you’ll see
"Mistuh Grimm ain’t a human bein’.
my face leering at you. You'll hear my
He stan’ up and walk like a man, but he
voice in the wind that moans through the
part hound, or wolf.”
cypress branches. When you close your
"You mean a werewolf?” I asked, my
eyes in the dark, you’ll feel my fingers at
scalp prickling.
your throat.” .
He grinned. "Yeah, dat’s it. Dey had
’em in de old country.” Then he changed "Shut up!” he roared, brandishing his
his mood. "I done talk long enough. pistols. His black skin was tinged with
Gwine blow yo’ brains out now!” an ashy hue.

His thick lips froze in a killer’s mirth¬ "Shut me up—if you dare!” I strug¬
less grin as he squinted along the barrel gled up to a sitting position, and then
of the pistol in his right hand. My whole fell back cursing. Damn you, my leg’s
body went tense, as I sought desperately broken!”
for a loophole to save my life. My legs At that the ashy tinge faded from his
422 WEIRD TALES

ebon skin, and purpose rose in his reddish or wrestler limb from limb. Man-de¬
eyes. veloped science alone could not have
"So jo' leg’s busted!” He bared his withstood the blinding speed, tigerish
glistening teeth in a beastly grin. ferocity and bone-crushing strength that
"Thought you fell mighty hard, and then lurked in Tope Braxton’s terrible thews.
I dragged you a right smart piece.” It was like fighting a wild beast, and I
Laying both pistols on the ground, met him at his own game. I fought Tope
well out of my reach, he rose and leaned Braxton as the rivermen fight, as savages
over me, dragging a key out of his fight, as bull apes fight. Breast to breast,
breeches pocket. His confidence was jus¬ muscle straining against muscle, iron fist
tified; for was I not unarmed, helpless crushing against hard skull, knee driven
with a broken leg? I did not need the to groin, teeth slashing sinewy flesh,
manacles. Bending over me he turned gouging, tearing, smashing. We both
the k«y in the old-fashioned handcuffs forgot the pistols on the ground; we
and tore •them off. And like twin strik¬ must have rolled over them half a dozen
ing snakes my hands shot to his black times. Each of us was aware of only one
throat, locked fiercely and dragged him desire, one blind crimson urge to kill
down on top of me, with naked hands, to rend and tear and
maul and trample until the other was a
I ha® always wondered what would be motionless mass
splintered bone.
of bloody flesh and
the outcome of a battle between me
and Tope Braxton. One can hardly go I do not know how long we fought^
about picking fights with black men. time faded into a blood-shot eternity.
But now a fierce joy surged in me, a His fingers were like iron talons that tore
grim gratification that the question of our the flesh and bruised the bone beneath.
relative prowess was to be settled once My head was swimming from its impacts
and for all, with life for the winner and against the hard ground, and from the
death for the loser. pain in my side I knew at least one rib
Even as I gripped him, Braxton real¬ was broken. My whole body was a solid
ized that I had tricked him into freeing ache and burn of twisted joints and
me—that I was no more crippled than wrenched thews. My garments hung in
he was. Instantly he exploded into a ribbons, wrenched by the blood that
hurricane of ferocity that would have dis¬ sluiced from an ear that had been ripped
membered a lesser man than I. We loose from my head. But if I was taking
rolled on the pine-needles, rending and terrible punishment, I was dealing it too.
tearing. The torch had been knocked down and
Were I penning an elegant romance, I kicked aside, but it still smoldered fit¬
should tell how I vanquished Tope Brax¬ fully, lending a lurid dim light to that
ton by a combination of higher intelli¬ primordial scene. Its light was not so
gence, boxing skill and deft science that red as the murder-lust that clouded my
defeated his brute strength. But I must dimming eyes.
stick to facts in this chronicle. In a red haze I saw his white teeth
Intelligence played little part in that gleaming in a grin of agonized effort, his
battle. It would have helped me no more eyes rolling whitely from a mask of
than it would help a man in the actual blood. I had mauled his face out of all
grip ®f a gorilla. As for artificial skill. human resemblance; from eyes to waist
Tope would have tom the average boxer his blade hide was laced with crimson.
 BLACK HOUND OF DEATH 42J

Sweat slimed us, and our fingers slipped cabin gleaming through the pines. Brax¬
as they gripped. Writhing half-free from ton had not been lying then, about the
his rending clutch, I drove every strain¬ nature of that bomb. At least the sound¬
ing knot of muscle in my body behind my less explosion had not destroyed the
fist that smashed like a mallet against his cabin, for it stood as I had seen it last,
jaw. There was a crack of bone, an in¬ apparently undamaged. Light poured, as
voluntary groan; blood spurted and the before, from the shuttered windows, but
broken jaw dropped down. A bloody from it came a high-pitched inhuman
froth covered the loose lips. Then for laughter that froze the blood in my veins.
the first time those black, tearing fingers It was the same laughter that had mocked
faltered; I felt the great body that us beside the shadowed trail.
strained against mine yield and sag. And
with a wild-beast sob of gratified ferocity 4. The Hound of Satan
ebbing from my pulped lips, my fingers
at last met in his throat. C rouching in the shadows, I circled
Down on his back he went, with me on the little clearing to reach a side of
his breast. His failing hands clawed at the cabin which was without a window.
my wrists, weakly and more weakly. In the thick darkness, with no gleam of
And I strangled him, slowly, with no light to reveal me, I glided out from the
trick of jiu-jitsu or wrestling, but with trees and approached the building. Near
sheer brute strength, bending his head the wall I stumbled over something bulky
back and back between its shoulders until and yielding, and almost went to my
the thick neck snapped like a rotten knees, my heart shooting into my throat
branch. with the fear of the noise betraying me.
In that drunkenness of battle, I did But the ghastly laughter still belled hor¬
not know when he died, did not know ribly from inside the cabin, mingled with
that it was death that had at last melted the whimpering of a human voice. j
the iron thews of the body beneath me. It was Ashley I had stumbled over, or
Reeling up numbly, I dazedly stamped on rather his body. He lay on his back, star¬
his breast and head until the bones gave ing sightlessly upward, his head lolling
way under my heels, before I realized back on the red ruin of his neck. His
that Tope Braxton was dead. throat had been torn out; from chin to
Then I would have fallen and lapsed collar it was a great, gaping, ragged
into insensibility, but for the dizzy reali¬ wound. His garments were slimy with
zation that my work was not yet ended. blood.
Groping with numb hands I found the Slightly sickened, in spite of my ex- '
pistols, and reeled away through the perience with violent deaths, I glided to
pines, in the direction in which my for¬ the cabin wall and sought without suc¬
est-bred instinct told me the cabin of cess for a crevice between the logs. The
Richard Brent stood. With each step my laughter had ceased in the cabin and that
tough recuperative powers asserted them¬ frightful, unhuman voice was ringing
selves. out, making the nerves quiver in the
Tope had not dragged me far. Follow¬ backs of my hands. With the same diffi¬
ing his jungle instincts, he had merely culty that I had experienced before, I
hauled me off the trail into the deeper made out the words.
woods. A few steps brought me to the "-And so they did not kill me, the
trail, and I saw again the light of the black monks of Erlik. They preferred a
424 TALES

jest—a delicious jest, from their point of Richard Brent. To all appearances this
view. Merely to kill me would be too figure was human—the figure of a tall,
kind; they thought it more humorous to spare man in dark, close-fitting garments,
play with me awhile, as cats do with a with a sort of cape hanging from his lean,
mouse, and then send me back into the wide shoulders. But at the sight a strange
world with a mark I could never erase— trembling took hold of me, and I recog¬
the brand of the hound. That’s what nized at last the dread I had felt since I
they call it. And they did their job well, first glimpsed that gaunt form on the
indeed. None knows better than they shadowy trail above the body of poor Jim
how to titer a man. Black magic? Bah! Tike. There was something unnatural
Those devils are the greatest scientists in about the figure, something not apparent
the world. What little the Western as he stood there with his back to me, yet
world knows about science has leaked out an unmistakable suggestion of abnor¬
in little trickles from those black moun¬ mality; and my feelings were the dread
tains. and loathing that normal men naturally
Those devils could conquer the world, feel toward the abnormal.
if they wanted to. They know things “They made me the horror I am today,
that no modem even dares to guess. and then drove me forth,” he was yam¬
They know more about plastic surgery, mering in his horrible mouthing voice,
for instance, than all the scientists of the “But the change was not made in a day,
world put together. They understand or a month, or a year! They played with
glands, as no European or American me, as devils play with a screaming soul
understands them; they know how to re¬ on the white-hot grids of hell! Time and
tard or exercise them, so as to produce again I would have died, in spite of them,
certain results—God, what results! Look but I was upheld by the thought of ven¬
at me! Look, damn you, and go mad!” geance! Through the long black years,
I glided about the cabin until I reached shot red with torture and agony, I
a window, and peered through a crack dreamed of the day when I would pay the
in the shutter. debt I owed to you, Richard Brent, you
Richard Brent lay on a divan in a room spawn of Satan’s vilest gutter!
incongruously richly furnished for that "So at last the hunt began. When I
primitive setting. He was bound hand reached New York I sent you a photo¬
and foot; his face was livid and scarcely graph of my—my face, and a letter de¬
human. In his starting eyes was the look tailing what had happened—and what
of a man who has at last come face to would happen. You fool, did you think
.face with ultimate horror. Across the you could escape me? Do you think I
room from him the girl, Gloria, was would have warned you, if I were not
spread-eagled on a table, held helpless sure of my prey? I wanted you to suffer
with cords on her wrists and ankles. She with the knowledge of your doom; to live
was stark naked, her clothing lying in in terror, to flee and hide like a hunted
scatteeed confusion on the floor as if they wolf. You fled and I hunted you, from
had been brutally ripped from her. Her coast to coast. You did temporarily give
head was twisted about as she stared in me the slip when you came here, but it
wide-eyed horror at the tall figure which was inevitable that I should smell you
dominated the scene. out. When the black monks of Yahlgan
He stood with his back toward the gave me this" (his hand seemed to stab
window where I crouched, as he faced at his face, and Richard Brent cried out
 BLACK HOUND OF DEATH 425

slobber ingly), "they also instilled in my ley was able to stagger out of the cabin
nature something of the spirit of the beast and would quickly have regained his full
they copied. powers, if I had not come upon him and
"To kill you was not enough. I wished put him beyond power of harm.’’
to glut my vengeance to the last shudder¬
ing ounce. That is why I sent a telegram B rent lifted a moaning try. There was
to your niece, the one person in the world no intelligence in his eyes, only a
that you cared for. My plans worked out ghastly fear. Foam flew from his lips.
perfectly—with one exception. The ban¬ He was mad—mad as the fearful being
dages I have worn ever since I left Yahl- that posed and yammered in that room of
gan were displaced by a branch and I had horror. Only the girl, writhing pitifully
to kill the fool who was guiding me to on that ebony table, was sane. All else
your cabin. No man looks upon my face was madness and nightmare. And sud¬
and lives, except Tope Braxton who is denly complete delirium overcame Adam
more like an ape than a man, anyway. I Grimm, and the laboring monotones shat¬
fell in with him shortly after I was fired tered in a heart-stopping scream.
at by the man Garfield, and I took him "First the girl!” shrieked Adam
into my confidence, recognizing a valu¬ Grimm—or the thing that had been
able ally. He is too brutish to feel the Adam Grimm. "The girl—to be slain as
same horror at my appearance that the I have seen women slain in Mongolia—
other negro felt. He thinks I am a demon to be skinned alive, slowly—oh, so slow¬
of some sort, but so long as I am not hos¬ ly! She shall bleed to make you suffer,
tile toward him, he sees no reason why Richard Brent—suffer as I suffered in
he should not ally himself with me. black Yahlgan! She shall not die until
"It was fortunate I took him in, for it there is no longer an inch of skin left on
was he who struck down Garfield as he her body below her neck! Watch me flay
was returning. I would have already your beloved niece, Richard Brent!”
killed Garfield myself, but he was too I do not believe Richard Brent compre¬
strong, too handy with his gun. You hended. He was beyond understanding
might have learned a lesson from these anything. He yammered gibberish, toss¬
people, Richard Brent. They live hardily ing his head from side to side, spattering
and violently, and they are tough and foam from his livid, working lips. I was
dangerous as timber wolves. But you— lifting a revolver, but just then Adam
you are soft and over-civilized. You will Grimm whirled, and the sight of his face
die far too easily. I wish you were as froze me into paralysis. What unguessed
hard as Garfield was. I would like to masters of nameless science dwell in the
keep you alive for days, to suffer. black towers of Yahlgan I dare not
"I gave Garfield a chance to get away, dream, but surely black sorcery from the
but the fool came back and had to be pits of hell went into the remolding of
dealt with. That bomb I threw through that countenance.
the window would have had little effect Ears, forehead and eyes were those of
upon him. It contained one of the chem¬ an ordinary man; but the nose, mouth
ical secrets I managed to learn in Mon¬ and jaws were such as men have not even
golia, but it is effective only in relation to imagined in nightmares. I find myself un¬
the bodily strength of the victim. It was able to find adequate descriptive phrases.
enough to knock out a girl and a soft, They were hideously elongated, like the
pampered degenerate like you. But Ash¬ muzzle of an animal. There was no chinj
42 6 WEIRD TALES

upper and lower jaws jutted like the jaws That should have halted it, should
of a hound or a wolf, and the teeth, bared have crashed it down dead on the floor.
by the snarling bestial lips, were gleam¬ But Adam Grimm plunged on, heedless
ing fangs. How those jaws managed to of the slugs ripping into him. His vital¬
frame human words I cannot guess. ity was more than human, more than bes¬
But the change was deeper than super¬ tial; there was something demoniac about
ficial appearance. In his eyes, which him, invoked by the black arts that made
blazed like coals of hell’s fire, was a glare him what he was. No natural creature
that never shone from any human’s eyes,
could have crossed that room under that
sane or mad. When the black devil-
raking hail of close-range lead. At that
monks of Yahlgan altered Adam
distance I could not miss. He reeled at
Grimm’s face, they wrought a corre¬
each impact, but he did not fall until T
sponding change in his soul. He was no
had smashed home the sixth bullet. Then
longer a human being; he was a veritable
he crawled on, beast-like, on hands and
werewolf, as terrible as any in medieval
knees, froth and blood dripping from his
legend.
The thing that had been Adam Grimm grinning jaws. Panic swept me. Fran¬
rushed toward the girl, a curved skin- tically I snatched the second gun and
ning-knife gleaming in his hand, and I emptied it into that body that writhed
shook myself out of my daze of horror, painfully onward, spattering blood at ev¬
and fired through the hole in the shutter. ery movement. But all hell could not
My aim was unerring; I saw the cape jerk keep Adam Grimm from his prey, and
to the impact of the slug, and at the crash death itself shrank from the ghastly de¬
of the shot the monster staggered and the termination in that once-human soul.
knife fell from his hand. Then, instantly, With twelve bullets in him, literally
he whirled and dashed back across the shot to pieces, his brains oozing from a
room toward Richard Brent. With light¬
great hole in his temple, Adam Grimm
ning comprehension he realized what had
reached the man on the divan. The mis¬
happened, knew he could take only one
shapen head dipped; a scream gurgled in
victim with him, and made his choice in¬
Richard Brent’s throat as the hideous jaws
stantly.
locked. For a mad instant those two
I do not believe that I can logically be
frightful visages seemed to melt together,
blamed for what happened. I might have
to my horrified sight—the mad human
smashed that shutter, leaped into the
and the mad inhuman. Then with a wild-
room and grappled with the thing that
the monks of Inner Mongolia had made beast gesture, Grimm threw up his head,
of Adam Grimm. But so swiftly did the ripping out his enemy’s jugular, and blood
monster move that Richard Brent would deluged both figures. Grimm lifted his
have died anyway before I could have head, with his dripping fangs and bloody
burst into the room. I did what seemed muzzle, and his lips writhed back in a
the only obvious thing—I poured lead last peal of ghastly laughter that choked
through the window into that loping hor¬ in a rush of blood, as he crumpled and
ror as it crossed the room. lay still.
 developed

Vhe
Grawling Horror
By THORP McCLUSKY

A grim tale of the weird terror that wrought death

and panic at Brubaker Farm

I AM about to set down on paper a

sequence of indisputable happen¬
mony of unimpeachable and trustworthy
witnesses.
ings. At some of the incidents I was I am a country physician, having prac¬
personally present, and the story of the tised in this single village all my life, as,
others has come to me through the testi¬ indeed, my father did before me. The
427.
428 WEIRD TALES

people here are farmers, mostly of Dutch go plop every once in a while, listened to
or German descent, with a few Poles and the squeaking and running in the walls
Lithuanians. that seemed, somehow, scared. The idea
About two miles beyond the village got into my head that the big one was a
Hans Ludwig Brubaker had his farm. killer. He was, too, there’s not a doubt
The farm is still there, and it is worked of it Whenever he was in one place the
by relatives, but Hans has gone. No one rest were elsewhere; the mice began to
definitely knows where, or what, he is. desert the house for the barn. My cats
We can only guess. got quite a number of them that way.
Hans lived there alone. His mother, "Along about then a strange thing
who outlived Brubaker, senior, died in happened. One day I noticed a strange
1929 or 1930, and Hans was left by him¬ cat hanging around; white, she was, and
self. The village naturally assumed that pretty. She stayed around die porch while
he would presently marry. But, for some I was feeding my own cats, and I tried to
obscure reason, he did not, although he pet her and feed her, but she wouldn’t
showed a decided preference for one come near me and she wouldn’t eat—
young woman. seemed interested only in Peter, a big
Now there is no way of definitely tiger-cat of mine.
knowing just when the strange progres¬ “Well, that was natural, even if it did
sion of events, at first of seeming unim¬ seem funny that she wouldn’t eat. Peter
portance, began. But, with the whole watched her some, and that night he
story complete, although I cannot say stayed out.
when it began, I can tell how it began. "He never came back. And I never
I know that, during the first months, heard the big rat, from that night on, in
Hans did not suspect anything out of the the walls again.
ordinary. Obviously he misunderstood, "You know how cats are around a
and so ignored, the small beginnings farm—they earn their keep, and they’re
which led slowly, step by step, toward good company. I always had seven or
horror. He told me, possibly three eight, sometimes as many as a dozen of
months ago, how it had begun. them. And my cats began to disappear,
*'I thought the rats were fighting, at one by one. In two weeks there were
first,” he explained, with the uneasy, only a couple left.
deprecatory laugh of the person who does "I couldn’t understand it; I remember
not expect to be believed. "There was a that I began to think somebody was poi¬
powerful lot of rats about the place; the soning them. The two that were left
cats kept them down somewhat, but there looked sick and scared, too, as if they
always seemed to be more growing up, knew something was wrong, and then,
scratching and squeaking in the walls. one day, they went away, and never came
"But the idea of their fighting; I re¬ back.
member thinking that there must be one "Even then I didn’t have any suspi¬
awful big fellow in there somewhere. I cions that came near the truth, and for
could hear him scuffle, and then—plop! quite a while after that I didn’t notice
—down he’d come off a crossbeam be¬ anything.
tween the walls, soft and heavy-like. "But it began again. This night was
"And the cats heard him, too. I colder, I remember. It must have been
watched them for a few weeks, snooping around the first of November. I had a
around, excited-like, heard that big fellow chunk fire going. It was evening, and I
 THE CRAWLING HORROR 429

was sitting with my feet in the oven. My I began to be scared. I turned to look,
shoes were on the floor on the left side and God knows what I expected to see—
of the chair, a big Morris chair that’s in certainly nothing like what was there.
the kitchen—the fire was nice and warm, "It was a slimy sort of stuff, transpar¬
the doors were all shut, and I was smok- ent-looking, without any shape to it. It
ing my pipe. looked as though if you picked it up it
would drip right through your fingers.
he house was still as death; one of And it was alive—I don’t know how I
my two collie dogs was outside knew that, but I was sure of it even before
somewhere, and the other one. Nan, was I looked. It was alive, and a sort of shape¬
lying dose to the stove at my right, a less arm of it lay across the dog’s back
foot or so from my chair, soaking in the and covered her head. She didn’t move.
warmth, sleeping. It must have been "I guess I yelled then, Doctor Kurt,
about half past nine; it certainly wasn’t and I jumped out of the chair and
later than that. reached for the poker. That slimy thing
"I enjoy that last hour or so before I hadn’t moved, but I knew that if it
get into bed; everything is done for the wanted to it could move like lightning.
day and I can lie back and rest and think. It was heavy-looking, too; I remember
I had everything arranged for solid com¬ thinking that it must have weighed about
fort, the chair-back was set just right, fifty pounds.
and my pipe was going good. "I hit at the thing with a poker, and
"Looking back, now, and trying to re¬ quick as thought the whole mess started
member, I must have dozed off for a few sliding across the floor, stretching out as
minutes. I forget whether I put my pipe worms do, oozing under the crack be¬
out or not—maybe it just hung loose in neath the door that leads onto the porch.
my left hand and went out of itself; any¬ Before I knew it the thing was gone.
way, I found it on the floor beside the "I looked at Nan. She hadn’t moved,
stove, afterward. Yes, I was probably and she seemed asleep. I shook her until
just sleeping, with the pipe dangling in she opened her eyes. And her eyes looked
my hand. dead. . . .
"My right arm was hanging from the ’’Well, Doctor Kurt, you’ll believe me
chair arm, limp-like, and as I began to when I tell you that I didn’t sleep that
come out of that little snooze I reached night. I caught myself listening for
down to stroke the dog. But as I came noises, not that I knew what to listen for,
wide awake I realized that there was except the sound of that thing sliding
something queer about that thing under back into the house again; for I remem¬
my hand, beside my chair. bered that it could go through a crack!
"It didn’t feel like a dog’s back. It If I looked once around that kitchen, ev¬
was the right distance from the floor, erywhere, I looked a hundred times.
but it was slippery, and there wasn’t any "Peg didn’t come back all night. That
hair on it. My hand kept moving, but was strange, because she usually stayed
fight off I knew that, whatever I was right around close. It was just as though
petting, it wasn’t any dog. I had the she was afraid.
idea that if I pressed my hand down I "As it was just getting light Peg came
could push my fingers right into it. up on the porch. I was glad to hear her,
"All this took a lot less time than in and I let her in quick. Then she saw
the telling—maybe three or four seconds. Nan,
430 WEIRD TALES

"She made a funny sort of howling Kurt, because it didn’t come when I
noise, and her ears dropped flat against whistled.
her head. Then she went for Nan, "Two or three times that week I saw
Froth was beginning to run from her that dog that looked like Nan and that
mouth—it was just as though, although wasn't Nan hanging around, and each
she was trying to kill Nan, she was time she looked thinner and weaker. And
deathly afraid. It wasn’t pretty to see. then, after a few days, I didn’t see her
"Nan didn’t fight back. She just lay any more. She had just gone away.
there, as though she didn’t see what it
was, as though she didn’t know enough “17 OR two weeks nothing happened.
to try to fight, or run. If I hadn’t dragged -T Then, one day, I spotted a strange
Peg off. Nan would have been dead in dog, a big dog, hanging around. And
another minute. And even after I had that night Peg vanished. She never came
put Peg outdoors Nan didn’t move much; back.
she just shuddered a little, and she didn’t "You can see how it was, Doctor Kurt?
even lick at the places where the blood I began to see a sort of pattern to it.
was running down. First the mice, then the cats, then the
”1 had to shoot her, then. It made me dogs. I got to wondering if it would get
sick to do it. Then I dragged her out the cattle next, or maybe the people.”
off the back porch and went to the bam Abruptly, Hans paused. I think that,
to do the milking. I didn’t eat any break¬ then, I carried it off perfectly. I did not
fast. I felt sick to the stomach. utter a word, but merely waited impas¬
"After I had finished the chores around sively. Whatever I did, or omitted to do,
the bam I got a shovel and went back to it gave Hans confidence, for after a mo¬
the house. ment he went on.
''Nan’s body was gone. There wasn’t "Doctor Kurt, as sure as I’m sitting
a sign of her—not a bone or a patch of here, it’s gone from animals to humans!”
hair—nothing but a clean scuffed place "Humans?” I asked.
in the grass. At first I thought I might Hans nodded. "It’s happened,” he said
have made a mistake; maybe I had left softly. "One afternoon, three weeks ago,
her around the other side of the house. I was standing in the yard—you know
But I went around to the front porch, that along about then we were having
and Nan was nowhere. stiff frosts every morning and night? I
"The funny thing. Doctor Kurt, is that saw this strange boy coming down the
somehow I knew that it would happen road.
just like it did. "He wasn’t more than twelve or thii>
"I didn’t say anything to anybody, teen years old, and he was wearing odds
then. I just watched, and waited. And and ends of clothes that looked as though
a few weeks later I saw the dog that he had picked them up anywhere. I
looked like Nan, Doctor Kurt. It was looked at him, and right away I knew
Nan, yet it wasn't. I saw her hanging that he was a runaway.
around the barnyard, and I whistled to "The kid as he walked along kept look¬
her, absent-minded, and then I remem¬ ing at the house as if he had half a mind
bered that Nan was dead. But it looked to stop. But he didn’t stop, just went on
like Nan, and I knew that it was waiting past, slowly, looking back from time to
for Peg to come out. time. I went down the driveway, and I
"I knew that it wasn’t Nan, Doctor almost called out to him, but I didn’t,
 THE CRAWLING HORROR 4JII

It was as if something inside me said, tomorrow. I’ll have thought it over bjr
'Don’t call—that thing you see there isn’t then.”
a boy, it’s Death in the shape of a boy.’
That’s what I seemed to think. Doctor 2
Kurt; I was scared, and ashamed, too. I
was so ashamed that I went right down
to the road with the idea of yelling at
T hat night I sat up late, pondering
the story Hans had told me. Per¬
the boy. Then I happened to look down haps, at that time, 1 almost believed
at my feet. him. And in the morning, as I had ex¬
"You know I told you that there had pected, he returned.
been a frost, Doctor Kurt? It was cold It all looked much more impossible in
enough all night to form good solid ice. the bright light of mid-morning than it
And there had been a thaw for a couple had looked the evening before. I grasped
of days beforehand. Well, that slushy at the idea that, although something ex¬
stuff in the road had frozen, not hard tremely strange might be going on, yet
enough to hold a horse or a cow, but the explanation might come, presently, of
plenty hard enough to hold a fairly heavy itself, in a purely matter-of-fact manner.
man, because when I walked on it it In effect, that is what I told Brubaker.
didn’t crack or break except once in ev¬ Hans went away disappointed, almost
ery five or six steps. But where that kid angry. And not more than twenty min¬
had walked, the ice was broken at every utes after he left my office, Hilda Lang
step—and he looked to weigh not more came in. She seemed extraordinarily per¬
than half what I do! turbed.
"I looked at those tracks in the frozen "Doctor Kurt,” she began abruptly,
slush, Doctor Kurt, and then I turned "do you think that Hans is crazy?”
around and walked to the house. I knew "Why do you ask?” I returned. Talk¬
then that the thing had come back. Maybe ing with her was different from talk¬
my house is home to it; maybe, because ing with Hans. She was a beautiful
it began in my house, it likes to come young woman, tall, long-waisted, slender-
back. limbed, with fair blue eyes and yellow
"I wanted to tell, then. But I didn’t hair and a gloriously clear skin. There
dare; I was afraid people would laugh. was something imperiously demanding
But I’m going to tell now, because two about her that disturbed me.
days ago the Peterson kid disappeared, She looked at me. Then she made a
and he hasn’t come back. And what’s curious, impatient gesture. "Oh, don’t
more, he’ll never come back! He’s part pretend. You know that Hans came to
of that thing that began in my walls, you yesterday with a story. He has told
with the rats.” me the same things that he told you. Doc¬
Hans stopped speaking. I knew that tor Kurt—you know about—all this. Do
there was nothing more for him to tell. you think he is crazy?”
The room was oddly silent. Presently he I shook my head. "Don’t worry on
asked, "What can be done about it?” that account, Hilda. Hans is not crazy.
I didn’t know what to say. But I felt He may be fooled, he may even be fool¬
that I should say something, should try, ing himself; but he is sane.”
at least, to quiet the man’s nerves. Hilda sighed in relief. "Thank God
"Go home,” I advised at last, gently. for that. I was worried.” Then, as a
"Get a good night’s sleep, and come back sudden, new thought struck her, she
432 WEIRD TALES

leaned forward tensely. "But if he is sane turned down the rutted road that led to
his story is true!” the Brubaker farm. It was abysmally
She paused. I said nothing. dark, but it was not cold. I remember
"I’m going to marry him,” she said ab¬ thinking that it might snow before morn¬
ruptly. "He’s been afraid of this thing ing. Long before I reached the Bru¬
long enough. If there’s nothing to it, it bakers’ I could see two tiny yellow lights
shouldn’t keep us apart. And if he’s in at the back of the house, the kitchen and
danger, two people in that lonely house the back bedroom. I drove past the house
are better than one.” a hundred yards, parked the car alongside
I waited a long time, while the room the road, and returned to the house on
hung silent, before I replied. "You be¬ foot.
lieve in this danger, then?” I asked. I did not look at my watch; so I do not
"Yes, I believe in it. As I believe in know how long I stood outside in the
Hans, I believe in it.” driveway. Waiting like that seems in¬
And, in a little while, she went away. terminable, I know. And, obviously, I

F or the rest of the week I went about

could not come in until Hilda was asleep.
At last both lights were put out, almost
my usual routine. Hans, of course,
simultaneously, and in a few minutes, as
did not come back. But I learned that he
I had expected, the light in the kitchen
suddenly married Hilda, and that they
flared up again. I walked softly to the
were living at the Brubaker farm. A day
rear door and knocked.
or two later I drove out to see them.
Hans let me in immediately. I stepped
Hans was working about the back of
into the kitchen, my eyes slightly dazzled
the house as I drove into the yard. He
by the brilliance within, and it was not
straightened slowly, put down the tools
until I had been comfortably seated be¬
from his hands, and walked over to the
side the table that I noticed, with a start,
car. He looked tired, as though he had
what Hans was doing.
not been sleeping well.
Shutting off the motor, I climbed from He was sealing the bedroom door off
from the kitchen with wax, making the
the car. Then, while I was close to him,
passageway between the two rooms her¬
Hans whispered hoarsely, "There is dan¬
ger here. Doctor Kurt—I can feel it. I metically tight! He worked with the ra¬

watch every night. Doctor. I have seen pidity of one who does a task he has per¬
formed before. Presently he had sealed
things that I haven’t told her about. I
the doorway in its entirety. Then he put
can’t tell her. I want to sell the place
and go away, where it’s safe. But Hilda the remaining mass of wax in a piece of
brown paper and carefully hid it away
laughs—she hasn’t seen the tilings I’ve
seen.” behind the woodbox in the corner. He

"Just what have you seen?” I asked. came across the room and sat down close
He looked at me eagerly. "Come to beside me. We talked in whispers.

the house, tonight, after Hilda has gone "I’m learning, all the time, what the
to bed,” he whispered. thing can do,” he told me. "It came back
I nodded. Then we were at the kitchen three days ago. But I’m tired, tired to
door and there was Hilda, smiling, beau¬ death. I haven’t slept.”
tiful in her tall, strong fairness, welcom¬ I looked at him, at the reddish, blood¬
ing me to her home. . . . shot color of his eyes, at his sunken
That night, at eleven o’clock, I re¬ cheeks,
W. T.—3
 THE CRAWLING HORROR 43J

"Why don’t you sleep now?” I sug¬ falling steadily. I waited, perhaps five
gested. "I’ll watch.” minutes. And still that terrible awareness
He looked at me eagerly. "You’re of some horrible force overhanging, im¬
safe. It can’t come in unless you’re pending, persisted. Then I threw the
asleep, or unless you invite it in. I’ve door wide, and stepped out upon the
learned that. But if anything happens, back porch. But nothing was there.
wake me!” I turned back into the kitchen. And
I nodded. "It’ll be all right. Don’t then I saw, fleetingly, something move at
worry.” the kitchen window.
Exhausted, he lay back and closed his The window was beyond the table, be¬
eyes. He fell asleep almost at once. yond the light, beyond Hans’ sleeping
Outside it had begun to snow, and the figure. It was grayish with the constant
soft, heavy flakes made a steady rustling touching of fingers of snow. And it
against the window. I looked out curi¬ seemed to me that, for a second, I saw
ously; I noticed that the window had been something slipping down the window-
nailed shut and the crevices stuffed with pane, something that clung to the pane
putty and painted over. I went outside like a colorless jelly, almost like a wave
impulsively and looked at the bedroom of watery foam, almost like a nothing¬
windows. They too were nailed and put¬ ness that moved heavily down the win¬
tied tight, and I saw that the whole back dow-pane and disappeared below the sill*
end of the house had been freshly The glimpse, or vision, whatever it
painted. was, was fragmentary. I remember that
"He’s got those two rooms airtight and I thought, even as I crossed the floor to¬
watertight, all right,” I thought. ward the window to look out, that it
Back in the kitchen again, I remem¬ might well be illusion. But when I
bered, uneasily, that I was supposed to reached the window I paused stock-still,
be on watch. But nothing had happened. pondering.
Hans still slept, the Are still burned The snow had been wiped cleanly from
softly, the snow drifted and fell away the sill, better than it could have been
from the blade window-pane. done with a broom. And I realized that
And then, abruptly as a flash of light¬ here at last was evidence, physical evi¬
ning striking into the room, the whole dence, that something had been pressed
calmness with which I had surrounded down upon the sill, a few moments ago,
myself, my whole sense of security, van¬ for I could yet count the flakes as they
ished as though it had never been. Not fell thickly upon the still bare wood.
that there was any physical happening. My lips moving unconsciously while I
There was nothing, in that sense. But uttered soundless words, I stood there,
there was a sudden, sweeping realization watching the snow fall rustling upon the
that some mighty, malignant force had sill until the wood was again unbrokenly
turned its whole attention upon the sheathed with white. Something had
house. swept that snow away!
I went outdoors again, and stood again
I sat up sharply and walked to the outside the window in the snow. I looked
door, where I stood listening. There down, and at my feet the snow had been
was no sound from outside, and the snow, packed down. And, leading away from
I could see out of the corner of my eye the house for a short distance, I saw a
as I half glanced at the window, was still sharply marked track, like the trail that
W. T.—4
434 WEIRD TALES

might be made by rolling a large ball. up beside the house, and a farmer came
And beyond the rectangle of light that in, a man named Brandt, who lived near
the window loosed into the snow-ridden by. He shook his head when Hans asked
gloom, that track became a trail of human him to sit down.
footprints! "My Bertha!” he stammered eagerly;
Then my courage deserted me. Only "have you seen anything of her?”
one thought remained in my mind, to get I felt a tingle of fear.
back into that house as fast as I could. I "She’s gone! She’s run away—she’s
got back into the kitchen at once. been going around too much with that
Hans was awake. The cold air from Irish Catholic, Fagan. I put my foot
the open door had roused him. He looked down. 'I’ll run away, papa!’ she told me.
at me, at first uncomprehendingly, then And now she’s done it. She’s gone. Did
alertly, and I saw that he knew, pretty she walk to town? Two miles?”
well, what had happened. He sat up, "It’s a bad night out,” Hilda said
stretching muscles stiff from sleeping half doubtfully.
erect in a chair. "I think that if you inquire at the
"Did someone come to the door?" he houses along the road you’ll probably
asked. find her,” I said.
I shook my head, pointing to the win¬ Presently the man went out. "Do you
dow. "There was a sort of gray fog think it was—that?” Hans asked, when
against the window. It lasted only a mo¬ he had gone.
ment. I went outside. There are tracks I shook my head. It was perfectly
in the snow.” plain what had happened.
Hans looked at me queerly. "Tracks We began to play pinochle. And noth¬
like nothing on earth, or human tracks?” ing out of the ordinary occurred. The
My voice was harsh and high-pitched malignant influence seemed to have de¬
as I answered, "Trades like—both!” parted the vicinity, the house seemed

A s the day slowly lightened, Hans

more than usually cozy and peaceful, and
from time to time I caught myself won¬
k. stripped the molding of wax from dering if, after all, I might not be acting
the bedroom door, shaped it between his like a fool.
hands, and affixed it to the lump behind
the woodbox. I left the house before 3
Hilda awoke, and returned to the village.
At twilight I drove my car again into
T he next night also, nothing hap¬
pened. Hans, with his first-hand
the Brubaker yard, and walked to the
knowledge of the thing, suggested that
house, grayish, apprehensive-seeming in
it had "fed” elsewhere, and that there
the falling darkness. Entering the house
would be a quiescent period. And, feel¬
1 realized at once that Hans had told
ing that I was neglecting my practise, I
Hilda everything. Stamped on the faces
stayed away from the farm for a few
and engraved in the speech of both man
days. But, late Saturday afternoon, I
and wife was a determination to fight the
found a note from Hans.
thing that threatened their home.
Hilda—brave girl!—brought out a pi- "It has come back,” he had written.
noche deck. But before we could sit After supper I took my car and drove
down to play there came an interruption. out to Brubaker Farm. There had been
A car turned into the driveway, pulled a heavy thaw which had held on for sev-
 THE CRAWLING HORROR *35

eral days; the roads were mere ribbons ness, restrained the tiling until, as its
of mud and dirty ice. physical substance slowly died, so was its
Both husband and wife looked inhu¬ spirit rendered homeless.
manly tired. I noticed that Hans had not "Now we know that this entity is
shaved for two or three days. strongly attracted to this particular vicin¬
"We didn't want to trouble you,” he ity. In the course of time it will find a
told me. "We’ve slept a little, in the day¬ permanent place where it can sleep, a
time, taking turns. But even in the day barrel, perhaps, or a cistern, or an old
we can feel the thing near the house. trunk, or even a casket, if there’s such a
And we’re deathly tired." thing available. And, if we can find
“Sit quietly and don’t speak,” Hilda that hiding-place and, while the thing
said softly, "and you will feel it” is within, seal its receptacle hermetically
I sat as she had asked, and, striking tight, we will have beaten it.
inward at me, I could sense the same "There is yet another way to beat the
crawling horror that I had known before. thing, Hans. That way is for someone
I looked at the others. to invite it to absorb him, if it can. The
"Yes, I can feel it. But Hans—Hilda entity will try, Hans, for it knows noth¬
—you’re utterly exhausted. Lie down ing of fear. Then, if the man’s will is
now and rest. I’ll watch.” greater, the man will win. Otherwise the
Hans nodded eagerly toward Hilda. thing will absorb him, continue to grow,
"Lie down and try to sleep, darling. and he will cease to exist.”
Doctor Kurt will sit up with me. It will Hans’ eyes were closed. But when
be safe.” I stopped speaking he roused him¬
Hilda stood up uncertainly and went self enough to mutter, “I’m—falling—
into the bedroom. I poured out half a asleep.” Then his head drooped for¬
tumblerful of brandy, diluted it with wa¬ ward heavily.
ter, and made Hans drain the glass. The Leisurely, I opened a book, and began
liquor seemed to strengthen him, and I to read. A night of wakefulness lay
talked. ahead.
"We can beat this thing in two ways, The hours slipped slowly by. I could
Hans. We know that: it is a mass of dead- hear Hilda, through the half-opened bed¬
alive cells controlled by a deathless ma¬ room door, breathing slowly and deeply,
lign entity. The Slavic peoples had the Hans, beside me, snored irregularly.
right idea when they, as they thought, It was close to three when I heard foot¬
trapped vampires in their coffins, drove steps sloshing up the driveway, passing
stakes through their hearts, and sealed around behind the house, hesitating,
the coffins. What they did not truly real¬ slowly ascending the steps. Then a knock.
ize was the nature of the being they com¬ Looking back now I think that, at that
bated. Because the thing is half physical moment, I was horribly afraid, even
it has, to an extent, physical limitations. though a revolver lay on the table and I
It must sleep. And what, in effect, those certainly had no lurking fear that the
old-timers did was to catch their vampire thing would walk up to the house like
asleep and seal it in a box which, fortu¬ that.
nately, happened to be strong enough to My body chilled with fear, I opened
resist its physical strength. The stake the door. And then I exclaimed with re¬
through the heart meant nothing. It was lief, for, outside on the porch, bedraggled
the airtight, solid coffin that did the busi¬ with mud and slush, stood eighteen-year-
436 WEIRD TALES

old Bertha Brandt. She wore a shapeless, swered from the bedroom. "Here, Doc¬
dirty, impressed coat. When she saw me tor Kurt. I’m so tired!”
she shrank back away from the door. "Come and get your coffee. Then you
"Bertha, you poor kid! Come in, and can lie down and rest. What you need
dry out those wringing wet clothes and now is food.”
tell me what’s wrong.” "I know,” she answered slowly. "But
I noticed that she looked curiously at I’m so tired. And you said that 'in a min¬
Hans. ute’ I could lie down with Hilda. It’s
"There’s been sickness,” I explained, been a minute.”
hurriedly. "Nothing serious—Hans has Just like a child! But I was impa¬
been up two or three nights.” I looked at tient. "You mustn’t lie on Hilda’s bed
her squarely. "So you’re back!” while you're all dirty. You’ll have to
She glanced at me timidly. "You know, wash first.”
then, that I ran away?” There was a little pause. Then the
"Yes, I knew—but here, sit down by voice answered, still softly, "Hilda won’t
the fire. There, take off your coat.” mind. Hilda’s asleep. Hilda’s sound
Suddenly, for some unaccountable rea¬ asleep.”
son, I remembered why I was at Bru¬ I went to the doorway and stood there
baker’s at three o’clock in the morning; uncertainly, half in gloom, half in bright¬
I remembered all that Hans had told me ness. I could see the figures of the two
about the strange white cat, about the dog women lying on the bed, close against
that looked like Nan, about the boy who each other—almost, my imagination told
had wandered down the road. ... I me, melting together.
laughed, then, at the silliness of it. "Come, Bertha,” I said mildly. "You’re
dirtying Hilda’s bed.”
"This is Bertha, all right,” I told my¬
There was no answer. As my eyes be¬
self. "She’s the same girl she always was,
came more accustomed to the dimness I
fight as rain, except that she’s a little
could see that, there on the bed, there
tired.”
were no longer two women. The two
And, almost aping my thought, Bertha
bodies were pressing together like ghastly
said, "Could I lie down beside Hilda? I
Siamese twins, dissolving together into
daren’t go home tonight ... I daren’t!”
one.
I was pottering around the stove with My heart, in that instant, froze like a
my back turned toward the girl, trying to lump of ice. Somehow, my whole body
warm over some coffee. "Lie down be¬
trembling horribly, I leaped across the
side Hilda?” I said absently. "In a min¬ half-darkened room, knelt on the bed and
ute ... in a minute.” dug frenzied fingers into the thing that

I went to the comer cupboard and

had looked like Bertha and that was now
easing the sleeping woman, dissolving
found a cup and saucer. Then I poured her as might a powerful acid.
out the coffee, doctored it plentifully with My fingers, beneath the muddy, tat¬
milk and sugar, and turned back to Ber¬
tered garments, sank deep, not into the
tha. She was not in the room. firm flesh of a living girl, but into a yield¬
"Bertha?” I called, softly. ing mass of protoplasmic slime!
The crawling, cold sensation had be¬ Then I screamed. And, as I fought
gun again at the base of my spine. To and tore at the flaccid, jelly-like mess I
my inexpressible relief her voice an¬ screamed again and again without pause.
 THE CRAWLING HORROR 437

like a madman, without hearing my own Then, abruptly, Hans stood up. His face
voice, knowing only, from the tautness was ghastly white, like the face of a dead
of my throat and the beating of my man. Without a backward glance he left
breath, that I shrieked. the corpse, with that awful thing still
It was like trying to grasp something crawling over it, and went out of the
that would not be grasped. The stuff, room into the kitchen. And there I saw
beneath the garments, ran like water in a him take a pat of wax from the woodbox,
bag. And I saw that the thing was slow¬ heat it over the stove, and methodically;
ly giving up pretense of human shape. seal the crevices in the kitchen door, lead¬
The face was changing—the hands and ing out onto the porch.
arms and the contours of the body were When he had finished he nodded grim¬
dissolving. And, in the last second before ly at me, made a wide gesture that in¬
it melted into shapeless slime, from that cluded kitchen and bedroom.
vanishing mouth came Bertha Brandt’s "A coffin, Doctor Kurt,” he said slow¬
voice, crying, "1 didn’t do it, Doctor ly. "I have made a coffin of these rooms,
Kurt! I didn’t!” and sealed the thing in it. When it is
Then the thing was only a mass of slime it cannot escape. And when it is
jelly, still clinging like some loathsome, in the shape of a human being we can
colorless leech to Hilda’s back and shoul¬ fight it, so that it cannot unlock the
ders. My body shrinking, I crawled over door.”
it and through it, seized Hilda’s arms, Then he went back into the bedroom.
and pulled her off the bed onto the floor. And, slowly, I followed.
And then I screamed again, for of We had been in the iktchen only a few
Hilda there was left only half a body; minutes, but in those minutes the horror
her spine lay bare, her ribs curved naked¬ had finished its ghastly work. Nothing
ly, her skull gaped, her entrails drooped remained of Hilda; only a bag of clothes
across the dingy carpet; it was like a lay there, limply. And, nestling in them,
slaughterhouse in hell. glistened a great mound of watery, jelly-
Suddenly the light streaming through like stuff, faintly quivering, alertly alive.
the doorway dimmed, and I saw Hans Then I saw that Hans had brought
standing there, the gun in his hand. I matches and strips of newspaper. As I
saw the spurting, red flames, and heard watched, he twisted the paper into spills,
the crash of firing. I saw the pulpy mass lit one, and plunged the flaming mass
on the bed jerk and shiver as each slug against the globule of colorless life on the
tore through it. Then there was silence, floor!
yet through the haze of smoke I saw the
mess of protoplasmic slime drip slowly
off the bed and slide across the floor to¬
T he mound of stuff quivered and
writhed, and slid swiftly across the
ward the horrible ruin that had once been floor. As it sought to escape, Hans, his
a woman. And on my hands and knees eyes intent, his stubbled jaws grim, fol¬
I tried to push it back, scooping at it as, lowed it about the room, always keeping
unconcernedly, the thing flowed across the blazing paper torches pressed against
the floor, between my fingers, and again the shrinking, unholy thing. The air was
fastened upon Hilda. becoming thick with rancid smoke, and
Hans was kneeling beside me. But we the odor of burning flesh filled the room.
couldn’t keep the thing away from the Stumbling, sobbing, together we at¬
dead woman—it wasn’t possible. tacked the horror. Here and there on the
438 WEIRD TALES

floor and carpet showed brown, charred that the fire was burning his fingers,;
smears. The thing’s silent, sliding at¬ "How can I know?”
tempts to escape were, somehow, more The thing smiled. "You can’t know,
terrible than if it had cried out in agony. Hans. But if you destroy me, Hilda suf¬
The smoke in the room had become a fers. Let me go!”
thick haze. Then Hans shook his head. "No. We
And then the thing seemed to gather will stay here until you starve, until you
purpose. It rolled swiftly across the bed¬ rot into nothingness.”
room floor, stopped upon the disheveled Came the inexorable reply, "As I
pile of clothes that Hilda had worn and, suffer, Hilda suffers. As I starve, she
as we paused to light fresh spills, it starves.”
changed. Hans looked at me, and I could see
It reared erect as a fountain might gush that he was nerving himself toward an
up. It put forth arms, developed breasts, incredibility. "Then, by heaven, Doctor
overspread itself with color. In the time Kurt, I will try the other way!"
that it might take to draw a long breath He looked at the entity, at the thing
the thing had vanished and a something that looked like Hilda.
that we knew to be that same ghastly en¬ "Come, Hilda,” he said simply. "If
tity, but that looked as Hilda had looked you are a prisoner in that thing before
in life, stood naked there amid the jum¬ me, hear me. I want to join you. I want
bled clothes. Swiftly the entity—for I can¬ to join you, and Bertha, and Nan, and
not call it by Hilda’s name—stooped and God only knows what other unfortunate
drew about itself the skirt and blouse. creatures with souls who have been over¬
Then, barefooted and stockingless, it come. But I do not surrender, and I can¬
walked into the kitchen. not be beaten by guile. Let the thing
Like a man awakening from drugged come and attempt to subdue me. And
slumber, Hans leaped before the door, help me, Hilda and Bertha and all the
held up a blazing spill. rest, help me.”
The thing spoke, and the voice was the He stood there before the door, his
voice of Hilda. "I want to go out, Hans.” arms extended, his body rigid. And then
It moved forward slightly. the horror that looked like Hilda slowly;
Hans, his features racked, almost un¬ moved forward, a smile on its lips, came
recognizable, thrust the blazing paper be¬ closer and closer to him, touched him,
fore him menacingly. "You’ll never was enfolded in his arms, lips touching
leave this house. We’re going to burn lips. And Hans’ strong arms flexed, and
you!” in turn it embraced him, a smile on its
The thing that looked and spoke like sweetly beautiful face. And as they stood
Hilda shook its head, and I gasped to see there, the man and the being whose very
the wavy, fine blond tresses undulate and nature remains an unanswerable ques¬
shimmer with the gesture. And it smiled. tion, I prayed as I have never prayed be¬
"Yob’II never bum me, Hans. I’m a fore, prayed that the good overcome the
prisoner, Hans. You want to destroy the evil.
thing that holds me, but you don’t want
to bum me to death, Hans. For as yet I F or minutes that seemed hours they
haven’t suffered, except from your fire. stood there, motionless. Treading
I’m Hilda, Hans!” softly, I moved a step forward, and I
Then Hans asked hoarsely, and I saw caught a glimpse of the thing’s eyes. And
 THE CRAWLING HORROR 439

I was comforted, for I seemed to read in and Bertha Brandt, and the Peterson boy.
them something of humanity that could So you must go to your home, and you
not have come to them through guile; I must say that you have been visiting me,
sensed that in truth those others who had and that I am insane. As for me, I will
been engulfed were fighting on the side leave a note and go away. And the peo¬
of the man. ple will believe that I am a murderer, and
And, as I watched, the horror seemed that I have run away.”
to become frailer and weaker, slowly at I bowed my head silently. He spoke
first, and then faster and faster, as, before the truth. He must go away. And the
my eyes, the semblance of Hilda faded world would believe him a butchering
into nothingness and only Hans re¬ maniac.
mained, holding tightly clasped in his For a long time he did not speak, but
arms a crumpled skirt and blouse. And stood there silently, his head sunk upon
even yet for long minutes Hans did not his breast, as he thought. Then, "I will
move, and I sensed that still some meta¬ walk to your car with you. I thank you—
morphosis went on, some change invisible we all thank you—for what you have
to human eyes. done. Probably I shall never see you
But at last Hans moved, and, looking again.”
at the bundle of clothes in his arms as He led me from the house. Then I
might an awakened sleeper, he stroked was sitting in the car, the motor running
them tenderly and put them gently down softly, while Hans stood there before me
on the table. in the damp snow. He extended his
At last he spoke to me, and his voice hand.
was the voice of the man I had known, "Good-bye!”
but immeasurably more beautiful, im¬
"Good-bye,” I said inanely.
measurably more strong.
And, while yet he stood there in the
"We worked together, we fought to¬
snow beside the house I drove away.
gether, Hilda and Bertha and those un¬
fortunate boys and Nan—and you, Doc¬
tor Kurt, too. And we have won.”
T hus it is that our village believes
that Hans murdered with blood¬
He walked across the floor to the cen¬
thirsty abandon and then, fearing detec¬
ter of the room, and I watched the stout
tion, mysteriously escaped.
boards give beneath his weight. "And
yet I can feel the thing inside me, like a I alone know the truth, and the truth
devilish flame that would eat me if it weighs heavily upon me. And so I have
could. It is in me, and I think that it begun to prepare a record of the true
cannot escape. I pray that it never over¬ happenings in the Brubaker case, and
come me and escape.” presently I shall see that this record is
Then he looked at me thoughtfully. brought before the proper authorities.
"In the eyes of the town, Doctor Kurt, Meanwhile I wonder: where, and
there is a mystery here. Hilda is gone, what, is Hans?
 an in Black
By PAUL ERNST

A vivid weird tale about a masquerade ball, and a grim figure clad in formal
black, who mingled with the dancers but did not dance

T HERE is a feeling of anonymity

about a masquerade ball that leads
your identity is hidden away. The facS
that unmasking time is always, just a short
to license. Your face is covered. period ahead is forgotten.
No oae knows who you are. You feel This feeling, plus the fact that the!
that y»H can do as you please because friends of Rex Carr were men and WQ“
 THE MAN IN BLACK 441

men who weren’t too prudish anyhow, pallor of his face. He was plainly under
was turning the masquerade party at a terrific strain.
Carr’s recently acquired home into some¬ "If I were a girl, and were here in
thing approaching an orgy. Rex Carr’s house in the circumstances
An air of feverish gayety prevailed. under which you’re here, I’d have the
Men in colorful costumes, with masks horrors too,” he said.
making their faces unrecognizable, were "It’s not altogether that,” Ruth re¬
a little drunk and more than a little in¬ plied. "I’m trying not to think of that
discreet. Women in costumes designed any more than I can help. It’s something
to enhance the perfection of their bodies else. There’s something dreadful about
laughed shrilly at advances they might this house. Matt.”
normally have repulsed. Cheeks were “There’s something obscene about giv¬
stained with hectic red, and talk was ing a masquerade ball in it so soon,''
loud and incessant. snapped Mattson Danforth. "Rex Carr
But near the French doors leading out is a murderer, dancing on Hugh Cun¬
onto the terrace there were two, a man ningham’s grave.”
and a girl, whose faces were pale and With fingers that shook a little, Ruth
whose voices were low and strained. put lipstick on lips that were all too
The girl was tall, slender but mature in pallid.
figure. She was dressed in a pirate’s cos¬ "Everybody knows Carr got this house,
tume whose slashed breeches and tom and all Cunningham’s other possessions,
silk blouse resulted in ivory revelations. through a business swindle that was as
She might as well not have been masked. crooked as it was legal. Carr double-
Her hair, the color of bright new copper, crossed Cunningham, who trusted him
was the kind not one woman in a hun¬ implicitly. He stripped Cunningham to
dred thousand possesses. It labeled her ids shirt, and laughed as he did it. Then
at once as Ruth Dana, daughter of Ralph Hugh killed himself, blew his brains
Dana, an independent coal mine owner. out. And I hear Carr laughed again when
The man with her was in a tramp’s tat¬ he heard that, and said that a man as
ters that could not destroy an impression trusting as Cunningham ought not to run
of innate immaculateness. He was around loose anyhow. And now Carr
a head taller than Ruth Dana, though has the brass to give a drunken party in
she was a tall girl; and had the rangy, Hugh’s house less than a month after
wiry lines of a thoroughbred animal— Hugjh’s death.”
which he was. For this was Mattson "He’ll hear you,” said Ruth, biting her
Danforth, whose family had been well lip.
bred and wealthy when Indians still "I hope he does. But he wouldn’t be
roamed in Massachusetts. hearing anything new. He knows how I
Ruth Dana shivered suddenly, though feel about the affair. And he certainly
the breeze coming in the French doors must know how I feel—about him and
was warm. you.”
‘Tve got the horrors. Matt," she said.
Her voice was low, throaty, musical. F or an instant the iron self-restraint
"I’d imagine you would have,’* Danforth was imposing on himself
nodded the man. almost cracked.
The black mask over his eyes and the "It’s almost impossible to believe the
high bridge of his nose accentuated the situation,” he said. “It's the kind of
'442 WEIRD TALES

thing you see on the stage of read in the Ruth shook her bright-copper head.
Old novels—never the kind of thing you "I haven’t the faintest idea. We can find
expect to happen. A man with the soul out at twelve when we all unmask. Shall
of a pirate, having grabbed everything we dance?”
else he wanted by sheer force, now sets "Join Carr in dancing on Hugh Cun¬
out to grab a wife. He sees you, maneu¬ ningham’s grave?” said Danforth. "I’d
vers your father into a position of busi¬ rather not. Come out to the terrace with
ness dependence before he ever meets me, darling. There’s much to say and not
you—then says you’ll marry him or see much time to say it in. For Til never
your father ruined as Hugh Cunningham dare to see you after you’re—married to
was ruined. It’s fantastic.” Carr. If I did, they’d be holding the
"But it seems to be true,” said Ruth, electrocution party after all."
gazing out at the terrace. The mask hid the drops that welled
"Yes,” said Danforth, "it—seems to from Ruth’s eyes and spilled over her
be—true.” long lashes as she walked out onto the
Sweat was beading his forehead above terrace with him.
the mask, but his lips smiled as genera¬
tions of breeding clamped down on his A t the entrance between reception
suffering. l hall and library, Rex Carr, host of
"You haven’t changed your mind the party, stood. He was watching a
about my killing him?” he said, lighting silent, tall figure dressed in a plain blade
a cigarette with thin, steely fingers that business suit. He frowned a little, and
did not shake. beckoned arrogantly to his butler, who
Ruth shook her head, hand at her was hurrying toward the library with a
throat. "For God’s sake-” great tray of drinks.
"I won’t, I guess,” said Danforth. The man came up to him, obedience in
"We talked it over pretty thoroughly, his stooped body, hate in his faded blue
and it wouldn’t be a practical solution. eyes.
I’d only drag us all through the papers, "Parke,” said Carr, nodding toward
and get myself electrocuted or put behind the black-clad figure, "who the devil is
bars for life, and you’d be even worse that?”
off than you’ll be as Carr’s wife—if that’s "I don’t know, sir,” said the butler.
possible-” "Oh, you don’t!” Carr’s voice was
He stopped, and stared. Ruth’s gaze loud enough for several people near by
followed his. He was looking at a man to hear. "Well, what do you think you’re
in a plain black suit whose only conces¬ paid for—to let strangers crash my par¬
sion to the spirit of the masquerade was ties?”
the standard mask worn over the upper "You looked over the invitations your¬
half of his face. The lower part of his self as they were presented at the door,
countenance was bluish, as though he sir,” said the butler expressionlessly.
were on the edge of needing a shave. "But I can’t be out watching the gar¬
"Who’s that?" said Danforth. "I’ve den hedge, or the front gate, can I?”
been watching him all evening. He rasped Carr. ”1 don’t like people here I
seems to be alone, though Carr never can’t recognize.”
invites any but couples, and as far as I "But there must be many here you
can see he hasn’t said a word to a soul can’t recognize with masks on, sir,” the
in the hour he has been here.” man pointed out the obvious,
 THE MAN IN BLACK 445

Cart’s muddy brown eyes glared red¬ Hugh Cunningham had spent much of
ly through the eye-holes of his mask. his leisure time; in which, indeed, he had
“When I want your ideas I’ll ask for shot himself when he realized that every
them, Parke! I’ve a damn good notion dollar he owned was now Carr’s.
to fire you." But Carr didn’t mind that. He was not
He stopped, and slowly a smile spread a nervous man. He wanted a room in
over his face. It was not a pleasant smile. which to talk to Ruth Dana alone.
“But you’d like to be fired, wouldn’t He closed the door behind him, and
you, Parke?” strode to the mantel above the tiny fire*
"Yes, sir,” said Parke. place. There was a picture there, a pic¬
"You hate me, and hate working for ture of Cunningham.
me, don’t you?” Carr stared at it with narrowed eyes.
The man’s knuckles whitened over the The picture was that of a man of forty
edge of the tray he was holding. or so, with a kindly, not very rugged
"Yes, sir,” he said expressionlessly. face. The artist might have made the
"But you wouldn’t care to quit or give face look stronger; but he had obviously
me poor service, would you, Parke?” Carr been commissioned to paint Cunningham
said almost affably. “Not as long as I as he was and not as he ought to be.
hold the mortgage on the little apartment There was even a mole the size of a dime
building that was to support you and on the jaw of the pictured face, just as
your wife in your old age—and as long there had been a mole on Cunningham’s
as you are four payments behind!" face in life.
Carr clasped his hands behind his back.
'Til have to take you down, old man,"1
It was an incongruous position. He was
Carr muttered, with a careless shrug.
clad in pirate’s rig, too. But the posture
“You don’t belong here any more-”
was hardly that of a pirate, nor was his
He turned quickly as he heard the
pudgy body.
door open. Then he smiled as ingra¬
“You get the best service out of people
tiatingly as he could.
whose throat you can cut at any time,”
Ruth Dana stood on the threshold,
he said genially. “It’s a lesson I learned
bright-copper hair like a banner in the
early. If you want something, get the
comparative dimness of the den.
whip hand over the man who owns it or
something else he holds equally valuable. “You wanted to see me?” she said, in
Then squeeze. The results are excel¬ a dead, dull voice.
lent. . . “Yes,” said Carr briskly. “Come in.
His mock geniality faded. Come in. Close the door behind you.
“You find out who the hell that man Tightly. That’s it. It lodes when it’s
in black is,” he ordered. “He looks like closed tightly. And we don’t want any¬
an undertaker. Then tell Miss Dana I one interrupting us, do we?”
want to speak to her." Ruth did not reply. Carr hurried over
“Here, sir?” said the butler. the implications of her silence.
"No, in the small den." “You look charming in that pirate’s
Carr walked across the hall from the costume, my dear. I asked you to wear
library, and toward the rear of the house. it to match my own costume, as you can
A door was there, closed. Carr took out see. Mr. and Mrs. Pirate!” He laughed
a key and unlocked it. He walked into breezily. “But what I called you—asked
the ten-by-ten, book-lined den in which you, I mean—here to talk about was that
A44 WEIRD TALES

Very thing. I’d like to announce our "Answer me!” snapped Carr. "Who
marriage date tonight, if I may.” are you? And how did you get in here?
"You’d announce it whether you may That door was locked.”
or not, wouldn’t you?” said Ruth. The man walked slowly toward Carr.
"Now, now, I’m not as impulsive as Ruth shuddered, for what reason she
/all that.” knew not. The figure in the black suit
"Announce it tonight, or any other Stopped beside Carr at the mantel.
time,” Ruth shrugged. "We might as His left hand, with the black ring on
iwell get it over with quickly.” it, went out. His forefinger touched a
"That’s not a very nice tone of voice raised spot in the scrollwork of the
to use,” said Carr plaintively. mantel.
"It’s the only tone you’ll ever hear Carr’s right hand was raised to clutch
from me,” Ruth said quietly. "You’re the man by the shoulder. But his hand
making me marry you to save my father. never descended. He gasped, and stared
You’re to give me as a wedding present with bulging eyes at the mantel.
the lien that you own on his mine. Busi¬ At the touch of the man’s finger, a con¬
ness, Mr. Carr. Business. I’m sure busi¬ cealed drawer had slid out. In the drawer
ness men don’t care about such things as was a gun—a .38 automatic. The man
tones of voice.” picked up the gun.
"By God,” Carr said thickly, "I’ve a "For God’s sake,” babbled Carr, "who
notion to squeeze your father till you are you? Are you going to shoot-”
■•sing another tune. But I won’t. I’ll take The man acted as though he had not
you, my dear, on your own terms. But— heard. He walked from the fireplace to
I’ll take you! Use any tone of voice you the flat-topped desk near by, and laid the
please—now. You’ll learn a different automatic on the desk blotter. Then he
one later. , , walked from the room.
It was as he turned that Carr’s face,
C arr’s voice trailed off to silence. He
stared over Ruth’s shoulder, toward
pale with fright, really went white. For
as he turned, the dim light of the small
the doorway. So intent was his stare that den showed a disfiguration on the left
she turned too, involuntarily, to see what side of his jaw: a mole the size of a
he was looking at. dime.
There was a man in the open doorway. "Do you ... do you know who he
He was tall, dressed in black. His hand was?” Carr gasped.
on the edge of the opened door was made Ruth stared deep into his eyes. Her
to seem waxen, white, by a large blade own eyes were wide with a fear that
seal ring he wore on the middle finger. went beyond hysteria.
"Who . . . who are you?” stammered "I—don’t—know,” she whispered,'
Carr, so enraged he could not talk "That ring! I-”
straight. "And what the devil are you She stopped. Carr grasped her bare-
doing in here?” shoulder.
The man on the threshold said noth¬ "Well? Well? What about the ring?”
ing. He stared at Carr. At least his face "I’ve seen only one ring like that in
was turned that way; the light was so dim my life—a big, black seal ring made of
in the den that his eyes could not be jet It belonged to—Hugh Cunningham.” -.
seen. The eyeholes of his mask seemed Carr’s breath escaped explosively from
to be blank, black pockets. his lungs.
 THE MAN IN BLACK 445!

"Well, that means some relative of who had blown his brains out here be¬
Cunningham’s must have sneaked in here fore this fireplace. He gazed longest at
tonight — somebody who knows this the mole, the size of a dime, on the pic¬
house well enough to work that secret tured jaw. Then, with a defiant half-
compartment, and to whom Cunningham sneer, he poured himself a large drink.
left his personal effects-” "I’m getting soft-headed,” he mut¬
"Hugh had no near relatives,” said tered. "To think even for a minute-”
Ruth, her voice strained and brittle. "As He poured another drink and downed
for the ring—he was buried with it on that, too.
his hand.”
Carr’s fingers left prints in Ruth’s At thb French doors Danforth started
white shoulder. out to the terrace, then stepped
"Good God! Do you know what you’re aside just in time to avoid being bumped
saying? You’re intimating that that man into by a man running in.
in black was-” "What the deuce, Gray!” Danforth
He swallowed convulsively, and ran to said. "You’re in quite a hurry-”
the door. It was locked, and he had to He broke off as he saw the pallor on
get out his key to open it. He jerked it Gray’s face. Gray, a stout man with a
open with trembling hands. Parke was color that was normally high, stared at
near the door, in the hall. A dozen feet him out of an ashy countenance.
away was the man in black, walking "My God, I’ve just had a start!” he
toward the front of the house. panted. "A man in a black suit—out
there in the garden-”
"Parke,” Carr called. "That man not
"What about him?” said Danforth.
in costume—in the black suit—get him!”
"The way he was acting! I was out
'Yes, sir,” said Parke. "And then
near the hedge, just strolling. I saw this
what, sir?”
figure ahead of me. A man in dark
"Put him out!” rasped Carr, his voice
clothes. At first I thought he was a tres¬
shaking. "No . . . wait! First take his passer, because he isn’t in costume. Then
mask off.”
I saw the mask, and started to go up to
"Very good, sir,” said Parke. him. But I stopped when I saw the
He started toward the man in black, strange way he was acting. Or, rather,
now at the library entrance with his back the familiar way he was acting! He was
turned to the two. walking up to trees and sort of patting
"Wait!” shrilled Carr. them, and staring around with his hands
Parke turned. in his pockets, and once I saw him stoop
"I-” faltered Carr. "I’m not and pick up a bit of paper that was lit¬
enough interested in him to care who he tering the lawn.”
is. Don’t take his mask off. I don’t want "Well?” Danforth said.
to see his face. Just show him out.” "Well—he was acting as if he owned
"Yes, sir,” said Parke. this place. Or as if he had ewned it at
But when he turned back down the one time.”
hall, the man in black was gone. "I don’t get you,” said Danforth.
Carr wait back into the small den, Gray looked at him with eyes that pro¬
Erst he stared at the gun the man in truded slightly from his chubby face.
black had wordlessly left on the desk; "Matt, he was acting as I’ve seen Hugh
then he gazed at the portrait of the man Cunningham act a hundred times around
446 WEIRD TALES

here! You have, too. You’ve seen Hugh “I’d have sworn, if I didn’t know he
■walk up to a tree and pat it as if it was a was six feet underground, that that was
live thing that he loved. You’ve seen Hugh Cunningham-”
him stare around with his hands in his Danforth got to Ruth. He caught her
pockets, and take deep breaths, as if he hand in his, then released it as she stared
coulda’t get enough of the air of the at him without seeming to see him.
place he owned. You’ve seen how fussy There was horror in her eyes. Then they
he was about cigar butts or bits of paper focussed on him.
on his lawn.” “Matt,” she said in a low tone, "do
Danforth shook his head a little. you believe in ghosts?”
"Watch your drinks, Gray. You’re "Don’t you start in on the man in
taking too much aboard. The dead don’t black, too,” Danforth began. Then he
walk.” stopped. Her face was frightening in its
"I ... of course not.” Gray mopped pallor.
at his forehead. "But it gave me a jolt "So others have wondered about him!”
for a minute. Who do you suppose the she said. "At least I’m not the only one.
man is?” ... He came into the small den while
"I haven’t the faintest idea,” said Dan¬ Rex and I were in it. The room where—
forth. “But it certainly isn’t—well, Hugh Hugh shot himself. He opened a secret
lies in his grave with the entire upper drawer in the mantel and took out a gun.
half of his face blown away.” You remember everyone wondered where
"Yes, yes, I know,” sighed Gray. “But Hugh had got the gun he shot himself
I wish I knew who. ... In spite of the with? Well, now I know. From the con¬
masks, most of us have an idea who most cealed drawer. He must have had a pair
of the rest are. But I haven’t the faintest of them there.”
notion who the man in black-” "Ruth, darling, you’re over¬
Danforth saw Ruth across the floor wrought-’’
from him. He left Gray and walked "Matt,” Ruth interrupted quietly,
toward her. Her face was even paler "who else on earth but Hugh Cunning¬
than it had been before. ham would have known about the secret
drawer? And who else would have taken
Gray’s quandary about the man in out a gun, staring significantly at Rex
black was becoming a general one, Carr all the time, and have laid it on the
Danforth discovered as he crossed the desk as if bidding him to use it?”
floor. He passed three groups who were "Did the man in blade do that?” ex¬
talking of him. claimed Danforth.
“I’ve seen a mole on someone’s jaw "He did. Now, I’d like to know—
like the mole on his,” he heard a woman who is he?”
say. “I can’t quite remember who-” Danforth looked at his watch. "We’ll
“Maybe he’s a private detective,” a know in a few minutes. We’re to un¬
man said. "But I wish he wouldn’t tip¬ mask at twelve. And it’s nearly that now.
toe around as he does. He gives me the But you’ll find that the man in blade is
creeps. At one moment he’s nowhere in merely some acquaintance of Carr’s that
sight; at the next he’s at your elbow, star¬ none of us have met before.”
ing around as if he owned the place.” "Rex doesn’t know who he is him¬
Another, almost as pale as Gray, self!” said Ruth. "He-”
echoed Gray’s sentiments. She stopped. The figure of their host
 THE MAN IN BLACK 447

had appeared in the doorway. He swayed "Where is he?” repeated Carr bellig¬
uncertainly, a pudgy man in pirate’s cos¬ erently. "If anyone knows, let him speak
tume who was very, very drunk. up!”
"Ladies and gentlemen,” he said thick¬ Ruth shivered.
ly, "I have an announcement to make. It "If that was Hugh, in black, and Rex
concerns a certain charming young lady got him into the den and . . . and had
here tonight, and myself.” him unmask-”
The rest turned to face him. Conver¬ Danforth grinned bleakly. "The mask
sation died. would just about cover the damage his
"How did he get so drunk so quick¬ bullet did to his face,” he said. "I imag¬
ly?” whispered Danforth to Ruth. ine it would be far from a nice sight.
She only shook her head and stared But of course-”
wide-eyed at Carr, who went tipsily on: Carr turned. The doorway he was
"But first, before the announcement, standing in led to the hall. All in the
there are two things that must happen. big front room saw him glare down the
The first is—unmasking. In a moment, hall toward the rear of the house. All
ladies and gentlemen, all will take off heard him bellow: "You, there! You in
their masks—and you can see who has the black! I want to see you. This is a
been making love to who. The second masquerade party, but that doesn’t mean
is-” He stared unsteadily around. that some practical joker can come here
"There’s a man in a black suit in the with a black ring on his finger and a fake
house somewhere that I want to ask some mole on his jaw and masquerade as—as
questions of!” His jaw went out trucu¬ someone else."
lently. "He’s the second thing that hap¬
pens before the announcement. The rest
of you will unmask in here. The man in
C ARR turned and hurried down the
hall. The rest went to the door.
black will come into my den with me, All saw the back of the man in black
and unmask there—before I throw him —saw Carr open the door of the small
out of the house. He’s been a— den.
nuisance!” "All right,” Carr called bade. "Every¬
Carr glared at those in the room as if body take off his mask. I’ll join you as
daring them to take exception to any¬ soon as I see who this-”
thing he had said. Nobody spoke. The door dosed behind him. He had
"Where’s the man in blade?” he said entered the small den with the man in
loudly. black walking in front of him.
All glanced at one another. There For a moment the crowd stood in
were no hectically flushed cheeks now. silence. Then a man let out an explosive
Every man and woman in the house had sigh.
seen and remarked on the man in ”1 don’t blame Carr for getting drunk
blade who had talked to no one, seemed before he took on a job like that,” he
to have come with no one, and was a said. "Whoever the man in black is, he
sable mystery. Few had known Hugh just came here to get Carr's goat. Of
Cunningham well enough to know of the course! What else could it be? And if I
blade seal ring, but practically all of them was Carr, under the circumstances, he’d
knew of the mole on his jaw, and had have gotten mine. Well, everybody, how
remarked on the mole on the face of this about the masks?”
man whom nobody knew. AJ1 unmasked. A few had made love
443 WEIRD TALES

to the wrong people and were confused, Then silence. Blade, thick silence, in
exasperated or amused according to tem¬ which the men outside stared at one
perament. But exclamations were per¬ another with wide, dazed eyes.
functory. Everyone was too conscious of "Carr!” Gray called again, in a voice
the two in the den to concentrate on that was hoarse with horror.
much pise. And then it came. The sound of a sin¬
Carr—and the man in black! The gle shot, hideously muffled.
man who at first, because of his plain
"The man in black—he shot Carr!”
clothes, had been thought not to be in
babbled Gray. "Get him—hold him for
costume at all; but who now, in the light
the police-”
of the evening’s developments, could be
They broke the door down,
seen to have worn the subtlest masquer¬
ade of any!
Danforth clutched Ruth's hand.
C arr lay before the mantel with his
dead face turned up toward the por¬
"Something dreadful is going to hap¬
trait of Hugh Cunningham. He lay on
pen,” she whispered to him. Her hand
his back, which was fortunate, because
was icy cold. "I can feel it-”
he had put the muzzle of the automatic
"It'll happen, all right, if I don’t leave
in his mouth before pulling the trigger.
here pretty soon,” said Danforth, eyes
His face was all right, but the back o£
bleak. "I can feel that electrocution
his head was better hidden.
party drawing nearer all the time. If only
I could scrape another hundred thousand He was alone in the den.

from the Danforth coffers so that we "The man in black-” faltered

could tell Carr where to go——” Gray, staring around.
A scream ripped out. As though a The hall door was the only entrance
man’s very soul were escaping in horri¬ into the room. All had seen the man in
fied sound from his palsied lips, it rang black go in. None had seen him come
through the house. And all turned again out. But he was not in the room now.
toward the door of the little room down Danforth stared for a long time, first
the hall. For the scream had been Carr’s; at the portrait of Cunningham, with the
and it had come from the den. mole on its jaw, then at Carr’s dead face.
Again the scream sounded, freezing Then he left the room of death.
the nerves. Then the frantic cry: "No, Ruth came to him, trembling, eyes ask¬
no, for God’s sake! Not any more! Put ing a terrified question.
die mask back on-” Danforth nodded. "Shot himself.
Danforth was among the first to reach And I’m glad, darling. You hear? Glad!”
the door. He battered at it, found it "The—the man in black?” whispered
locked. Ruth.
"Carr! Carr—what’s wrong?” Danforth stared back into the den, at
That was Gray shouting. But there the ring of white-faced men around the
was ito answer. It was as though the man corpse.
in the den could not hear—though he "I think,” he said, "we’d better just
must have heard through the compara¬ forget about him when we’re questioned
tively thin door. by the police, and others. Carr killed
"N*!“ Carr’s shriek came again. "I himself in a drunken fit of remorse.
can’t stand it! Get back to Hell where you That’s a statement that will be easier to—
belong-" explain,”
W. T.—4
 By ROBERT BLOCH

The strange story of a man who communed too closely with things from
beyond space—a shuddery tale of stark horror

I T HAS never been put on paper be¬

fore—the true story of Edgar Gor¬
fancies of his final books. Many people
branded the extravagantly worded tomes
don’s death. As a matter of fact, as the work of a madman, and even his
nobody but myself knows that he is dead; correspondents refused to comment on
for people have gradually forgotten about some of the unpublished stuff he sent
the strange dark genius whose eldritch them. Then too, his furtive and eccentric
tales were once so popular among fantasy- private life was not wholesomely regard¬
lovers everywhere. Perhaps it was his ed by those who knew him in the days
later work which so alienated the public of his early success. Whatever the cause,
t >—the nightmare hints and outlandish he and his writings have been doomed
W. T.—5 449
450 WEIRD TALES

to oblivion by a world which always sult, I invited myself to pay a social call
ignores what it cannot quite understand. upon Mr. Gordon at his home. We be¬
Now everyone who does remember thinks came friends.
that Gordon has merely disappeared. Surprizingly enough, this reclusive
That is good, in view of the peculiar way dreamer seemed to enjoy my company.
in which he died. But I have decided to He lived alone, cultivated no acquaint¬
tell the truth. You see, I knew Gordon ances, and had no contact with his friends
very well. I was, truthfully, the last of save through correspondence. His mail¬
all his friends, and I was there at the end. ing-list, however, was voluminous. He
I owe him a debt of gratitude for all he exchanged letters with authors and editors
has done for me, and how could I more all over the country; would-be writers,
fittingly repay it than to give to the world aspiring journalists, and thinkers and stu¬
the true facts concerning his sad mental dents everywhere. Once his reserve was
metamorphosis and tragic death? penetrated, he seemed pleased to have
If I can hope to clarify these things, my friendship. Needless to say, I was
and clear Gordon’s name from the unjust delighted.
stigma of insanity, I feel that I have not What Edgar Gordon did for me in the
lived in vain. Therefore, this statement next three years can never adequately be
is indited. told. His able assistance, friendly criti¬
I am quite aware that this story may cism and kind encouragement finally suc¬
not be believed. There are certain—shall ceeded in making a writer of sorts out of
we say, "sensational aspects”?—which me, and after that our mutual interest
have caused me to debate the step I am formed an added bond between us.
taking in laying his case before the pub¬ What he revealed about his own mag¬
lic. But I have a debt to repay; a tribute, nificent stories astounded me. Yet I
rather, to the genius that once was Edgar might have suspected something of the
Henquist Gordon. Hence, the tale. sort from the first.
Gordon was a tall, thin, angular man
I T must have been six years ago that I with the pale face and deep-set eyes
first met him. I had not even known which bespeak the dreamer. His language
that we both resided in the same city, was poetic and profound; his personal
until a mutual correspondent inadvertent¬ mannerisms were almost somnambulistic
ly mentioned the fact in a letter. in their weaving slowness, as though the
I had, of course, heard of him before. mind which directed his mechanical
Being a hopeful (and at times, hopeless) movements was alien and far away.
amateur writer myself, I was enormously From these signs, therefore, I might have
influenced and impressed by his work in guessed his secret. But I did not, and
the various magazines catering to the was properly astonished when he - first
fantastic literature I loved. At this time told me.
he was known in a small way to prac¬ For Edgar Gordon wrote all of his
tically all readers of such journals as an stories from dreams! The plot, setting,
exceptionally erudite writer of horror and characters were products of his own
tales. His style had won him renown in colorful dream life—all he need do was
this small field, though even then there transcribe his sleeping fancies on paper.
were those who professed to scoff at the This was, I later learned, not an entire¬
grotesquery of his themes. ly unique phenomenon. The late Edward
But I ardently admired him. As a re¬ Lucas White claimed to have written sew
 THE DARK DEMON 451

eral books based entirely on night-fancies. that his was no ordinary mind to harbor
H. P. Lovecraft had produced a number such eery and disturbing shadows.
of his splendid tales inspired by a similar The ease with which he remembered
source. And of course, Coleridge had vivid details was also unusual. There
visioned his Kubla Khan in a dream. seemed to be no blurred mental concepts
Psychology is full of instances attesting to at all; he recalled every detail of dreams
the possibility of nocturnal inspiration. he had experienced perhaps years ago.
But what made Gordon’s confession so Once in a while he would gloss over por¬
strange was the queer personal peculiari¬ tions of his descriptions with the excuse
ties attendant upon his own dream that "it would not be possible to make
stages. He quite seriously claimed that things intelligible in speech.” He insist¬
he could close his eyes at any time, allow ed that he had seen and comprehended
himself to relax into a somnolent doze, much that was beyond description in a
and proceed to dream endlessly. It did three-dimensional way, and that in sleep
not matter whether this was done by day he could feel colors and hear sensations.
or by night; nor whether he slumbered Naturally this was a fascinating field of
for fifteen hours or fifteen minutes. He research for me. In reply to my ques¬
seemed particularly susceptible to sub¬ tions, Gordon once told me that he had
conscious impressions. always known these dreams from earliest
remembered childhood to the present day,
My slight researches into psychology
and that the only difference between the
led me to believe that this was a form of
first ones and the last was an increase of
self-hypnosis, and that his short naps
were really a certain stage of mesmeric
intensity. He now claimed that he fell
his impressions much more strongly.
sleep, in which the subject is open to any
suggestion. The locale of the dreams was curiously
fixed. Nearly all of them occurred amidst
Spurred on by my interest, I used to
scenes which he somehow recognized
question him closely as to the subject-
were outside of our own cosmos. Moun¬
matter of these dreams. At first he re¬
tains of black stalagmites; peaks and
sponded readily, once I had told him of
cones amidst crater valleys of dead suns;
my own ideas on the subject. He nar¬
stone cities in the stars; these were com¬
rated several of them to me, which I
monplace. Sometimes he walked or flew,
took down in a notebook for future
shambled, or moved in unnamable ways
analysis.
with the indescribable races of other
Gordon’s fantasies were far from the planets. Monsters he could and would
ordinary Freudian sublimation or repres¬
describe, but there were certain intelli¬
sion types. There were no discernible
gences which existed only in a gaseous,
hidden wish-patterns, or symbolic phases.
nebulous state, and still others which
They were somehow alien. He told me
were merely the embodiment of an in¬
how he had dreamed the story of his conceivable force.
famous Gargoyle tale; of the black cities
he visited on the fabulous outer rims of
space, and the queer denizens that spoke
G ordon was always conscious that he
himself was present in every dream.
to him from formless thrones that exist¬ Despite the awesome and often unnerv¬
ed beyond all matter. His vivid descrip¬ ing adventures he so glibly described, he
tions of terrifyingly strange geometry and claimed that none of these sleep-images
ultra-terrestrial life-forms convinced me could be classified as nightmares. He had
452 WEIRD TALES

never felt afraid. Indeed, at times he ex¬ and subject. No longer did he adhere to
perienced a curious reversal of identity, conventional plot-motivation. He began
so that he regarded his dreams as natural to tell his stories in first-person, but the
and his waking life as unreal. narrator was not a human being. His
I questioned him as deeply as possible, choice of words clearly indicated hyper¬
and he had no explanation to offer. His esthesia.
family history had been normal in this In reply to my remonstrances on intro¬
and every other respect, although one of ducing non-human ideas, he argued that
his ancestors had been a "wizard” in a real weird tale must be told from the
Wales. He himself was not a supersti¬ viewpoint of the monster or entity itself.
tious man, but he was forced to admit This was not a new theory to me, but I
that certain of his dreams coincided curi¬ did object to the shockingly morbid note
ously with descriptive passages in such which his stories now emphasized. Then
Necronomicon, the Mysteries
books as the too, his non-human characters were not
of the Worm, and the Book of Eibon. conventional ghouls, werewolves, or vam¬
But he had experienced similar dreams pires. Instead he presented queer de¬
long before his mind prompted him to mons, star-spawned creatures, and even
read the obscure volumes mentioned wrote a tale about a disembodied intel¬
above. He was confident that he had ligence that he called The Principle of.
seen "Azozath” and "Yuggoth” prior to Evil.
the time he knew of their half-mythic This stuff was not only metaphysical
existence in the legendary lore of ancient and obscure, it was also insane, to any
days. He was able to describe "Nyarla- normal concept of thought. And the
thotep” and "Yog-Sothoth” from what he ideas and theories he expounded were be¬
claimed to be actual dream contact with coming absolutely blasphemous. Con¬
these allegorical entities. sider his opening statement in The Soul
I was profoundly impressed by these of Chaos:
statements, and finally was forced to ad¬
This world is but a tiny island in the dark sea
mit that I had no logical explanation to of Infinity, and there are horrors swirling all
offer. He himself took the matter so around us. Around us? Rather let us say amongst
us. I know, for I have seen them in my dreams,
seriously that I never tried to humor or and there are more things in this world than san¬
ridicule him out of his notions. ity can ever see.
Indeed, every time he wrote a new The Soul of Chaos, by the way, was
story I asked him quite seriously about the first of his four privately printed
the dream which had inspired it, and for books. By this time he had lost all con¬
several years he told me such things at tact with the regular publishers and
our weekly meetings. magazines. He dropped most of his cor¬
But it was about this time that he respondents, too, and concentrated on a
entered into that phase of writing which few eccentric thinkers in the Orient.
brought him into general disfavor. The His attitude toward me was changing,
magazines which catered to his work be¬ too. No longer did he expound his
gan to refuse some of the manuscripts as dreams to me, or outline theories of plot
too horrible and revolting for popular and style. I didn’t visit him very often
taste. His first published book, Night- any more, and he rejected my overtures
Gaunt, was a failure, due to the morbid¬ with unmistakable bruskness.
ity of its theme. I thought it just as well, in view of the
I sensed a subtle change in his style last few sessions we had together. For
 THE DARK DEMON 453

One thing, I didn’t like some of the new He told me about his last stories
books in his library. Occultism is all right with a certain reluctance. Yes, they were
for a study, but the nightmare arcana of dream-inspired, like the rest. He had not
Cultes des Goules and the Dcemonolorum written them for public consumption, and
are not conducive to a healthy state of the editors and publishers could go to
mind. Then too, his last private manu¬ blazes for all he cared. He wrote them
scripts were almost too wild. I was not because he had been told to write them.
so favorably impressed at the earnestness Yes, told to. By the creature in his
with which he treated certain cryptic lore; dreams, of course. He did not care
some of his ideas were much too strong. to speak about it, but since I was a
In another century he would have been friend . . .
persecuted for sorcery if he dared express I urged him. Now I wish I hadn’t;
half the beliefs contained in these writ¬ perhaps I could have been spared the
ings. knowledge that follows. . . .

T here were other factors which some¬

how made me half glad to avoid the
Edgar Henquist Gordon, sitting there
in the wan lunar light of the moon; sit¬
ting at the wide window with eyes that
man. Always a quiet recluse by choice, equaled the leprous moonlight in the
his hermit-like tendencies seemed visibly dreadful intensity of their pallid glow....
accentuated. He never went out any more, "I know about my dreams now. I was
he told me; not even walking in the yard. chosen, from the first, to be the Messiah;
Food and other necessities he had deliv¬ the messenger of His word. No, I’m not
ered weekly to the door. In the evening going religious. I’m not speaking of a
he allowed no light but a small lamp God in the ordinary sense of the word
within the parlor study. All he volun¬ men use to designate any power they can¬
teered about this rigid routine was non¬ not understand. I speak of the Dark One.
committal. He said that he spent all his You’ve read about Him in those books I
time in sleeping and writing. showed you; the Demon Messenger, they
He was thinner, paler, and moved with call Him. But that’s all allegorical. He
a more mystic dreaminess of manner than isn’t Evil, because there is no such thing
ever before. I thought of drugs; he as Evil. He is merely alien. And I am to
looked like a typical addict. But his eyes be His messenger on earth.
were not the feverish globes of fire which "Don’t fidget so! I’m not mad. You've
characterize the hashish-eater, and opium heard about it all before—how the elder
had not wasted his physique. Then I sus¬ peoples worshipped forces that once were
pected insanity myself; his detached man¬ manifested physically on Earth, like the
ner of speech, and his suspicious refusal Dark One that has chosen me. The leg¬
to enter deeply into any subject of con¬ ends are silly, of course. He isn’t a de¬
versation, might be due to some nervous stroyer—merely a superior intelligence
disorder. He was by nature susceptible who wishes to gain mental rapport with
to certain schizoid characteristics. Per¬ human minds, so as to enable certain—
haps he was deranged. ah—exchanges between humanity and
Certainly what he said at the last about Those beyond.
his recent dreams tended to substantiate "He speaks to me in dreams. He told
my theory. I’ll never forget that final dis¬ me to write my books, and distribute
cussion of dreams as long as I live—for them to those who know. When the
reasons soon to be apparent. right time comes, we shall band together,
454 WEIRD TALES

and unfold some of the secrets of the that shape merely because foolish people
cosmos at which men have only guessed in olden days believed that He looked
or even sensed in dreams. that way. Mass belief has a curious in¬
"That’s why I’ve always dreamed. I fluence on intangible forces, you under¬
was chosen to learn. That is why my stand. And men, thinking such forces
dreams have shown me such things— evil, have made them asstime the aspect
'Yuggoth’ and all the rest. Now I am of evilness. But He means no harm.
being prepared for my—ah—apostleship. "I wish I could repeat some of the
"I can’t tell you much more. I must things He has told me.
write and sleep a great deal nowadays, so "Yes, I’ve seen Him every night since
that I can learn faster. then. But I promised to reveal nothing
"Who is this Dark One? I can’t tell until the day is ready. Now that I under¬
you any more. I suppose you already stand, I am no longer interested in writ¬
think I’m crazy. Well, you have many ing for the herd. I am afraid humanity
supporters of that theory. But I’m not. doesn’t mean anything to me since I have
It’s true! learned those steps which lie beyond—
"You remember all I’ve told you about and how to achieve them.
my dreams—how they kept growing in "You can go away and laugh at me all
intensity? Well enough. Several months you like. All I can say is that nothing in
ago I had some different dream-se¬ my books has been exaggerated in the
quences. I was in the dark—not the or¬ least—and that they only contain infini¬
dinary dark you know, but the absolute tesimal glimpses of the ultimate revela¬
dark beyond Space. It isn’t describable tions which lurk beyond human con¬
in three-dimensional concepts or thought- sciousness. But when the day He has
patterns at all. The darkness has a sound, appointed shall arrive, then the whole
and a rhythm akin to breathing, because world will learn the truth.
it is alive. I was merely a bodiless mind "Until then, you’d best keep away
there; when I saw Him. from me. I can’t be disturbed, and every
"He came out of the dark and—ah— evening the impressions get stronger and
communicated with me. Not by words. stronger. I sleep eighteen hours a day
I’m thankful that my previous dreams now, at times, because there is so much
had been so arranged as to inure me that He wishes to tell me; so much to be
against visual horror. Otherwise I should learned in preparation. But when the day
never have been able to stand the sight comes I shall be the godhead—He has
of Him. You see, He is not like humans, promised me that in some way I shall be¬
and the shape He chose to wear is pretty come incarnate with Him!”
awful. But, once you understand, you can
realize that the shape is just as allegorical S uch was the substance of his mono-
as the legends ignorant men have fostered log. I left shortly after that. There
about Him and the others. was nothing I could say or do. But later
"He looks something like a medieval I thought a lot about what he had said.
conception of the demon Asmodeus. He was quite gone, poor fellow, and it
Black all over, and furry, with a snout was evident that another month or so
like a hog, green eyes, and the claws and would bring him to the breaking-point.
fangs of a wild beast. I ffelt sincerely sorry, and deeply con¬
"I was not frightened after He com¬ cerned over the tragedy. After all, he
municated, though. You see, He wears had been my friend and mentor for many
 THE DARK DEMON <455

years, and he was a genius. It was all too rain was already sighing in the dark trees
bad. overhead, and streaks of lightning occa¬
Still, he had a strange and disturbingly sionally flared in the west.
coherent story. It certainly conformed to My mind was a chaotic jumble of ap¬
his previous accounts of dream-life, and prehension, anxiety, determination, and a
the legendary background was authentic, lurking bewilderment. I did not even
if the Necronomicon is to be believed. I formulate what I was going to do or say
wondered if his Dark One was remotely once I saw Gordon. I kept wondering
connected with the Nyarlathotep fable, or what had happened to him in the last
the "Dark Demon” of the witch-coven few weeks—whether the "day” he spoke
rituals. of was approaching at last.
But all that nonsense about the "day” Tonight was May-Eve. , , *
and his being a "Messiah” on Earth was
too absurd. What did he mean about the
Dark One’s promise of incarnating him¬
T he house was dark. I rang and rang,
but there was no response. The door
self in Gordon? Demonic possession is opened under the impact of my shoul¬
an old belief credited only by the child¬ der. The noise of splintering wood was
ishly superstitious. drowned out by the first peal of thunder
Yes, I thought plenty about the whole overhead.
thing. For several weeks I did a little in¬ I walked down the hall to the study.
vestigating of my own. I reread the later Everything was dark. I opened the study
books, corresponded with Gordon’s for¬ door. There was a man sleeping on the
mer editors and publishers, dropped notes couch by the window. It was undoubt¬
to his old friends. And I even studied edly Edgar Gordon.
some of the old magic tomes myself. What was he dreaming about? Had he
I got nothing tangible from all this, met the Dark One again in his dreams?
save a growing realization that something The Dark One, "looking like Asmodeus
must be done to save Gordon from him¬ —black all over, and furry, with green
self. I was terribly afraid for the man's eyes, hog-snout, and the claws and fangs
mind, and I knew that I must act quickly. of some wild beast;” the Dark One who
So one night, about three weeks after told him about the "day” when Gordon
our final meeting, I left the house and should become incarnate with Him?
started to walk to his home. I intended Was he dreaming about this, on May-
to plead with him, if possible, to go away; Eve? Edgar Henquist Gordon, sleeping
or at least insist that he submit to a medi¬ a strange sleep on the couch by the win¬
cal examination. Why I pocketed the re¬ dow. . . ,
volver I cannot say—some inner instinct I reached for the light-switch, but a
warned me that I might meet with a vio¬ sudden flash of lightning forestalled me.
lent response. It lasted only a second, but it was bril¬
At any rate I had the gun in my coat, liant enough to illuminate the entire
and I gripped the butt firmly in one hand room. I saw the walls, the furniture, the
as I threaded some of the darker streets terrible scribbled manuscripts on the
that led to his old dwelling on Cedar table.
Street. Then I fired three revolver shots before
It was a moonless night, with ominous the final flicker died away. There was a
hints of a thunder-storm in the offing. single eldritch scream that was mercifully
The little wind that warns of approaching drowned in a new burst of thunder. I
'456 WEIRD TALES

screamed, myself. I never turned on the rors being around us and amongst us. I
light, but only gathered up the papers on dare not say all I now believe about his
the table and ran out into the rain. dreams, and whether or not his last sto¬
On the way home rain mingled with ries were true. Perhaps it was just an op¬
tear-drops on my face, and I echoed each tical illusion that I saw. I hope it was.
new roar of thunder with a sob of deathly But still, his clothes were there. . . ,
fear. Those last dreams—about the Dark
I could not endure the lightning, One, who was waiting for the right day,
though, and shielded my eyes as I ran and who would incarnate himself with
blindly to the safety of my own rooms. Gordon. . , « I know what incarnate
There I burnt the papers I had brought means now, and I shudder to think of
without reading them. I had no need of what might have happened if I had not
that, for there was nothing more to know. come upon the scene when I did. If there
That was weeks ago. When Gordon’s had been an awakening , . ,
house was entered at last, no body was I thank God I was there in time, even
found—only an empty suit of clothes that though the memory is a haunting horror
looked as though it had been tossed care¬ I cannot long endure. I am lucky to have
lessly on the couch. Nothing else had had the revolver, too.
been disturbed, but police point to the Because when that flash of lightning
absence of Gordon’s papers as an indica¬ blazed across the room, I saw what lay
tion that he took them along when he in sleep upon the couch. That is what I
disappeared. shot; that is what sent me screaming into
I am very glad that nothing else has the storm, and that is what makes me
been found, and would be content to keep sure that Gordon was not crazy, but spoke
silent, were it not for the fact that Gor¬ the truth.
don is regarded as insane. I once thought For the incarnation had occurred.
him insane, too, so you see I must speak. There on the couch, dressed in the clothes
After that I am going away from here, of Edgar Henquist Gordon, lay a dempn
because I want to forget as much as I like Asmodeus—a black, furry creature
can. At that, I’m lucky I do not dream. with the snout of a hog, green eyes, and
No, Edgar Gordon was not insane. He the dreadful fangs and talons of some
was a genius, and a fine man. But he wild beast. It was the Dark One of
told the truth in his books—about hor¬ Edgar Gordon’s dreams!
 By BASSETT MORGAN

rA shuddery graveyard tale, through which blows an icy breath of horror,

like a chill wind from the tomb

T HE gloom deepened under the

arching trees of the town’s east
It was all familiar since boyhood. He
wanted to get away then, never dreaming
end, where the darkies’ shacks had he would be forced back, hoofing it in¬
Stood, some of them since Civil War stead of driving a car, on a lousy little
days. Orinsley was glad to get through domestic errand his mother had invented
It and emerge near the railroad tracks. as something for him to do,.
(457
458 WEIRD TALES

The darkies knew him and grinned as blood beating faster at his touch. Little
they spoke, though they couldn’t have gold hoops at her ears danced in the sun¬
liked the way he snarled or ignored their light. Julia was quivering, though she
greetings. The whole damned town prob¬ said little except: “I heard you were
ably knew he’d been hauled out of a mess back. I knew you would come.”
at college that cost his father plenty, and It didn’t seem such a lousy errand
told he could settle down in his father’s then. Without the small oval frames,
dinky, dusty little office with its stuffed heirlooms his mother prized, he wouldn’t
owl over the book-case, its ancient medi¬ dare walk into the domain of Midas in
cal books and poorly paid general prac¬ midaftemoon, even if he had been fool
tise. enough to climb over a gate set in a wall
Away from the trees the sun was hot, of old rail ties sunk on end, their tops
the tracks gleamed in the distance. The sharpened. Midas had treasure to guard;
sprouting horse-tail ferns rasped his silk his gold, and what was dearer to him, his
socks. Bullfrogs plunked in the green- daughter.
slimed railroad ditch and he shied stones The town, snootily, helped Midas keep
at them viciously. Julia safe. Once Orinsley had advised her
The lonely whistle of the afternoon to get out. Now he was glad she was
local train shrieked and he hustled to there, lithe-moving as a cat, her voice a
reach the flat-topped log bridging the throaty purr, walking with him to the
ditch and leading to the cabin of Midas. cabin as Midas lifted his head and stared
The train rushed by as he balanced on the with black eyes close to his hawk’s beak
log, enveloping him in sooty black smoke of a nose. The silver in his hair set off
curling low, a sign of moisture-laden air the sinister features. No smile quirked
that meant rain. his thin lips as Orinsley laid the frames
Then over the padlocked gate he saw on his work-bench.
Julia on the cabin steps. She came slowly "No hurry about them,” he said. "I’ll
toward him, luscious-looking as ever, her drop around sometime and see if they’re
tropic blood early ripened, her eyes quest¬ ready.”
ing, just as alluring as he had found her The paint-smell caught his breath a
before he left for college. Dark hair with little. It was more wholesome on the
the sheen of a crow’s wing framed her porch with weed-tang and marigolds bor¬
face. Her skin was flushed ivory. And dering the walk in the sun, and Julia’s
he saw, as she unlocked the gate, the little hands locked demurely around her knees
opal-tinted moons at the base of her fin¬ as they talked.
ger-nails. He wanted to ask her about her origin,
Inside the gate, he heard, like an echo and things the town had wondered about
of boyhood, little hammers beating inside when Midas came there long ago in the
the front window of the cabin, and he night, like a hunted man; began building
saw the gleam of golden things, the his cabin of old timbers and started
spread of gold beaten thin under the knocking at house doors asking for orna¬
hammers, the luster of ornaments new- ments to be gilded. But even college
gilded and drying on shelves. On the hadn’t given him quite nerve enough to
hot air oozed the smell of banana-oil get personal with Midas sitting watching,
mixed with gold-paint. He found Julia’s beating gold so thin it fluttered as he
hands between his fingers that stole to her warmed a camel’s-hair brush on his arm
wrists and felt the small hammers of her and lifted the tissue between pages off
 MIDAS 459

little blank gold-books for use by sign- Dorothy, as it was late and she was get¬
painters. ting jittery. Orinsley told her to go.
It was much later when he got the car
A fter an hour he went away with
k. Julia laughing softly from the gate
rattling over the rutted mud road and the
headlights shone on a man walking on
as she made a date for that night with the side who darted into the ditch slope
him. But when he got home young as if avoiding being seen. But Orinsley
Dorothy Correll had come for dinner, the had recognized the tall, lean form of
last unmarried daughter of wealthy Dick¬ Midas, carrying a sack.
son Correll, sweet as a rose and not with¬ "Jump in and I’ll give you a lift,
out thorns of wit that set his father beam¬ Midas,” he said. "You’re quite a way
ing and his mother laughing. She whis¬ from home and it’s after midnight.”
pered to him after dinner that Dickson "Pete Latour in the Frenchy Village
Correll gave each of his daughters ten wanted some work done and I went to
thousand dollars when they married, and see about it. We sat late, drinking. . .
Dorothy was the last one unclaimed. But in the dashboard lights, the boots
"If you youngsters would like a ride, of Midas looked muddy and grass-
take the car,” said his father. "Unless streaked. There was a smell of mold
there’s an accident. I’ll not be using it more ancient than fresh-trampled mud or
tonight.” even fresh-turned earth, a smell that sets
"That old wreck!” Orinsley snorted the dogs howling when somebody is
scornfully. dying after a siege of sickness.
"It’s all right. Jack,” said Dorothy in¬ "I wouldn’t think it paid you to go so
sistently. far for work,” said Orinsley. "Those
Afterward he understood. She wanted gilding jobs don’t pay much, though I
to dance at Paine Court, down the river, imagine your gold-beating is a good
a place strictly forbidden to Correll’s graft.”
daughter. She got wild at this convention- The loose connection he had fixed in
ridden little dump of a town where the car balked again just in sight of the
everyone knew you and saw everything cabin. Cursing, Orinsley got out, and so
you did. She was trying to appear sophis¬ did Midas.
ticated and wise, which amused him be¬ "I’ve got some wine if you’ll come in,”
cause when he kissed her she quivered he said. "I make it myself, and it’s mel¬
and her pretty hands clung; she went all lowed a long time.”
tender and intense and quoted verse. She "Thanks. You know a lot of trades,
was quaint enough to be utterly charm¬ don’t you? Where did you learn gold¬
ing, and danced like a dryad at Paine beating, Midas?” Orinsley asked as they
Court after a mild gin drink or two. walked to the cabin.
There were a number of other youngsters "Long ago, in the Bahamas, where I
'dancing and drinking and acting hard- was born.” Midas went on telling of the
boiled ineffectively, and he started home green islands of the Spanish Main.
with Dorothy for more shy kisses on the "There was always a bit of pirate loot
way. turning up, and we beat it down to sell
Then something happened to the car. better.” He told of old stone strongholds
He was trying to fix it and tempering his on the islands, streets that were flights of
curses for her ears when some of the steps, poinciana seeds popping in the
crowd came along and offered to take heat. Orinsley listened earnestly.
'460 WEIRD TALES

I T was the first time he had entered the "Nobody would ever guess the treasure
living-room of the cabin, where Midas this cabin holds,” he said to Julia. “You,
lighted an oil lamp that struck flares from and your father’s gold. . . .”
the gilded nymphs and urns, spindly "I won’t have to worry,” she said
chairs and trinkets waiting to be called breathlessly and waited, her eyes quest¬
for. Julia came from dreams wearing a ing, the perfumed temptation of her soft
silk negligee over pajamas and little body in his arms.
mules with feather ruffs, the hoops at her “Where does he get the gold now,
ears flashing. She brought long-footed Julia?”
wine-glasses on a tray inlaid with gold. "Ask him,” she crooned. “And the
Golden bangles at her wrists tinkled trade will die with him because he thinks
through their talk. In the comer Midas it isn’t a trade for me to follow, though
sat watching as Orinsley emptied glass I can beat the gold and I’ve learned to
after glass and grew bolder with Julia work it. That tray and the glasses are my
until she perched on the arm of his chair work.”
and what he said was for her alone. "Julia!” He stood up, his head swim¬
"Well, the wine is all gone and I ming. "I’d better travel. Tomorrow
might as well be,” he said finally. night, maybe.”
"There’s a big hogshead of it down “But earlier,” she whispered, "before
cellar,” said Midas. "Show him, Julia.” he comes home!”
“Ever sell it?” asked Orinsley. She had pestered him about that
"Only to one person, Dickson Correll, broken date and his breezing in with
the only man in town that appreciates real Midas, as most girls would have done.
’Jerez’ that you call sherry. He knows He spoke to Midas before he left, prais¬
wines and doesn’t kick at my price.” ing Julia’s gold-work.
"Doesn’t need to. The depression "She’s wonderful, Midas. The trade
didn’t affect him, they say. Cornells are
needn’t die with you because you haven’t
riding high,” Orinsley said as he started
a son. Lord, you’ll have a son-in-law one
after Julia down a dark stair until below
of these days. . ..”
she lighted a candle. Cobwebs festooned
Midas glared at him with fever-bright
the rafters and comers. Many barrels
eyes. The thin lips twitched under the
stood on cross-legged "horses.” One
hawk’s-beak nose.
huge, copper-strapped "pipe” had a stone
"He would have to be a man with guts,
jug under the spigot.
somebody to look after Julia and the gold
"Hold your glass,” said Julia.
The long foot was still clasped in his ... and all else , « , getting it,” he
fingers, a gorgeous goblet covered with hissed, rising in a crouch as if stiffened
golden filigree in delicate designs. In the with age and labor, coming toward Orins¬
cellar gloom Orinsley sat drinking, with ley, whose arm still held Julia in her silk
Julia in one arm, caught by her lure, toss¬ gorgeousness and little bare ankles, her
ing reason through the small hoops at her scented dark hair flying. Orinsley was
ears, careless of the tread of Midas going very drunk, but he caught through the
to and fro overhead. Through their kisses perfume that sinister smell of death car¬
the little hammers began beating. Midas ried by Midas.
was at his work-bench, late as it was, "You said it was pirate loot, but there
pounding gold, somehow setting Orins- are no pirates now,” he said. "I’d like to
ley’s blood to a quicker tempo. get in on your graft, Midas, I’d make
 MIDAS 461

this town sit up and take notice K „ « bloom. Sun spattered her light dress with
wouldn’t we, Julia?” shifting brightness and shadow. She was
"You mean it?” croaked Midas, gestur¬ blond as ripe wheat and twittering
ing toward Julia with a hand that shook. youngly as a canary, but went quiet at his
"Sure I mean it! You don’t think I kisses that started her cheeks glowing and
enjoy that rattling old bus my father lets deepened the blue of her eyes. Perhaps,
me drive when he isn’t using it. I wanted if she hadn’t gone away . . ,
to hang out my own shingle as a doctor. But home was desperately uncomfort¬
But it takes money to set up anywhere, able at meal-times, and his mother inno¬
and I had an accident that took money to cently asked when the frames would be
settle. That’s why I’m here, in my dad’s gilded.
pffice, though no one is going to risk a "I’ll go and see," he said, with martyr
young doctor after dad’s experience. So meekness.
here I am, eh, Julia . , . darling . . ,
sweetest.” And he was drunk enough to
take her in his arms and kiss her passion¬
M idas was away, but Julia had the
gate unlocked. Her taffeta dress
ately while Midas looked on, his lips and whispered as he crushed her in his arms,
jaw-muscles working now under the dark and he stayed until Midas came through
skin, his nostrils twitching, hell in his the starlight carrying the sack and die
eyes. death-smell. He went to wash his hands
"I’ll be back here, Midas. Not for while Julia poured wine, and Orinsley
your damned gold secrets, but your living seized the chance to feel the sack. His
treasure. ..." fingers were still gripping it when Midas

H e didn’t remember what else

vowed before staggering to the
he
car
returned without his shoes and caught
him with the sack in his hands.
Orinsley’s jaw was belligerent, Midas
at break of day. But, befuddled with the was in his power.
golden wine, he stalled the car on the "I said it was a good graft,” he re¬
tracks as the morning train was roaring marked. "How about a partner, Midas?”
down. He had time only to roll out and Through the sacking he had felt bones,
down the ditch when it was heaved thirty jaw-bones with teeth. He knew one
feet into twisted junk. source of Midas’ gold: he was a ghoul,
The shock of ditch-water sobered hoarding the gold from graveyards.
Orinsley to face the worst day he remem¬ And Midas began nodding his head
bered in years, his father’s anger at the and muttering. "The Frenchies like gold
loss of a car still useful to him, his teeth, and bury rings and trinkets with
mother’s grief at the family row from their dead. It’s just a waste of gold.”
which she tried to shield him. Through "Yes, and there are the old graves
it the night with Midas seemed like a around the church and in the new cem¬
riotous dream, fabulous golden vintage in etery, Midas. Lots of stuff there.”
a cobwebby cellar, gold-stemmed goblets, "But you can’t dig a grave in town,”
the lush beauty and temptation of Julia, croaked Midas, poking his head on its
the lumps of gold Midas was beating. long neck nearer Orinsley. "They’d
That day Dorothy ran in to say they see.”
were leaving for their summer cottage at "Around the church the stones are sag¬
the lake and said good-bye to him in the ging untidily. It’s time they were straight¬
shelter of lilac trees heavy with fragrant ened and the graves leveled. Civic pride
462 WEIRD TALES

shall inspire me to agitate the town about pickled cadavers of the dissecting-room,
it. And when the workers get digging anyway.
, . . eh, Midas?” But coming away, the death stench on
The old man was polishing one hand his hands sickened him until, imitating
over the other and chuckling wickedly. Midas, he cleaned them somewhat in
His eyes flickered and rolled, showing grass and earth, and washed them at the
their whites in gleams. Orinsley needed house before swigging more golden wine
the wine he’d imbibed to endure that and assisting Midas to sort their loot,
scene. gold dental plates, rings and heavy old
"And the big stone Correll vault, cravat pins.
Midas. They moved the ancestors to it,
and Grandmother Correll had dental O rinsley went home in high excite¬
plates of gold, which was town gossip.” ment, schemes flooding his brain.
"And why should I share my graft He began at breakfast to mention the
with you?” asked Midas with oily cun¬ disgraceful state of the old churchyard
ning, though his voice grated through his and wrote about it to the town paper.
yellow teeth. His mother encouraged this sudden flare
"Because I know about it, for one of civic pride, though his father merely
thing. Because while you haven’t got a snorted. He was still angry at having to
son to carry on your trade, you’ll be hav¬ spend money for a new automobile.
ing a son-in-law to take care of every¬ Only in a little home town could he
thing and Julia. How about the Correll have stirred so quickly the fuss over the
vault tonight, Midas? The lock could be grave-stones, but it elevated him a good
picked. , , , But don’t tell Julia I’m in deal in town opinions when he went
this.” around saying what a pretty place it was,
"No,” the voice of Midas creaked and historic enough to have its history
through thin lips. "It kind of spoils written. The obvious response came. He
young love. It did that to me. Her was urged to write about it.
mother found out and-” But Julia "I’ll do it!” he agreed, and talked
returned. about advance money from publishers to
Only when Orinsley was going home account for his own sudden financial ac¬
did Midas appear out of the shadows quisitions. Even his father swallowed
carrying a limp sack and a handful of that story when Orinsley paid a first in¬
tools. A hedge of clipped conifers bor¬ stallment on a new roadster and went to
dered the cemetery roads, casting pointed the lake to show it to Dorothy Correll.
shadows over the tomb-stones. A thick The big Correll summer-house was
evergreen hedge grew tall around the filled with the nicest town youngsters.
Correll vault. Orinsley sweated at the Over a week-end Orinsley danced and
creak of tools on the lock of the iron- swam, played tennis and made love to
grille door. A tube-rose wreath lately Dorothy. After the passion-purple of his
placed gave off a sickly sweetness as with affair with Julia in the cabin, Dorothy
a cold-chisel wrapped in rag they broke was like white roses, cool, delicate, fresh
cement around the inscribed slabs and and charming. He even hated coming to
finally slid a coffin from its shelf. The her with the death taint on his hands.
old screws squealed as Midas twisted Even without her father’s ten-thousand-
them. But once the lid was up, Orinsley dollar gift to each daughter at her wed¬
did not mind so much. No worse than ding, he wanted Dorothy for ever and
 MIDAS 461

ever. He was reckless enough to ask if showed his teeth, though he waited until
she couldn’t stay in town that summer, a storm crashed its bolts of thunder and
for his sake. lightning. A horrible job it was shovel¬
"I'm lost without you,” he told her. ing mud and water, ducking down when
*'I wish we needn’t be parted even for a lightning flared, pawing among the rot¬
day, darling. Dorothy, couldn’t it happen ted rags and bones. The old newspaper
like that some day? Couldn’t it?” records had not exaggerated. There were
"Honey,” she whispered, "leave me a heavy old neck-chains and lockets of
little . .. breath .. . between kisses... twenty-four-carat gold set with diamonds
Through the week the patients calling and pearls, diamond rings and ear-drops,
at his father’s office saw Orinsley writing bracelets and wedding-rings, a rich haul.
industriously and they told him stories of That week-end he took gifts to Doro¬
earlier days. The town clerk searched old thy, an expensive little purse with pow¬
records for him, as did the editor of the der compact and cigaret case, along with
town paper. In the old files funerals were candy and flowers. And he borrowed one
chronicled with the same elaboration as of her rings to have her size for an en¬
weddings and gave him many a "lead.” gagement solitaire. She lent him a quaint
By night he went with Midas far afield, little gold ring with a lover’s-knot that
and they returned with loot to Julia and belonged to her grandmother. Into the
the golden wine in goblets that would mind of Orinsley flashed the night in the
have pleased a Borgia. Of course Julia vault when he gouged with a tool the
knew. . . . dental plates from that estimable and
But she had a rare gift of wisdom and once pretty old lady. It wasn’t so easy to
silence. She knew how deeply he was hear Dorothy’s raptures about her ring
entangled in her love and her life. There with the ghosts of his crimes gibbering
were times when Orinsley viewed with mutely between them.
amazement the adventures he encountered
in that quiet little dump of a town, loot
and love, beauty and beastliness, the
T he Corrells accepted him with old-
fashioned graciousness, and invited
softly enveloping flame of Julia’s thrall his father and mother for a week-end to
poisoning his brain as the wine fumes the lake cottage, where innocently they
fired his blood, the cruel eyes of Midas crashed over Orinsley the penalty men¬
watching them with menace and amuse¬ acing him only vaguely until that hour.
ment in their glittering black orbs. "We have wanted a trip to Europe for
He was so deeply in the parlous part¬ a long time,” said Mrs. Correll. "Doro¬
nership that Julia made no demands, did thy doesn’t want to go. She wants her
not fuss because he never appeared dur¬ wedding this fall, and I’ve suggested she
ing the week-ends. That interlude was and Frank stay in our house this winter
for Dorothy Correll, young and lovely as while we are away. Perhaps when we
a rose with dew in its heart, trusting him return, his book will be published. We’re
with her lips and her life, ready to give going to be very proud of that.”
him her hand and her fortune. Orinsley’s hands were as cold as his
He was responsible for the renovation face was hot. But a man had to act im¬
of the churchyard, yet dreaded its begin¬ patient to have his own marriage hurried
ning. And when he evinced faint-heart¬ along. He had to appear eager to have
edness about a night foray with the the world know he had won Dorothy.
greater risk of being discovered, Midas Across the table from him Dorothy’s blue
464 WEIRD TALES

eyes had little flames of joy in their the couch, her eyelids puffed from weep¬
depths. Her red mouth pouted kissingly ing, her mouth sullen, her beauty sultry.
for his eyes to see. But under the table¬
cloth his hands were scrubbing each other
of the horror they had dabbled in; he
O rinsley’s scalp prickled as the
tongue-lashing of Midas began and
could have emulated Lady Macbeth’s cry he heard the thing he was, not only a
of despair, as Mrs. Correll spoke of hav¬ ghoul, but a liar, a cheat, a felon.
ing an announcement in the town paper. Orinsley sulked and raged. He began
Knowing a crash was coming, he en¬ cursing Midas and grew defiant
dured through that week-end. Coming "Try smirching my name! You’ll land
home, his father, the old doctor, tried to yourself and Julia behind bars. I’ve been
make up for his anger over the son’s engaged to Dorothy Correll for months.
escapades and the wrecked car. I’m going to marry her. Keep your
"You’re making me proud of you, tongue quiet and we’ll go on with this
son, though not just the way I planned. unholy partnership and get rich. Talk,
] just hadn’t patience at first. . . . But it’s and you’re through. Not only through,
a good old name. Orinsley « . , never but in prison. You’ve always been a
been smirched . . . never a breath of mystery around here. My name is solid.
scandal. I haven’t wealth, but a good Nobody’ll believe your rantings about
name . . . better than riches. ...” me.”
Orinsley was sweating nervously then, "Marry Dorothy Correll!” cried Julia.
and later that day, when the news kid "It’s me you love. All these years. Be¬
left the daily paper in the office; and fore you went away. You said-” and
opening it he saw the splurge made of she hurled at him the promises he had
the wedding announcement. He sat star¬ made, endearments, love phrases that be¬
ing until his father bustled in shaking trayed to Midas how deep was his affair
rain-drops from his hat and wrung his with her. And Midas adored her. Midas
son’s hands in felicitations. Only then stood silent, like an accusing god carved
did young Orinsley realize that the after¬ of bronze with only his eyes alive and
noon sky was black and the first big drops shining insanely.
of storm spattered down. A greater gloom Midas turned, his feet moving heavily,
was in his brain, an ordeal to face that as if his reason fought an overpowering
he dreaded unspeakably. impulse. Then, suddenly, his hand shot
"You’re not going out tonight?” his to the wall and plucked down a long-
mother said. bladed dagger with gold-encrusted hilt
"Now, Emily, I know how he feels, knobbed with gems, a gorgeous weapon.
just too happy to stay inside walls. Youth, He whirled as Orinsley shrank away and
romance . . . nothing like it.” threw up his elbows to guard himself,
Nothing like the predicament he was backing toward the door, paralyzed with
in as he drove to the cabin through can¬ fear like a man in a nightmare trying to
nonading of thunder and flashes of light¬ run on wooden legs. Midas came warily,
ning that made steel javelins of the pour¬ on his toes, moving like a panther gather¬
ing rain. The gate was unlocked, show¬ ing itself to spring.
ing they expected him. On the work¬ There was a screech as he leaped. Julia
bench was an opened newspaper. In the was between them as the long blade
living-room Midas paced the floor, and flashed.
in his eyes were lightnings. Julia was on For a moment she clung to Orinsley’s
W. T.—5
 MIDAS 465

neck. Then her hands let go. She crum¬ coiled it skilfully to dry and set, and with
pled slowly, smiling at Orinsley as he and a brush he gilded her eyelashes.
Midas stood stupidly watching the color Inside Orinsley the joy of living, the
drain from her face and the life fade soul-fire, died out never to rekindle dur¬
from her eyes, and a dark stream creep ing that terrible vigil until, exhausted,
beneath her body along the floor. Midas laid his arms on the work-bench
Crashing through the horror that hyp¬ and his head on his wrists and slept.
notized Orinsley came like chords of
Orinsley began wriggling his body to
music the memories of his hours with
where the dagger lay. He got it between
Julia. He couldn’t help pitying, or kneel¬
his feet and sawed his wrist bonds apart.
ing to touch her wrists and throat and
In five more minutes he was free and cat¬
listen for her heart to know if she was
footing to the door, to the storm that was
beyond help. And while he knelt the
heavenly wet on his face, and the winds
hands of Midas darted to his throat. The
claws of his fingers sank deep, garroting of God that lashed a man back to sanity
Orinsley. Nor could Orinsley fight off after madness in hell.
their peril, though he struggled. Instead of going home he went to
The dagger was still there, but Midas the office, poured disinfectants over his
didn’t use it. When Orinsley’s senses hands, rubbed the thong-marks from his
returned, he was bound from shoulders arms and legs and was sitting at the desk
to ankles, sitting with his back against with paper and pencils when his father
the work-shop wall. And on the work¬ came in, startled at his son’s inspired in¬
bench Midas slaved at his greatest master¬ dustry that kept him writing all night
piece.
Orinsley crumpled the scribbled page
The storm still raged. Lightning blazed
on which automatically he had written
at the window. Thunder crackled and
‘'Insane . . . mad . . . crazy . . . golden
rumbled. Outside there was the clean
image of her . . . nobody would listen
fume of rain, the wholesome breath of
to his ravings now . . . even rifled graves
bursting sod and beaten foliage. But in
, . . I’m safe. . .
that den was the fruity ether of Lethe,
the overpowering fumes of lacquer that He burned the page but could not en¬
Midas brushed over his transcendent task, dure himself that day; so he drove to the
and whisking the camel’s-hair brush lake to see Dorothy and in the company
along a brown arm knotted with veins, he of that wholesomely happy, healthy child,
lifted gold tissue and placed it meticu¬ try to forget horror.
lously and patted it with loving care on Yet in the evenings, in the stillness of
the body of Julia. night, small fiends came mocking him.
Orinsley had to watch, with his heart
The gold in the cabin might as well be
pounding so that it strained his bonds
his. He had raised ghosts to get it. Skulls
and at his lips his breath panted, as Midas
and skeletons alight with phosphorescent
made a golden image of his daughter.
decay haunted his dreams. And there
The lightning poured furious illumina¬
was the hour ahead when the golden
tion over her pretty feet and legs, the lit¬
image would be discovered!
tle mounds of her breasts on which her
slender hands were folded. Her face was When he returned home, his mother
a gleaming mask. Midas dipped her dark asked about the little oval frames, and he
hair in gold paint, and wrung it out and had to say he’d call for them.
W.T.—6
466 WEIRD TALES

T he uncertain autumnal rains left the

night dark and starless. No light
blood that sang in his veins begin to chill
until he could count the slow beat.
marked out the cabin, but he carried a "Where . . . where did you get these?”
flash and a gun. Through the window he he gasped.
saw that the work-bench was empty, tidily "From Midas,” answered Mr. Correll
cleared. Nor did Midas appear. Room proudly. "I told you he made me a gift.
by room he searched, first for Midas and Come down-cellar and see . . . you have
the image, then for gold. Greedily he all the years ahead with Dorothy. Three
pawed over Julia’s silken fripperies, the minutes now-” but Orinsley didn’t
clothes of Midas, the shelves of gilded catch the old man’s chatter. He followed
trash where his mother’s frames shone, to gaze at the great "pipe” on its cross-
and then went to the cellar, where he and legged horse, and under its spigot the
Julia had laughed and kissed under the jug he remembered. With his knees wob¬
cobwebs. But he found no gold. Midas bling, Orinsley turned the spigot and
and the golden image had disappeared. filled the jug. He needed stimulant.
Leaving the cabin, Orinsley breathed Mr. Correll went fussily away and left
more freely. Midas was gone. He could him draining the jug. Putting it down,
marry Dorothy Correll without fear of he let it fill again to drown the sharp jab
the insane croakings of the mysterious of memory, the gleam of a golden image
old ghoul. But he reported his failure to in his brain. And when he had emptied
find Midas. a second Brobdingnagian draft he wiped
"I remember when he came here,’’ said his lips with his hand and found some¬
Mr. Correll; "a strange man. I was in¬ thing clinging: a wiry golden hair!
terested in him from the first. People His legs buckled under him. He was
looked askance at him, and I think he ap¬ sick, reeling. Even the thud of his head
preciated my friendliness. I hadn’t in¬ on the cellar floor didn’t matter. His
tended to mention it, but I can throw a body twitched unmercifully when they
little light on his disappearance. I had a found him on the floor and his father
note from Midas, left under my office bent close to hear him muttering:
door, which said he was going where he "Strychnin ... I think ... in the wine
came from with his daughter, and beg¬ . . . look in the cask.”
ging me to accept a slight token of our Foam spouted and rimmed his lips. A
friendship. I’ll reveal it in good time, so greater convulsion silenced coherent ut¬
don’t tease about it now, Dotty.” terance. Vaguely through the gathering
"Ah, secrets!' cried Dorothy. "A wed¬ mists he knew they were opening the
ding present!” cask-head, dragging rakes through the
Autumnal colors blazoned the little wine, screeching at horror quickly silent.
church where Dorothy came to her bridal He knew the gleam of the golden image,
ia misty lace and left it in rice showers the gloom of another form, and heard
that began again at the steps of her own the clink of golden lumps dropped on
home where the wedding breakfast was the stone floor, the loot of ghouls, him¬
held. The guests were kissing her and self and Midas.
shaking Orinsley’s hand when the old Dorothy, widowed before she was a
darky butler came with a tray of golden wife, would never know. Sl e would
inlay and goblets with golden filigree cherish his memory tenderly. They
filled with wine of unmistakable bouquet. wouldn’t let her know about Julia the
Orinsley stared at the goblets, feeling golden in the cask, and the strychnin-
 MIDAS 467

soaked carcass of Midas who crawled His father’s voice, anguished and far
into the cask to die knowing Orinsley away, was receding still farther.
would swig the golden wine as greedily "No hope , . , he’s dying . » . he’s
as he always did. . , „ dead!’’

/Slack Gang
By EDGAR DANIEL KRAMER

Squarehead and scowling hunky,

Polacker, limey, wop,
Deep in the tramper’s belly.
Making the gages hop,
Shut from the salt spray’s stinging,
Hid from the sun and stars.
Swaying and fiercely cursing.
Working the rakes and bars.
Feeding the furnace fires.
Deaf to the shovels’ clang,
Keeping the pistons pounding.
While the hot fire-doors bang,
Sweating and black with coal dust.
Burned to a sizzling brown.
Dreaming of wild hell-raising,
When they were loose in town,

Yankee and cock-eyed lascar,

Heiny and Frog and Chink,
Down in the tramper’s stokehold,
Smelling the bilge’s stink,
Hid from the gray gull’s screaming,
Shut from the wind-swept skies,
Keeping the red flames roaring,
Blinking their sweat-filled eyes,
Slaves to the throbbing engines,
Stripped to their blistered hides,
Struggling for breath and footing,
Flouting the rolling tides.
Splashed with the steam’s white gasping,
Devils and gods and men.
Dreaming of wild hell-raising,
/ When they reach port again.
 ice
By ROBERT BARBOUR JOHNSON
=4' >
What ghastly fate pursued the dweller in that vermin-infested old mansion
in Louisiana? The story of a weird doom

T HE gun glints on my table as I

pen these lines. It will not lie
I cannot say. Certainly it was not be¬
cause I liked the man. Few of the stu¬
there long. It is my passport from dents did, as I recall. Poor Marsden
the Horror that is gathering for me now walked alone, a vague and shrinking re¬
to a sanctuary that nothing earthly can cluse. He had no intimates. He sought
ever profane. none. I have never seen a man who lived
That seething rustle in the walls about more utterly in books and studies, to
me now—too well I know that sound! whom undergraduates and undergraduate
And here in this modern apartment, amid activity were more completely alien. Ev¬
a city’s bustling, an ancient curse comes ery college has its "grinds,” but Arthur
upon me, even as I saw it come upon Marsden’s absorption in study exceeded
another man in that ancient, rotting plan¬ anything I ever knew. It seemed almost
tation-house by the river. But it shall a deliberate self-withdrawal, the forced
never reach me! I have courage, as poor concentration of one who does not dare
Arthur Marsden had not. I do not fear let himself think. He seemed to fear,
the death that slithers and gnaws in mad more than dislike, any contact with his
darkness; for I have here a death that is fellows at all. He might well have been
quick and clean. And I shall use it. . . . isolated by some strange secret he dared
Listen, while there is yet time, to the not share, or by some strange malady
tale of what happened to Arthur Mars¬ that set him apart from everyone he
den. knew.
Why is it, I wonder, that the word I recall, indeed, that strange rumors
"schoolmate” always conjures up such seemed to follow him. There were whis¬
images of intimacy and friendship? Cer¬ perings in dark comers, and all manner
tainly not all of my schoolmates were also of fantastic and horrible things were
my friends! I have shared classrooms hinted at. Most of this can be set down
with literally thousands of young men to mere legendry and nonsense, such as
and women whose faces were always always plagues any breaker of Youth’s
strange to me, whose very names I never rigid taboos. The involuntary hostility of
knew. the adolescent toward anything strange is
And yet I have more than a casual rec- almost unbelievable. He tends to type
Dllection of Arthur Marsden as we sat to¬ with his fellows like so many peas in a
gether through the tedium of lectures, or pod, and anyone who dares to differ
met on the graveled paths and oak- from him is cruelly detested.
shrouded campus of New Orleans' most And yet I seemed to sense an under¬
famous university. current in these rumors about young Ar¬
Just why this memory remains so vivid, thur Marsden that defied dismissal as
468
 MICE 469

mere malicious gossip. There was some¬ T he thing sounds almost silly, in ret¬
rospect. The mouse was just a
thing definitely odd about him. His fur¬
tiveness, his silence, his fear of darkness mouse, one of those little, wriggling, pink¬
and of shadows (I do not recall ever ish-white rodents you see in pet-shop
seeing him abroad after dusk!)—these windows. One of our freshmen brought
it to his gymnasium class in a pocket and
things could not be lightly overlooked.
it escaped to run squeaking about the
Nor could the shadow of fear that was
locker-room, to the great amusement of
always on his face. It was a strange
those of us who dressed or undressed on
brooding terror, without rime or reason.
the rude benches that lined the grimy
A sort of expectant dread. . . .
walls. A friendly little mouse it was,
And then, of course, there was the epi¬ and most inquisitive. It slithered gayly
sode of the mouse. over our bare arms and shoulders and let

VI fled crazily before that slithering horde of ravening atomies."

'470 WEIRD TALES

us feed it crumbs; gnawing daintily at squeaking and rending at an unconscious

them while sitting erect, like a little white man’s body; had been unbelievably re¬
squirrel. We were all so engrossed with volting and horrible to me. For I real¬
it that none of us saw Arthur Marsden ized—indeed, I think that all of us real¬
as he wandered in and sat down before ized—that Arthur Marsden had known
his locker. the mouse would attack him. How else

What happened then no one seemed account for that delirium of terror, that
utter collapse? It was no physical malady
to know exactly; yet I dare say none of
us ever forgot the utter strangeness of it. that had struck him down, as the college
doctor found out immediately on examin¬
The shrieks still ring in my ears as I
ing him. It was the result of some shock
write. And when I dose my eyes I seem
to see poor Marsden as he sprawled on that had almost stopped his heart from
beating!
the cracked concrete floor, his limbs jerk¬
ing and twitching in the agonies of his I left the gymnasium that day with my
strange seizure. And I see the drawn, brain in a whirl. I was groping along
wild faces of his comrades ringed about nauseous and blasphemous paths of spec¬
him; my own face was doubtless as dis¬ ulation I dared not put into words; for
torted and blank as the rest. It was only there in that familiar place had leered
when a gymnasium coach came rushing suddenly, dreadfully, the Unfamiliar.
into the room to see what had happened Men do not fear mice. Nor do mice at¬
there, that the tension broke and let us tack men. And yet I had seen both these
Eft the poor fellow to try to find what natural laws bewilderingly set aside. . . .
could be ailing him. And it was all over
The whole thing left me deeply af¬
by then. He was still, and you might
fected for days afterward. I had a weird
have thought him asleep were it not for
feeling of instability, of distorted per¬
the trickle of blood from bitten lips that
spective. The harmlessness of harmless
smeared his face. , , ,
things seemed no longer quite so obvious
We carried him, some six of us, into as it had once seemed. It was long before
the rubbing-room and laid him on a ta¬ I learned to know again that birds and
ble. The owner of the mouse was one of insects and the very grass and trees were
the six. He had captured his pet from really not inimical. After what I had
where it was crouching on the fallen seen, I should not have been surprized
man’s body, and slid it into a pocket. at anything. I dare say that for a while I
Later he told me his intention of chloro¬ too, like Arthur Marsden, shrank from
forming the little being. shadows. I am sure that I wore an
"Can’t take any chances,” he muttered. expression of fear, like his, upon my
"'It must have hydrophobia! Did you see face. , , ,
the way it rushed at Marsden as he fell, As for Marsden himself, the fellow
and tore at his throat? Rended and tore lay for hours on that gymnasium table,
like a little fury! Of course its teeth more dead than alive. It was almost dusk
aren’t large enough to do much harm. before the coaches would allow him to
But-” walk the short distance to his dormitory.
I didn’t answer him. I was too dis¬ But no amount of questioning on their
turbed to speak, for I too had seen that part could elicit an explanation from the
inexplicable thing. And somehow the pale, trembling youth. At last they had
sight of that little pallid anomaly, to let him go.
 MICE 471

I expected, of course, to question him at all; for when next I encountered the
name Marsden my school days were long
myself about the episode, but I never
got the chance; for less than a week later since forgotten. It was, indeed, but a few
Arthur Marsden vanished from the uni¬ short months ago.
versity. He never returned. The name was crudely painted on a
The reason for this abrupt departure I board, and that board was dangling from
learned later. New Orleans newspapers a small unpainted station-house at the
carried an item on the death of one Doc¬ junction where I had alighted from a
tor John Marsden, M. D., Ph.D., at his north-bound express to await the local
ancestral home in upper Louisiana. The train to New Orleans. Nor did I at first
doctor had succumbed quite suddenly, I connect the "Marsdenville” that was a
gathered, to a malady which had slain mangy cluttering of old houses and ne¬
many of his line, through several genera¬ gro-shanties along a single street—I say
tions. His body was interred on the day I failed to connect this sorry hamlet with
following his death, and his family (con¬ anything familiar. But suddenly it came
sisting of a wife, a maiden sister of his to me that these plantation-towns along
own age and one son, Arthur) left im¬ our Mississippi usually bear the names of
mediately for an extended European voy¬ former masters. Nor is the name of
age. "During their absence,” one account Marsden one which is frequently met
concluded, "the ancient Marsden home with in the Deep South.
will be renovated in its entirety.” Curious, I tried to question the ancient
I was somewhat bewildered by these and bearded "cajun” who tended the sta¬
items. They seemed to hint at something tion-house. I could get nothing out of
far stranger than they told. Why, I won¬ him, of course. But while we were talk¬
dered, did none of them name this hered¬ ing I felt a touch at my elbow and heard
itary malady which had stricken so many a man’s voice say my name. . . .
Marsdens? Why was the doctor’s body Extraordinary, of course, the coinci¬
interred with such bizarre haste? Why dence which had brought him to the sta¬
the hurried exodus of his family? And tion at that time. Yet such things do
above all, since when does the renovation happen. He was, he told me, anxious
of a man’s house find place in his obitu¬ about a shipment from some mail-order
ary? house which was long overdue. He had
I got no answer to these questions from come down to ask about it—it was, he
subsequent editions, and as time went on added, merely some rat-poisons for his
I lost interest in them. After all, Arthur estate—and had found me talking to the
Marsden and all that pertained to him old man. He had known me instantly.
had gone out of my life. I never expected But certainly I should never have
that I would see him again. known Arthur Marsden. Ten years, of
Would to God that I never had! course, work some alteration in any man.
But never before—and I pray God never
again—have I beheld such a hideous
change in mortal clay! Marsden’s bowed
I am no trained writer. Perhaps there and sagging shoulders, his seamed and
are other ways of denoting lapse of wrinkled face, his whitened and thinning
time besides this row of asterisks. But I locks might have belonged to a man of
must somehow bridge a gap of ten years, sixty. His voice had become a thin and
a gap which has no bearing on this tale reedy piping that was eery to hear. His
472 WEIRD TALES

clothing, though excellent in cut and tail¬ P OOR Marsden was pitiably anxious to
oring, hung from his wasted frame as conceal this universal avoidance of his
rags of flesh hang from a skeleton’s ribs. presence from me. Nor could I in mere
And his spotless linen was no whiter than politeness fail to overlook it. And yet in
was his skin! my brain there stirred a great and grow¬
All this and more ten years had done ing perplexity.
to the young collegian I had known. He Soon, however, we found the town and
had become a creature to be regarded its inhabitants had been left behind. Our
with pity and contempt even by the old shoes scuffed the dust of a road that made
station-master. There was covert sneering no pretense of being paved or even trav¬
in the "cajun’s” voice as he spoke of the ersed. It wound amid dense shrubbery,
missing consignment. And though he and ancient trees overhung it and grass
promised to make a search for it, still it grew freely in its ruts. Great trailing ten¬
was plain that his one desire was to be drils of Spanish moss touched ghostly
rid of Marsden. fingers to our faces as we brushed past
Having thus been balked in his errand, them. The hush of complete isolation
Marsden turned his attention to me. And brooded everywhere. Only the distant
as time hung heavy on my hands in the "lap-lapping” of the river broke it.
hot, filthy little station, I was glad to ac¬ I realized, with a kind of shudder, that
cept his suggestion that I check my hand¬ a sort of deadline must have been drawn
bags and pay a visit to his house. between the village and the ancient man¬
"I live there all alone,” he said, pa¬ sion ahead of us. It had been literally
thetically. "I’m the last of the Marsdens, years since vehicular traffic had stirred the
you know. And I—have few visitors!” dust in those ruts, and even visitors on
So at length we left the station to stroll foot must be a rarity.
along the single crooked street of Mars- I do not recall a word of our conver¬
denville. Our destination was the sprawl¬ sation along that endless, shadowed lane.
ing old white-pillared mansion I had I must have spoken brokenly and discon¬
glimpsed through the trees, beyond the nectedly; for my thoughts were elsewhere.
"General Store” and the few scattered As for Marsden, I recall only that his
houses that made up the town in its en¬ voice ran on and on, in that piping weary
tirety. monotone. I got the impression that he
As we passed along the narrow, dared not stop talking, that he feared the
cracked sidewalks through the hamlet, I very silence that would come when our
could not but wonder at the attitude to¬ voices died!
ward us of the few inhabitants we met We had almost reached our destina¬
along the way. One would have ex¬ tion when I stumbled over a little furry
pected deference, even servility, toward object and halted involuntarily. Limp
the leading citizen of the place. Instead, and bloody, it sprawled there in the dust
I more than once saw men cross the single of the road. I am not normally fond of
street to avoid meeting us. Strange, al¬ cats, yet I felt a throb of pity now.
most hostile glances followed us. As for There was, I realized as I bent over the
the negroes we met, those simple chil¬ creature, no hope of saving its life. It
dren of Africa turned and fled from our was, indeed, already dead, although the
approach, their eyeballs bulging as they body was still warm. The throat and the
peered over blade shoulders in almost belly had been ripped open, and viscera
comic terror! protruded like maggots from the gashes.
 MICE 473

I could make nothing of those curiously tainly this room had not been cleaned,
jagged wounds, nor did the myriad tiny much less renovated, in many years.
prints in the dust about the corpse convey Yet there was no scarcity of servants
anything to me. Yet I was conscious that to clean it, I noticed. It was not the but¬
they were very odd prints indeed. In the ler who brought us tinkling mint-juleps
dim light, I almost took them for the in frosted glasses. It was still a third
marks of tiny human hands! hireling, in a soiled white drill jacket.
At length I stood up. "Weasels?” I He spilled a portion of my drink on my
queried. "The kitten is quite dead. I coat-sleeve, and I noted the bulge of a
hope it wasn’t a pet.” revolver against his ribs as he bent to
Marsden looked at me with haunted swab futilely at the stain with a hand¬
eyes. "Weasels, of course,” he muttered. kerchief.
"Ah God! Why don’t those poisons I should have thought more about this
come? We’re overrun-” fact had not my attention been distracted
He let the sentence hang there. After by the yapping and growling and bark¬
a moment we walked on. We left the ing that went on constantly about me.
little corpse to its cloud of buzzing flies. For Arthur Marsden had assembled a
Yet, weasels do not make tracks like most bizarre menagerie in his house.
human hand-prints. That I knew. Nor There must have been a dozen mongrel
do they hunt in packs. . , , terriers cooped up in this one long room.
They fought and scratched fleas and scam¬
T he lawns that fronted the great
house were spacious but ill-tended.
pered everywhere. Among them great
battered tom-cats stalked, evil-eyed and
As we crossed them a surly thug in gar¬ snarling. And once I could have sworn
dener’s livery looked up to growl a greet¬ I saw a dark, slim bulk that was neither
ing. Beyond the wide veranda a great cat nor dog gliding among the shadows.
mahogany door was opened for us by a Either it was a mongoose or else my eyes
second servant, a swarthy brute whose played tricks.
butler’s frock-coat accorded ill with an Manners would hardly permit my ques¬
unshaven chin. White servants in the tioning my host on this strange collection.
Deep South! I marveled. Truly Mars¬ After all, the poor devil was plainly a
den must be a man of eccentric tastes. sort of social pariah in this town. It was
We followed the "butler” (for obvi¬ only natural that he should seek compan¬
ously both he and the other servants were ionship in animals. To live all alone in
mere tramps or gangsters pressed into do¬ this great barn of a house would not be
mestic service) along a long, dark, pan¬ pleasant. Pets would at least lighten the
eled hall. It opened into a vast room monotony.
where finely bound books covered every Yet though I did not care to mention
wall in tiers, where fine ancestral portraits the animals, they greatly disturbed me.
and shaded lamps and great overstuffed So did the dull and persistent hammer¬
leather chairs invited us. It had once ing that was constantly going on in some
been a most impressive place, this library distant part of the mansion. It made the
of Marsden House. Now dust and de¬ futile conversation of my host rather hard
cay and dirt befouled it everywhere. to follow. "I’m having some repairs
"Renovated in its entirety,” the phrase made,” he had explained that hammer¬
sprang ironically into my mind. For cer¬ ing not once but a score of times. And
474 WEIRD TALES

somehow his very insistence on die pro¬ hours in this room, I realized. It was now
saic explanation was odd. almost night.
Marsden sprang up when I did. The
And yet it seemed absurd to doubt
fellow was profuse in apologies and ex¬
him. There was visible evidence of reno¬
planations. He had, he said, been so in¬
vation in this very room; for strips of
terested in my talk that he had forgotten
heavy sheet-iron flashing had been nailed
all about my train. It must have gone
along the juncture of walls and ceiling
through the junction at least an hour ago,
and floor, forming a gleaming metallic
he explained. Nor would there be an¬
frame for every door and window. I
other until the following afternoon. I
could not see the exact utility of these
could, of course, motor some thirty miles
iron strips, but supposed that they formed
to Ferriday, where a local train would go
some sort of support for the ancient walls.
through shortly before dawn. But, Mars¬
And I knew well that the nailing of such
den lamented, he had no car to lend me
metal supports elsewhere in the house
for the journey. And he did not know
would produce exactly such a sound as
whether one could be obtained in the vil¬
now disturbed me; yet I remained oddly
lage.
upset by that distant metallic pounding,
It was plain that he was anxious to
like the beat of some gigantic, evil metal
have me spend the night with him. And
heart.
indeed, I was inclined to agree with him,
I must admit, however, that the re¬
once my first chagrin had faded. The
peated liquid refreshment that Marsden
strangeness of this old house and its occu¬
pressed on me soon overcame my vexa¬
pants had filled me with a desperate curi¬
tion. In time I came to ignore the dis¬
osity. I wanted to see more of it. And
tractions altogether; for, sitting here in
I had no stomach for a jolting cross-coun¬
the cool room and listening to the monot¬
try race to board a long-past-midnight
onous droning of my host’s voice, I
train. Here, Marsden assured me, I might
seemed most strangely to lose track of the
have a comfortable bed and a dinner that
passage of time. It was pleasant, after would include quails and a crayfish bou¬
all, to sit there with the coolness of fine illabaisse and a bottle—oh yes, several
Bourbon and crushed mint in my throat; bottles—of a most excellent wine.
pleasant to loll in the great leather chair; And so I found myself, an hour later,
pleasant to chat lightly, vaguely, my mind donning fresh linen after a refreshing
more than half on other matters the shower-bath.
while; pleasant to look up at those ceil¬
ing-mounting tiers of books about me,
to speculate on the forgotten wisdom
I had been snugly established in an up¬
per bedroom of the mansion and was
their pages must hold; pleasant just to very pleased to be there. The tramp-like
sit and rest there in the quiet dusk. . . . butler had hurried down to the village
Then suddenly I became aware, with for my luggage, and had then doubled as
a feeling almost of panic at the realiza¬ valet in a manner surprizingly deft and
tion, that I had long overstayed my time efficient. And the big room, with its rich
here. Those juleps! They must have rugs and fine old furniture, was a revela¬
drugged me. I could barely see Mars- tion. I relaxed in the mellow glow of
den’s white face across the room, and the lamplight and decided that life at Mars¬
window behind his chair was only a gray den House was pleasant, after all. The
blur against the black walls. I had passed contents of a crystal-glass decanter I
 MICE 475

found beside my bed did not fail to con¬ to find in -there. There was nothing, of
firm this decision. I even recall whistling course. The room was in immaculate or¬
merrily as I dressed'. der.
Absently I noted, moving about the There was only that reek of powder to
room with a guest’s curiosity, that the in¬ attest that this "valet” of mine had fired
evitable metal flashings reinforced every a gun at someone or something in my
corner of it. The great Colonial bedstead, room not a minute before. At someone
too, was strengthened by heavy bands or something that had not been there
welded about its legs. This was natural when I left the room, that was not there
enough, I decided. Centuries of river now. And that had somehow come and
mists would have rotted every bit of wood gone without leaving any trace. . . .
in the house. Yet I did rather wonder at I hurried back along that corridor and
the whimsy of design these supports dis¬ down the old creaking staircase as though
played. They were inexplicably funnel- a fiend of hell ran at my heels!
shaped, with wide flaring bottoms like
skirts. They looked like nothing so much D inner that night in Marsden House
as the shields that are placed on ship was a weird meal. Not that I had
hawsers to keep rats from climbing any fault to find with the food: it was su¬
aboard. perb, and the accompanying wines were
I was still puzzled over them, and list¬ all that Marsden had claimed. As for the
ening idly to a vague but incessant rust¬ service, it was impeccable from fine old
ling that I took to be the sound of the chinaware to massive silver candelabra
river near by, when my valet-butler came which supplied the only light in the long,
in to announce dinner. My host, he shadowed room.
added, would be waiting for me on the No, the fault was in none of these
floor below. things. It lay rather in a certain air of
I snapped the locks on my valises be¬ strain and tension that grew worse as the
fore I left the room, for I did not trust meal progressed. The rat-eyed butler’s
the fellow alone with them. Then I face was impassive as he bent over the
went out into the dim corridor. I had to table, nor did Marsden betray nervous¬
grope slowly along in it, and had only ness in word or gesture, though his eyes
gotten half-way to the stairs when a sud¬ were agonized. But the two hulking men
den sound crashed out behind me and in the white jackets who were recruited
filled the hall with eery echoes. to assist in the service were obviously
I whirled and ran back toward my frightened half out of their wits. Their
room. There could be no mistaking that cauliflower ears were strained to catch
sound, and my heart was pounding wild¬ every sound. They started at shadows.
ly as I reached my door. It was dark, Their gorilla-like hands were trembling
however, and the servant was just emerg¬ so that they could barely handle the
ing from it as I came up. dishes.
"It’s all right, sir,” he grated. "I just The pack of mongrel dogs roamed
fell over a chair in th’ dark, sir! Made a here and there in the dining-room as they
lot of noise, didn’t it?” pleased, but there was no yapping or
The stink of gunpowder was every¬ fighting here. The little beasts were odd¬
where in the corridor to belie his words. ly quiet. They were incessantly sniffing
I elbowed past him and relit the lamps in along the old paneled walls, nosing be¬
my room. I don’t know what I expected neath the moldering tapestries, sitting
476 WEIRD TALES

with little heads cocked and ears erect. than to my words, at least he contrived to
Among them the great tom-cats skulked make the right remarks at proper inter¬
grimly, displaying no interest in the food vals. So I talked on and on, while the
on the long table or in us. Man and candles dissolved imperceptibly on tall
beast seemed vigilantly alert, seemed to silver sconces, and an old clock in the hall
wait some unholy invasion, prepared for punctuated my every pause for breath
some calamity beyond my power to con¬ with a solemn metallic comma.
jecture. At length a slight hoarseness and the
And thus dragged on the many courses frail flickering of the candlelight warned
of the meal, while my nerves absorbed me of the lateness of the hour. I flagged
the tenseness until I too was quivering in my monolog, and Marsden was quick
with expectancy; until I too sat rigid and to catch the hint. He proposed that we
taut in my chair, ready to cope with some retire, though I could see that he did it
incredible and unimaginable emergency; unwillingly.
until I should not have been surprized at And so we went out into the great
the sudden uprushing of any horror, the hoary lower hall, where ancient beams
invasion of any alien and menacing pres¬ arched blackly overhead and a vagrant
ence or presences of evil. Sweat formed breeze tinkled the crystal pendants of the
on my brow. Strange, electric pricklings chandeliers. These chandeliers, I noted,
stole in the roots of my hair. held electric bulbs; but as my host used
Yet nothing happened. There was not only candlelight, I assumed that some
the slightest untoward incident to explain accident had crippled the power-wires
this tension to clarify the brooding mys¬ and left him thus dependent on more
tery that hung over the room. The courses primitive luminance.
came and went, and at last there was only The somber rooms of the old house
brandied coffee and cigars on the table, seemed more sinister now, for the candles
and the ordeal was at an end. The three gave little light beyond the hallway.
servants withdrew, two of them almost Seemingly all the villainous-looking serv¬
staggering in their eagerness to get away. ants had retired after the meal, for we
Most of the dogs and cats went with met none of them. Occasional dogs slept
them, though a few elected to doze or with snores and wheezes on the floors.
wander about the room. I felt them I tripped over more than one little body
touch my legs at intervals beneath the as we walked toward the stair; and once,
table, and their eternal sniffing intruded when my outstretched hand touched the
on every lull in our conversation. Yet soft fur of a cat, I felt an electric thrill of
obviously their extreme vigilance was at fear.
an end. The crisis, whatever it was, had Marsden’s nervousness seemed quite as1
definitely been passed. great as my own. For a few short hours
after the meal he had seemed almost to
W E sat long about the candle-lit
table, Marsden and I. He had in¬
be his former self, had been at least the (
shadow of the Arthur Marsden of my
veigled me into talking about myself, my university days. Now he had grown old
aims and aspirations; and it is a topic to and sick with dread again. The hand
which almost any man does justice. He that held a candle aloft to light the way
proved the ideal listener, too. If at times for us was crooked like a claw to keep it
I got the impression that he was harken¬ from trembling. And when he turned to
ing more to distant sounds in the house make some casual remark, I could hardly
 MICE 477

believe that the white and haggard face his hair and blanched his face, had
I saw was not some hideous mask. . . . driven him to hire gangsters as servants,
accumulate this imbecilic horde of mon¬
I T is now that I approach that portion grel animals? What threatened Arthur
of my narrative in which care must be Marsden, that he should be ever vigilant
exercised in the telling. For the events and fearful within the four walls of his
that followed left me in a state of utter own house? Into what jigsaw puzzle of
mental and physical collapse; and the horror and madness had I so unwittingly
greater part of my recollections have been strayed?
mercifully blanked out from a brain taxed No need to retrace for the reader my
beyond its capacity to endure. Fantasy tangled threads of speculation. They led
and fact, reality and delirium are oddly me nowhere; yet I was conscious of an
blended in my remembrance of that night ever-mounting uneasiness and dread as I
at Marsden House. I must beware lest I lay there in the darkness. Some hidden
confuse them utterly in the telling. sense kept warning me of danger.
Suffice it to say that I felt a curious re¬ • I do not recall the precise moment
luctance to return to my bedroom that when I realized that I was listening for
night. And after Marsden had left me this danger instead of looking for it in
there and departed, his candle throwing the darkened room. I cannot say just
grotesque shadows along the corridor out¬ when I realized that the murmurous,
side, I felt even more disturbed. The rustling, incessant sound that echoed in
room was hot and stuffy, I recall, and my ears was not the distant river at all,
somehow I felt that the stuffiness was like had never been the river!
the lull that comes before the breaking of That sound was in the very walls of
a tropic storm. A strange inner prompt¬ my room—the walls, the ceiling of it,
ing of danger was beginning to grow in even the. floor! They were—alive! Life
my brain. The myriad mysteries of this teemed behind its ancient boards; life
strange mansion and its tragic owner had that crawled and scratched and slithered
begun to shape themselves into a dreadful and raced; life that must have been en¬
subconscious hinting that was all but un¬ gendered by centuries of neglect and
endurable. darkness; that had made a seething net¬
It was only by an effort of the will that work of corridors and passageways and
I forced myself to remain within that tunnels in the very wood and mortar that
dim-lit room, to remove my clothing and seemed so solid about me!
don a suit of pajamas, even to extinguish Lizards, rats, roaches—what infinity of
the bedside lamp and crawl into that slithering forms were generating this in¬
great canopied bed. credible symphony of sounds I could only
Just why I forced myself to do these conjecture. I tried to tell myself that
things I do not know. Certainly they their presence in these hoary walls was
had no purpose. I could not sleep, I was natural enough. What old house is with¬
never further from sleep in all my life! out its vermin?
Every muscle of my body was tense and And yet I knew, even while I reasoned
strained; every thought in my busy brain thus, that my reasoning was absurd; for
was groping for a solution of all these it was not the presence but the numbers
mysteries This young-old recluse in his of this hidden, crawling horde that was
rotting mansion by the lapping, eternal so disturbing. A vast, surging tide of
river—what ghastly menace had grayed them there must be, so great that it awed
478 WEIRD TALES

and baffled the hearer to estimate their sible numbers? What weird purpose held
multitude; so great that it seemed almost them penned up in the old walls of Mars¬
that the great house should tremble and den House?
palpitate with their incessant point-coun¬
terpoint of movement. The sound of
them grew in my ears until it was like
M y dressing did not take long, for
I was afire with curiosity. And I
the sound of the sea; until it tortured the should have been out of the room and
nerves like the rush of a great wind; un¬ engrossed in searching every nook and
til it numbed the brain and baffled Reason cranny of the house, had not my attention
itself with its damnable suggestion of been suddenly distracted. I had previous¬
myriads inconceivable and incalculable. ly noted a small leather-bound book on
At length the listening to those goblin the table by my bed. Now I carelessly
hordes so wore my nerves that they could knocked it to the floor in rising, and on
not longer endure it. I sat up, lit my retrieving it I saw that it lay open at a
bedside lamp. With its glare the pulsing page wrinkled and dog-eared with much
madness about me seemed to recede a lit¬ re-reading, and that marginal entries were
tle, and the fantasmagoria of horror my scrawled on every unprinted inch of that
mind had been rearing seemed less cred¬ page in ink like faded blood.
ible than in darkness. Yet there was no I paid scant attention to the printed
real slackening in that incessant move¬ matter on that page. "Legends” was the
ment in my walls; for the welling cres¬ only word in the book’s title I could de¬
cendo of minute life seethed on. cipher, and the tale on that opened page
Furious at this continued disturbance, was a legend if ever there was one. It
I determined to dress myself and have was impossible to imagine why anyone
a turn about the house, to see if other could have so pitifully, incessantly re-read
rooms were similarly infested. For though it as those dog-eared and crumpled pages
it seemed madness to suppose that this indicated. In these days of gangsters and
one room held all the vermin of Marsden mass-murder, the Lorde Myrsdenne of
House, yet I shrank from contemplation Transylvania or some such place who in
of the infinity of vermin life implied by 1790 locked up rebellious peasants in a
its being universal throughout the entire barn and set fire to the barn would seem
building. Great God! No wonder poor a petty tyrant indeed. And since their
Marsden kept that infinity of dogs and cries in dying doubtless did sound like
cats about him! No wonder he had or¬ the squeaking of mice, why should he not
dered poisons and been distressed by their have said so? Anyone who could see a
failure to arrive. The mystery of the connection between his saying and the
eviscerated and dying kitten in the road, plague of mice that allegedly came up
of the vigilant servants at meal-time, was from beneath Myrsdenne Castle and de¬
no mystery now. Life here must be a voured the lord and all his retainers
constant battle for possession against would nowadays be regarded as fit sub¬
these hordes. I understood the purpose ject for a lunacy commission. Nor would
of that reinforcing metal over every crack anyone take seriously the asseveration that
and crevice. I understood, in fine, many all Myrsdenne’s line would be cursed....
things. As I say, it was not this fantastic and
But what in Sanity’s name, I wondered improbable folk-tale which held me there.
as I dressed, could have led these crea¬ It was the row of dates scrawled painfully
tures to congregate here in such impos¬ in the page’s margins. Opposite each date
 MICE 479

there was a name, and apparently it was ible horde in that demon-haunted cor¬
some sort of calendar or record of events ridor.
over several generations. Only opposite The shrieks had stopped before I burst
the last name entered was there a blank in there. And not even when I saw the
space left. great bed in one corner of the room did
And that name, barely legible in the I grasp the full horror that had come
dim light, was "Arthur Marsden”! upon Arthur Marsden.
I suppose I must have cried out as the I knew, of course, that he was dead,
realization of this burst fully upon me. even before I saw the black pall that cov¬
I recall stumbling over the lamp-table as ered him as he sprawled in his blood
I rushed toward the door and saw the there on the sheets. But for one awful,
lamp smash blazingly on a rug. But none frozen moment I stood there wondering
of this mattered; for at that very moment, at that sable drapery, without realizing
as if my discovery had been the signal for what it was. And then I saw that it
an elaborately rehearsed drama to begin moved and heaved and pulsed in a man¬
its tragic play, there broke out from some¬ ner that no possible draft could make
where in the old house a most incredible cloth behave. I saw that the glittering
clamoring and the yelping of tortured specks that gemmed it were not jewels,
dogs and a high sustained shrieking that nor were the innumerable little pink
was the most horrible thing I have ever cords that waved and twisted on it the
listened to. And mingled with this devil’s conceits of some fantastic embroidery.

cacophony I heard the stammering of The rest is yammering madness, best

forgotten. I made some crazy sound, and
revolver fire and the howls and curses of
sorely embattled men. at the sound that shroud which cloaked
the dissolving corpse broke and seemed
It is at this point that my clear recol¬
to flow off the bed and toward me. I fled
lections wholly desert me and sheer de¬
from it, shrieking crazily; I fled before
lirium replaces coherent observation. I
that slithering horde of bloody, ravening
know that I yanked my door open and
atomies; down, down the high-vaulted
sprang out into the black hall and found
staircase I fled and burst the door of
it seething with sound and motion. I
Marsden House and rushed into the
know that stabbing pains tormented my
night. And behind me, as I ran, the sky
ankles and that my boots crunched on grew red. .,,
myriads of small shrieking entities in the
darkness and that the walls and floor and
even ceiling of that passage seemed bead¬
T hey let me out of the hospital last
week — the hospital in thirty-
ed with small, moving points of light!
miles-distant Ferriday where I had lain, a
And as I kicked and stamped and giggling, moaning wreck, for many days.
cursed my way along that haunted corri¬ They tried to tell me there that Arthur
dor of squeaking nightmare, I saw an Marsden had died in the fire that de¬
open, lighted doorway ahead. I knew stroyed his old house that night and left
that it led to Marsden’s room. Evidently only a heap of charred wreckage there by
he feared to sleep in darkness; for there the ancient, lapping river to show that it
was no time for him to have lit the had ever stood. There had never been
dozens of guttering lamps that lined the any curse, they said, nor any devouring
place and made it bright as day as I horde of mice, and I must realize that my
dashed in for sanctuary against the invis¬ own delirious fancy had conjured it all.
480 WEIRD TALES

And I pretended that I believed them. mitted, a dread contagion that nothing
Why not? can allay. And hark! Even now that
But now I have set down at last the slithering and scratching grows near¬
whole story of what really happened to er. .. .
Arthur Marsden. And I know now that But I have beaten them! I have told my
it will also happen to me. No one but story! And now I shall have the courage
myself can hear that seething rustle in that poor Marsden lacked! I will dare the
my walls, as goblin hordes gather to blot final deed which shall release me utterly.
out the memory of the horror from the The gun glints on my table as I pen these
last living witness to it. For to me that lines.
age-old Myrsdenne curse has been trans¬ It will not lie there long. . , ,

lue Room
By GORDON PHILIP ENGLAND

The story of a haunted chamber and a fatal hoax

P OLLOCK scowled. His long, slen¬

der fingers, adeptly manipulating
most pronounced skeptic would be con¬
vinced.”
the euchre deck, betrayed a degree Duquette nodded sober agreement.
of nervous tension. He wished that "True, mon ami. I myself was skep¬
Creighton and Duquette, at the table op¬ tical until I saw your so-horrible Blue
posite, would hold their tongues. Ever Chamber. But, after viewing it, and
since the two had entered the 77 Club studying the records, only a fool would
half an hour before, they had been chat¬ remain incredulous. Moi, Joseph Napo¬
tering like magpies. And the tommyrot leon Duquette, I am no coward. With¬
they were spouting hindered him from out fear of contradiction, I assert that I
concentrating upon his game of solitaire. am as brave as the next fellow. Yet—
But, despite Pollock’s wishes, the con¬ name of a green monkey!—I would not
versation at the other table' continued un¬ sleep in that room—not for all the
relentingly. wealth of India.”
The big, blond Englishman bent for¬ Creighton blew a reflective smoke ring.
ward, his steel-blue eyes boring the fas¬ "And I don’t blame you. A pity for
cinated black ones of the swarthy-faced Adams that he couldn’t have been as
little Frenchman. His voice was solemn: discreet! Sad case, Adams. I really al¬
"Yes, Duquette, I used to doubt, my¬ most hated to take his money, after what
self—but that was before I leased Doom happened. But a bet’s a bet.”
Manor. After living there awhile, the "Yes, certainly. Besides, Adams will
W. T.-6
 THE BLUE ROOM 481

not miss the two hundred pounds. He strode wrathfully across to the other
is still in the sanitarium, is he not?” table.
Creighton flipped his cigarette stub "Look here,” he began hotly, "I
into an ash-tray. His voice grew rem¬ couldn’t help hearing your conversation.
iniscent: Now, let me introduce myself. I’m Jim¬
"He must be; I haven’t heard of his my Pollock. And I kick every black cat
being released. When we found him he out of my way, walk under ladders regu¬
was a raving maniac. You could hear larly, smash thirteen mirrors a year just
his screams from within the cottage, for luck—and spill salt at least once a
quarter of a mile away. I have always week. What I mean, gentlemen, I don’t
believed it was after the sixth shot that believe in disembodied spirits, appari¬
he went mad.” tions and such balderdash. If this chap
Duquette twirled his wax-ended black Adams you were gassing about shot seven
mustache. times at your dashed spook and regis¬
"Ah, yes. And his automatic was tered seven misses, he must have been a
empty, you say?” rotten shot. There never was a ghost yet
Creighton made a silent sign of affir¬ that a bullet wouldn’t kill!”
mation. Creighton and Duquette exchanged
"But of course,” Duquette shook his significant glances; then the former ad¬
head gravely, "to attempt to shoot an ap¬ dressed the interrupter frigidly:
parition is the height of imbecility. For "Let me be sure that I understand you,
against a specter, you comprehend, bul¬ my friend. You say you are a skeptic. A
lets are useless.” disbeliever in returned spirits?”
"Of course. But Adams was a skep¬ Jimmy Pollock thrust out his hard,
tic, you know. More—he was a dead lean jaw aggressively.
shot. He had absolute faith in his ability "Ghosts are bunkum!”
as a marksman. And—to do him justice "A large statement, and one you’ll
—he must have kept his nerve well up find it difficult to prove. Well, put up
until the last. Six of the bullet holes in or shut up!”
the wall are within a small radius, at "Eh?” Pollock blinked at him.
about the height of a woman’s heart. It "Put up or shut up,” repeated Creigh¬
was only the seventh, last shot, that went ton. He drew a hand from his pocket
wild. That is why I think it was after and threw down on the table a two-hun¬
the sixth that he cracked.” dred pound note. "If you’re ready to back
"Doubtless you are correct. Well, as up your boast, cover that. My friend
you remarked, mon ami, it was a sad Duquette here will hold the stakes.”
business. At least, however, Adams’ fate Pollock drew out his own billfold. He
has had a salutary effect upon other un¬ extracted a matching note and fingered
believers. No one has taken you up on it tentatively.
the bet again, I understand.” "What are the terms of the bet?” he
Creighton’s laugh was scornful. rasped.
"No fear. No one would have the "The same as with Adams,” explained
nerve.” Creighton. "You will arrive at Doom
Manor at eleven next Friday night. It
B y now Pollock was distinctly an¬ will be, I may mention, Friday the thir¬
noyed. Suddenly, he threw down teenth. But, of course, as you are not
his cards and sprang to his feet. He superstitious, that little item won’t inter-
W. T.—7
482 WEIRD TALES

est you. You will, upon arrival, accom¬ Then Creighton uttered an exclama¬
pany me to the Blue Room, and after tion.
you have examined it thoroughly I shall "Oh yes, I forgot. The automatic. I
lock you in. There will be a portable put it away after filling the magazine
telephone connected with Jasmine Cot¬ this afternoon, you know—in the top
tage, and Duquette or myself will be left-hand drawer of my desk. Better run
ready to answer a call at any time. You up and get it, while I welcome our ghost-
will have no light except the moon-rays hunter.”
filtering in through the iron-barred win¬ "Bon. I will join you at the manor-
dow. If you like, you can keep that win¬ house.”
dow partly raised, so that if you start to So while Creighton went out to greet
scream as Adams did, we can hear you Pollock, the little Frenchman hurried up
at the cottage. to his friend’s room for the pistol. With¬
"I’ll give you a .45 automatic contain¬ out troubling to snap on the switch, he
ing seven cartridges. If you remain in felt his way across to the desk, opened
the room overnight without calling or the drawer, and took out the automatic.
phoning for help, and come out at six With a grunt of satisfaction, he pocketed
next morning alive and well, you win it.
the wager. If, however, you summon Bounding down the stairs, Duquette
assistance, go off your head, or are found hastened up to the manor-house, where
dead, you forfeit your stake. . . . Well, he found the other two men awaiting
how about it? Are you game?” him.

Pollock thought for a moment. Creigh¬ "Well,” said Creighton, "I think we

ton noticed his hesitation. He laughed are ready. Shall we inspect the room
immediately?”
contemptuously.
"Suits me.” Pollock was laconic
“Oh, of course, if you’re afraid-”
Creighton silently led the way up some
Pollock cut in sharply: "Afraid? Don’t
stairs. At the end of a corridor lay the
make me laugh. Of course I’m not.”
Blue Room. He snapped on the single
He slapped down his note upon light.
Creighton’s, then added another. "If "Well, here we are,” he observed
you’re not afraid yourself, Creighton, briskly.
cover that. I’d like to get back what you Pollock glanced about him. The room
took from poor Adams, as well. . . . —a fairly large one—contained a large
Right! Now, bring on your spook!” four-poster bed, beside which was a
small stand holding the telephone. Upon
At five minutes to eleven on the fol- a side wall opposite the bed hung a
fa lowing Friday night, Creighton and hideous full-length picture depicting a
Duquette stood on the porch at Jasmine bloody-handed spectral figure in the act
Cottage staring down the drive. Creigh¬ of strangling a child. This horrible paint¬
ton broke the silence: ing might have shaken the nerves of the
"You think he’ll really come?” superstitious, but to the skeptic appeared
Duquette nodded with conviction. merely disgusting.
"Oh yes, he has nerve enough, I "The johnny that perpetrated that
think. . . . Everything is prepared?” atrocity,” he remarked caustically, "must
"I think so. ... Oh look, car lights! have had a bad case of the D. Ts. . . . I
That must be our friend now.” suppose the books go with it.”
 THE BLUE ROOM '485

As he spoke, Pollock stepped across bed, the specter strangles him, then
to a well-filled, built-in book-case. He hangs itself from the hook, where it re¬
glanced carelessly at a few of the titles. mains until daybreak.”
All were decidedly suggestive. Uncanny Pollock forced a laugh.
Yarns, Tales of Wandering Spirits, The "A female strangler, eh? Say, it looks
Headless Cavalier—and the like.- as if I’d get my money’s worth.”
At random Pollock pulled out a book
'(it was Bedtime Tales) and opened it. C REIGHTON and Duquette looked at
The first words to catch his eye were him solemnly, without speaking.
these: Their expressions were so unpleasant
that, in spite of himself, the skeptic
The screams continued for some minutes,
while the terrified servants battered franti¬ knew a moment’s uneasiness. He cov¬
cally at the heavy oaken door, then died into ered his momentary qualms with another
a faint but no less horrible gibbering. When laugh.
finally the domestics broke in they found "Well, if you have finished with your
their master squatting in the chimney-cor¬
childish exhibits, suppose we get down
ner mouthing imbecilities. So white had
grown his hair—raven-black an hour before to business.” He drew an official-looking
—that they scarcely recognized him. But it document from his breast pocket. "Here,
was his forehead that held their attention if you two will just witness to this,
most. Across it was the imprint , of a wo¬ please. Nothing like having everything
man’s blood-stained hand. It-”
regular, you know.”
Pollock snapped the book shut and "Why, what’s this?” Creighton took
returned it to the shelf. From behind the paper suspiciously. Coolly Pollock
him sounded the lugubrious voice of explained:
Creighton: "Oh, just a little formality. Merely a
"Perhaps, Mr. Pollock, you are unac¬ statement of the terms of the wager, and
quainted with the history of the Blue your promise that if my bullets do any
Room? Doom Manor, so tradition says, mischief I shall not be held responsible.
was owned five hundred years ago by I want you to understand, gentlemen,
Sir Austin Fairholm. The knight mar¬ that if I do see any unknown moving
ried a girl named Ann Fenriss, whose object in this room tonight I will shoot.
mother was reputed to have been a Any human being who tries impersonat¬
witch. On her wedding night Ann, in a ing your lady strangler will do so at the
fit of insane jealousy, strangled Sir Aus¬ risk of his own skin!”
tin as he lay asleep; then, cheating the Creighton smiled.
hangman, hanged herself inside this "No fear, Mr. Pollock. I can see that
clothes closet.” Creighton pointed to a you are a determined—although sadly
gaping empty doorway at the farther end mistaken—young man. And neither my
of the room. "If you will step inside, friend nor myself has any intention of
you will see the large steel hook in the serving as a pistol target. No, no, my
rafter overhead. It was from that that dear fellow, if you are visited by an ap¬
they found the body suspended.” parition tonight, I can guarantee that it
Creighton’s voice sank to a hollow will be a genuine specter. And if you
whisper: want to blaze away at it, why, go ahead.
"Every night, between midnight and Your bullets won’t have much effect,
dawn, the apparition is said to appear. though, I’m afraid. You can see where
If by any chance anyone is asleep in the Adams’ went.”
484 WEIRD TALES

He waved his hand meaningly , toward airily, "you can call us on the phone and
a number of bullet-holes in the wall op¬ inform us. But, if you do, in order to
posite them. Pollock’s gaze followed win the bet you’ll have to produce your
thoughtfully. He noted that, as Creigh¬ victim.”
ton had observed at the London club, the "Fair enough. . . . Here, what are you
seventh bullet had gone wild. Involun¬ doing with that light?”
tarily he shuddered, but quickly recov¬ For Creighton was coolly starting to
ered. unscrew the electric bulb.
"Well, then, if you’ll just sign, "Wait!” snapped Pollock sharply, "I
please.” want that gun!”
"Oh, by all means, by all means.” Duquette flashed faultlessly white
Hastily, Creighton scrawled his signa¬ teeth.
ture; then Duquette followed suit. Pol¬ "A thousand pardons, monsieur. I
lock took back the paper, waved it in had almost forgotten.” He drew the pis¬
the air to dry the ink, then nodded with tol from his pocket with a flourish. "A
satisfaction and slipped the folded docu¬ most efficient weapon, complete with a
ment into his pocket. fresh clip of cartridges.” He tendered
"Thank you very much, gentlemen. the automatic with a mocking bow.
Well, I think I’m ready, then. But— "Fair enough,” repeated Pollock, pock¬
hold on a minute. What about that gun?” eting the pistol with an air of supreme
"Duquette will give it to you before contentment. "Well, then, gentlemen, I
we leave,” assured Creighton. "But first, needn’t detain you any longer. See you
another small formality. You’re not al¬ in the morning.”
lowed matches, you know, nor other
means of making a light. Just to make
certain that you haven’t accidentally over¬
T he skeptic heard the grate of the
key in the lock, the click of the bolt,
looked any such forbidden articles, you then a sound of retreating footsteps. Af¬
won’t object to our searching you?” ter that there was nothing but ominous
They searched very thoroughly, find¬ silence.
ing no matches, but unkindly confiscat¬ As he turned to go over to the bed,
ing an efficient cigarette-lighter; then they Pollock’s gaze fell upon the picture.
stood back, smiling. With a startled exclamation, he leapt
"Well,” growled the skeptic, "I hope back.
you’re satisfied. And now, one question, Little wonder the ghost-hunter was
please. Suppose I shoot this dashed ap¬ startled. The forms in the portrait had
parition—and kill it? What shall I do undergone a horrifying transformation.
then?” Hideous under the electric light, they
Creighton smiled superiorly. were a hundred times more so in dark¬
"My dear fellow, you can’t shoot a ness. An unearthly light seemed to em¬
ghost. It simply isn’t done, you know.” anate from the picture faces, and the eyes
Pollock’s answering smile was unpleas- of the ghost strangler glowed like balls
ant. of flame.
"No? Well, gentlemen, I am a sure For some moments Pollock gazed at
Shot, and if an apparition shows itself, the ghastly figures in horrified fascina¬
I will shoot to kill. In the eventuality tion; then, suddenly, he laughed shakily,
that I am successful, what am I to do?” "By Jove, that surely fooled me for a
"Oh, in that case,” returned Creighton minute,” he admitted to himself frankly.
 THE BLUE ROOM 485

"Of course, though, the explanation’s his voice oddly shrill and tremulous, "I’m
simple. Those beauties touched up the going to have a look in that closet!”
figures with some kind of phosphorescent Resolutely, Pollock groped his way
paint. ... No wonder that poor devil over to the doorway. Pistol in hand, he
Adams went mad!” stood a few feet from the entrance, wait¬
Now that he understood the trick, the ing for the thing to show itself. But all
picture did not seem so terrifying; so, remained silent as the tomb.
turning his back upon it, Pollock went The skeptic waited a few moments
over to the bed. He sat down upon it longer, then cautiously advanced. Some¬
and waited. thing was in that clothes closet. Either
Minutes passed. Pollock caught him¬ that, or else his imagination had been
self listening. Of course any apparently tricking him. He went closer to that
spiritual manifestation this night would empty, gaping doorway. Still no sound.
be the work of human agencies. On the Then he crept over and peered in. He
other hand, there was something he dis¬ saw nothing. Growing bolder, he stepped
tinctly disliked about the whole atmos¬ inside the closet and felt about it.
phere of the place. He never had fancied But the closet was empty!
such ancient houses much, anyway.
great
since
deal
the
must have happened
building had been
A
here
erected.
T he very emptiness of the place un¬
nerved the skeptic. His groping
Could that story about the female stran¬ hand came in contact with the steel hook.
gler be true? Of course it might be. Its feel sent an involuntary shudder
Horrible things of such a nature had oc¬ through him. All at once, the closet
curred in other houses in medieval times, seemed alive with horrors from the past.
so why not in Doom Manor? "Ugh," shuddered Pollock, "I don’t
Something stirred and groaned in a much like the feel of this place. Maybe
comer of the room. Pollock held his the girl did hang herself here. . . . I’m
breath and waited. Presently he heard a going back to bed.”
strange, rustling sound. It seemed to He was only half-way there when the
come from the clothes closet. thing groaned again. He whirled about
The skeptic drew out his automatic and made a rush for the closet, only to
and pointed it toward the empty door¬ find it empty again.
way. But now all was still again. Once more the ghost-hunter retreated
Pollock clutched his gun tighter and to the four-poster. Before long came the
waited. Five minutes passed ... ten noise of the clanking chain, then again
. . . fifteen. But nothing moved again. that ominous, nerve-racking silence.
The ghost-hunter laughed mirthlessly. Pollock was beginning to feel desper¬
"I must have been just hearing things. ate.
There wasn’t anything.” "Look here,” he called, trying to make
Then he started. As if to belie his his voice sound stern and authoritative,
assertion, he heard the thing again. But and feeling miserable; "I don’t know
this time the apparition grew more ver¬ who’s making that unholy row, but you’d
satile. After uttering a hollow groan, it best not let me see you. You poke your
clanked a chain. ugly spook face out of that clothes closet
Then again all was silent. Pollock —and I’ll pump it full of lead!”
cursed softly. After that, no further sounds issued
"By the lord Harry," he exclaimed, from the closet. Half an hour crawled
486 WEIRD TALES

by, but the thing did not return again. menacingly, and the long fingers con¬
Pollock began to feel complacent. tinued those suggestive choking gestures.
"That’s fixed them,” he thought. "They Again the thing prepared to advance.
realize I’m a dangerous man and mean Pollock's voiee was a hoarse croak:
business. Well, since they’ve gone away, "For the last time, now. I’m warning
I’ll see if I can’t get a bit of sleep.” you!”
Slipping the automatic under his pil¬ Unheeding, the apparition glided for¬
low, the skeptic pulled up a blanket over ward.
him, and shut his eyes. At first the re¬ Pollock pulled the trigger.
membrance of the happenings of the A realistic scream ripped the air. The
night kept him wide awake, but grad¬ thing sprang upward, then hit the floor
ually he grew drowsy. Presently he with a resounding thud. It lay sprawled
slept. . . . in a silent, huddled mass.
Exactly how long Pollock slept he Pollock stared incredulously. The
couldn’t have told, but suddenly he thing remained motionless. The skeptic
awoke. His eyes popped open. Horror- uttered a cry of exultation.
stricken, they fastened upon something "By the lord Harry,” he shouted, "I’ve
in the center of the room. killed the ghost!”
It was a tall, white figure. As it glid¬ Cautiously, he slipped one foot to the
ed forward toward the bed its chain floor, then the other. After all, the spook
clanked harshly. Then slowly it stretched might be shamming. He advanced with
out its arms. Its long, slender fingers still greater caution. He poked the mass
clenched and unclenched, working nerv¬ gingerly with his toe. It had a horrible
ously. feel, soft and yielding.
The apparition glided closer. By the With a scream, the ghost-killer leapt
phosphorescent glow emanating from the back. He grabbed for the telephone.
picture, and the pale moon-rays shimmer¬ A moment more, and he was ringing
ing between the window-bars, the man the cottage. A Gallic voice answered
in the bed could see it with horrible dis¬ mockingly:
tinctness. Its hands continued to weave "Are you there? So, mon ami, you
the air in that hideously suggestive have had enough.”
fashion. Then the creature bent, as if "Is that you, Duquette?” yelled Pol¬
about to spring. lock. "Come on over, for God’s sake!
Now convinced that this was not a I’ve shot the ghost!”
nightmare but an awful reality, Pollock He heard a startled French oath, then
went into action. His hand slid beneath the click of the receiver.
his pillow, drawing out his automatic. Presently came the sound of running
He sat up and pointed it. Although icy feet. The key grated in the lock and
fingers of dread seemed clutching at his Duquette bounced in, a flashlight in his
heart, his hand was steady as a rock. hand.
"See here,” the sound of his own voice At sight of the huddled shape on the
startled him, "you’d better scram. I’m floor, he recoiled in horror.
a dead shot, I am. Just one step nearer, "Mon Dieu!” he screamed.
mister ghost, and you’re a dead spook. Pollock snatched the flashlight from
Dead as a leg of mutton!” his trembling hand. By the rays of the
But the ghostly intruder did not ap¬ electric torch he saw what lay there: a
pear frightened. It clanked its chain white sheeted figure, with a chain about
 THE BLUE ROOM 487

its waist, and a slit-eyed hood over its shots after we had taken Adams from
head. The upper part of the front of the the room.”
sheet was ominously red. A trickle of Again the Frenchman gazed amazedly
crimson oozed through a hole in the at the body. As if to convince himself,
cloth. he put his fingers to the wound; then,
as he felt the blood, sprang back as
ith hands as shaky as Duquette’s though struck by an adder.
own, Pollock pulled off the mask¬ "But yes. He is dead, of a certainty.
ing hood, revealing the face of Creigh¬ Name of a dog, but it is incredible! I
ton. The dull, glassy eyes stared up at the myself saw him load the gun with blanks.
ghost-killer unseeingly. Permit that I examine it, monsieur.”
Pollock felt suddenly sick. He reeled Silently Pollock handed over the wea¬
to his feet, his face twitching. pon. Duquette inspected it unbelievingly.
"The fool!” he said brokenly. "Why "But yes. These are real bullets. Yet
did he do it? I warned that I’d shoot.” —1 saw him fill the magazine with
Duquette was shaking like a man with blanks.”
ague. Wonderingly, the Frenchman turned
"But it is impossible,” he whispered the gun over in his hands. Suddenly,
hoarsely. "You cannot have killed him, his face went white as milk. His legs
monsieur. The bullets were blanks.” gave way, and he sat down heavily upon
Pollock stared at him in amazement; the floor.
then his face hardened. He was begin¬ Pollock caught him roughly by the
ning to understand. On a sudden shoulder and shook him vigorously.
thought, he turned the light toward the "Here,” he exclaimed, "what’s the
closet. A glance showed him the truth. matter, man? What is it?”
A portion of the back wall was slid Duquette’s eyes held unfathomable
aside, disclosing a secret passage. horror. When he spoke, his words re¬
"So it was all a trick!” he exclaimed flected that expression.
contemptuously. "That conversation at "Listen, monsieur. Tonight, before
the club was staged for my benefit. You you came, Creighton sent me up for the
swine planned to treat me as you had gun. It was in the left-hand drawer of
Adams, then to fatten on my money.” his desk.”
Then a puzzled look crept into Pol¬ "In the left-hand drawer?” Pollock re¬
lock’s eyes. peated the words uncomprehendingly.
"But—I still don’t understand one Suddenly Duquette laughed—a mirth¬
thing. Those bullets in the wall. Surely, less, hysterical laugh.
Adams couldn’t have missed every time?” "But yes, monsieur. . . . Creighton
Duquette was still staring at his had two .45 automatics of the same make,
friend’s corpse. He answered mechani¬ with only the serial numbers different.
cally: This one must have been in the right-
"But those were blanks, also, monsieur. hand drawer. In the dark l made the
The bullet-holes? Bah! We fired those mistake!”
 WEIRD TALES

Sard’s Death
By RICHARD F. SEARIGHT

The end draws near, and weakness weights my limbs5

My step is leaden, and my keen eye dims.
No longer may my arts contrive a way
To hold the demon from his tryst with me—
Aye, soon will come the fiend to claim his feet
The price I pledged him on a long-past day.

Is there no way I may evade this doom?

Evade, and pass in quiet to my tomb,
And in the saving arms of death sink down?
Ah, must I pay the frightful toll I swore,
'Mid ghastly rites of hideous primal lore,
Should be the price of sorcerous renown?

Nay, come! Rise up from grim Plutonian deep,

Ye lesser Forms of Evil. Rise and creep
Before my presence. Say there is a way. « , ,
Ye will not speak? Ye smirk and mock at me.
And gibbering, titter with disloyal glee?
Then, go! I’ll gain my grave as best I may. , , ,

The final bitter dark begins to close;

My waning vigor fades and fails, and those.
My hasty plans, are rendered null. Now life.
As sweet to wizards as to common men,
Unversed in that dark ill beyond their ken,
Must vanish, with its victories and strife.

My breath grows short, and like a sable pall

The horror-ridden shadows spread and fall;
Now through the whispering blackness stirs a stray;
And vagrant icy breath, and crimson eyes
Glare close and closer. Lo! I strive to rise—
The taloned paws have seized me—aye, I pay!
 rother Lucifer
By CHANDLER H. WHIPPLE

Strange and spectacular was the doom that lurked in that weird
book from the old, ruined monastery

I N THE book-lined study of the little

cottage which stood beside the ancient
did not die—that much is certain. Why,
then, he must be still alive—and seven
church, John Druten, Vicar of Wen- hundred years old!”
ley, sat peering at the illumined volume He chuckled at his little joke, a jest at
before him. The hour was late; in the which no one save a true antiquarian
quiet English village, no light showed would have smiled. "Lucifer.” He rolled
save here in the study of the vicarage; yet the word upon his tongue, as if it were a
still John Druten read on. sip of rare old wine from the cellars of
The black Latin figures, painfully in¬ the ancient refectory, now long since
scribed seven centuries before by the crumbled to dust. "Lucifer. . . . What
monks of that Wenley Abbey which was an odd name for a monk, anyhow! . ,.
now but a tumbled ruin beyond the near¬ Might as well have named him Beelze¬
by church, seemed to blur, to take on bub. ... Of course, the name at that
form and dance before the vicar’s eyes. time signified bearer of light more often
All unconscious that the lamp burned than it did the Devil. . . .”
low, Druten shook his head, brushed one Outside, a sudden wind howled weird¬
hand across his eyes to dear his vision. ly around die corners of the ancient
He could not pause now, though his eyes church. It was like a lost voice crying.
dimmed; here was a strange bit of monk¬ Strange, that on this quiet spring eve¬
ish history which to his antiquarian’s ning a wind should so suddenly arise! It
heart was as a green field to the husband¬ did not seem to blow elsewhere. . . .
man. He had come upon many oddities Druten squinted, shook his head again,
in the years that he had pored over realized at last that the lamp was low. He
these ancient records; yet strangely, this turned the wick upward; but the oil was
intrigued him more than had all the rest. gone and little more light came. He
"Brother Angelico-” he mumbled shook his head sadly; realizing now how
for the tenth time. "Yes, he was the last. late was the hour, he strove for one last
And of Brother Lucifer there is no fur¬ look at the printed page.
ther mention. Up to this point, the book He shuddered from a sudden chill. It
is full of his doings; after the Eve of was as if that weird wind outside had
Saint Walburga’s Day, in the Year of entered here through the closed doors and
Grace One Thousand, Two Hundred windows, and was coursing down his
Eighteen, there is not a word said of him. bade. Or—yes, it was as if someone were
And he was but twenty-eight then. Why, in the room with him, as if burning eyes
it is as if he had dropped dead in the were upon his back. He started at the
prime of his youth. . . . Yet it could not thought, whirled quickly around.
have been death which took him, else it No, there was nothing, no one there.
would have been recorded here. No, he The living-room beyond, too, seemed
m
490 WEIRD TALES

empty. His mind was playing tricks upon wall; yet at last he held it in his hand.
him. Too concentrated study had put Even as he brought, the point up and
strange fancies in his head. forward, the light dimmed and went out.
He turned about, closed the book re¬ Thick darkness blanketed the room.
gretfully. "Well, Brother Lucifer," he Now, though, there was light again. It
said sadly, "it looks as if I shall have to was a dim light, a strange unworldly
give up your case for the night. Shall I luminance.
never find what happened to you? Must Druten saw then that it emanated, like
I call you back from the dead to answer a phosphorescent glow, from the gray
this vexing question?” He smiled as he figure advancing through the doorway.
rose from his chair. "Come, Brother At first he would hardly have called it a
Lucifer,” he added coaxingly, "come up figure, since it seemed almost without
from those musty vaults and tell me what form; but before his eyes it took on shape,
happened to you in the Year of Our Lord became a robed grayness descending upon
One Thousand, Two Hundred Eight¬ him. He could not see the face for the
een. . . gray cowl which covered it.
His voice trailed off. John Druten "Stop where you are,” Druten cried,
caught his breath. What were those with the rapier at ready, "or I’ll run you
sounds that came from the living-room through!”
beyond? Still the gray figure came on. With a
Yes, they were footsteps. . . . Light, sharp intake of breath, Druten leapt for¬
whispering footsteps, all but soundless— ward and thrust the sword in.
yet he heard them. They were descend¬ He jumped back swiftly, his face as
ing the stairs into the living-room, slow¬ gray as the light in the room. The blade
ly—and there was a fearful thing about had gone through nothingness, and the
their sound which he could not put a point had bent against the wall! It fell
name to. from his stiffened fingers. Even as he
thrust, the rapier had grown icy cold in
J ohn druten was no coward, but now his hand.
for a moment sudden panic caused him Now he stood, gasping for breath, in
to turn as if to flee from the room and the farthest corner of the room. He
from the house. neither moved nor spoke; but he knew
Then he paused. Absurd of me! he that someone else was speaking, that in
thought. I must stay, else I may never the room was a voice. It seemed to come
know what caused the sound. Perhaps from the grayness, which now had ceased
it is only my sister, come back unexpect¬ its slow advance and stood, as if waiting,
edly from London. Or perhaps it is even beside his desk where lay the closed
some prowler who thought the place un¬ volume of monkish chronicles.
occupied. If so, why should I fear him? "I have come,” the voice said. "You
I am a good swordsman, and I shall stand called me and I have come.”
him off with the rapier hanging on yon¬ The words were spoken quietly, but in
der wall. Yes, I must stay and stand the the speaking there was a sinister quality
beggar off. . . . which chilled John Druten’s blood. For
The footsteps were near now, almost a long moment he could not even speak.
to the door of the living-room. It took "What—what do you want?” he man¬
eternities for John Druten to reach, silent¬ aged at last.
ly, and grasp the rapier that hung on the He fancied that the face he could not
 BROTHER LUCIFER 491

see smiled greedily. "I have waited a stood stiff and silent. And in the silence
long time,” the figure answered, "yet at he could hear the scratching of a pen. He
last you have called me. The sin which I looked toward the desk; he saw there a
committed on Saint Walburga’s Night blur of grayness which had human form;
seven centuries ago was, in the eyes of the and through this he could see that words
holy abbot of Wenley, a fiendish thing; were appearing on the blank page of the
hence though they buried my still living book, words written in Latin, in an ink
' body in the dank vaults of the abbey, he that was black as the farthermost pit of
refused to record my death, and forbade Hell. With a curiosity that overcame his
that my name ever again be spoken. fear, he bent forward to read.
"Thus it was that though my body At the words that he read, the face of
breathed in the thinning air of the vault the man of God became a pasty white.
until it expired in torment, I never truly "No!” he shouted, "you must not write it
died. I lived in the damp vault, an un¬ there! It is blasphemy!”
dead soul—waiting until someone should The pen wrote on. . . .
call my name to bring me forth.”
"God in Heaven!” John Druten cried.
A sigh exuded from the figure, as if it
"You must blot out every word! In
recalled its long torment.
Christ's name, cease writing!” He traced
"Now my waiting is ended,” it said.
with his hand the sign of the cross.
"Now I have only to write the account
Abruptly, the writing ceased. The fig¬
of my sin in yonder book, and the man¬
ure seemed to sway away from him, to
ner and time of my death, and I shall be
tremble as from fear.
free. My soul shall be free to do as it
wills—or as the Devil wills it. .. .” Encouraged by this sign of victory, for¬
The air in the room was grown very getting that this whole thing must be but
cold, and John Druten shivered. a mad dream, John Druten rushed for¬
"I am John Druten, Vicar of Wenley,” ward to the desk.
he said in his mind, "and I am not mad. "Begone, fiend!” he cried wildly.
No, I am as sane as the day I was bom. "Better that you stay as you are than
It is only that I have studied late and am such foul words be written! Better your
tired. This thing I am half dreaming, soul remain imprisoned, than roam the
half seeing in my tired mind. ...” world to perpetrate such hideous deeds
Had he spoken aloud? For the voice again!”
from the grayness answered him. . . . When the gray shape made no move to
"Trouble yourself not with such matters,” go, he seized from the desk a richly
it said, "for you must help me, and then carved box that lay there. He raised it
I shall be off. You must open the book high above his head, menacing the fiend.
for me at the proper place, so that I may "In this box,” he said in a voice more
write. . . .” nearly calm, "repose certain relics and a
Then John Druten was certain that fragment of the thighbone of Saint
madness was upon him; for as if his will George. If you do not leave at once, I
were no longer his own, he walked stiffly shall fling this at you and destroy your
forward to the desk. He opened the book soul. In the name of Saint George and
he had been reading at the page which a Our Lord Jesus, go!”
horrible gray finger indicated. To his astonishment, the gray shape
He stepped back then, for the cold shuddered and whirled about. Before his
about him was gnawing at his bones, and eyes, it seemed Slowly to dissolve. And
492 WEIRD TALES

as it vanished, the air in the room grew hold of him, he would indeed go mad.
warmer. As it was, he was sane. He was quite
But the head was last to go, and for sane, and had only suffered from an un¬
the first time John Druten saw the face. usually acute nightmare. . . .
It was more awful than the monster heads But why, then, had the little carved
of a myriad nightmares. He thought that box, passed down to him by countless
the lips moved, and that they said, generations of holy men, which contained
"Against this threat I cannot stay; but I the relics of Saint George, been moved
shall come back. Tomorrow I shall come from its usual resting-place? Why did the
back, more powerful, and finish this dust upon it seem to have been disturbed
night’s work. ...” by a human hand? Why, it even looked
Then all sign of the grayness was gone. as if the lock had been tampered with,
Trembling, John Druten stood and lis¬ the box broken into!
tened. There was no sound of retreating Absurd! He was seeing things!
footsteps; but outside, strangely, the wind Well, then, why did he not open the
had risen again. It howled about the book, the chronicle of the monks of Wen-
walls of the ancient church with a soun3 ley? He knew the page; and one look
like the crying of damned souls. . . . would settle the matter. He would find
nothing written there, which would prove
A ll that night John Druten tossed fit- that he had been suffering from a night¬
l fully in his bed, and dawn did not mare.
lessen his fears. He moved forward, then stopped; for
He fled from the house when the char¬ in his mind was the thought that perhaps
woman came to wash the breakfast dish¬ he would find something written there.
es and tidy up. He did not dare to face And if he did, there could be but one
her, fearing she might detect the madness answer.
in his eyes. He fled down into the He stoo<J a long time irresolute, his
streets of the village; there he met many hand half lifted to the book. In that one
of his acquaintances and sometimes he move lay the answer to his sanity; yet he
talked to them. But he did not talk to dared not make the move. At last he
any long; for it seemed to him that they turned away.
must hear the whisper of madness in his But this battle with himself was not
voice. It seemed to him that already they finished. It had become the all-important
looked at him strangely, and he thought thing in his life. All afternoon it raged,
that when he walked on, sly smiles fol¬ and John Druten paced the floor of his
lowed him. study, now walking toward the book, now
At last the village he had always loved turning away. Once he sat down at his
was grown intolerable to him, and he desk and wrote in his diary an account of
returned to his home and his study. The the events of the night before; for he felt
woman had gone; he could sit here in that if insanity or death were about to
quiet peace, with no other eyes upon him. overtake him, his friends must know this
With no eyes upon him? Why then much of his story. Then he resumed his
was there that strange prickling sensa¬ pacing.
tion in his back? Had the thing grown
so bold that it was come back to watch I T was not till dusk had fallen that he
him in the broad light of day? at last decided. "Perhaps I am mad,”
Absurdity! If he let such thoughts gain he reasoned with himself; "perhaps I am
 BROTHER LUCIFER 493

sane. If so, I shall go mad before the It was not too late, perhaps, to flee from
night is over if I do not know. ...” this cursed place into the street, but he
This time he walked steadily to the could not flee. So great was his fear that
desk and picked up the book in his he had barely been able to make that one
hands. With fingers that trembled, he slight move. Now he could only stand
turned the pages until he came to the one rooted to the spot, waiting. . . .
whereon the dread words must be written. The steps reached the doorway, paused,
Not until he had turned a dozen pages then came on. And John Druten, know¬
on either side did he dare believe what ing though he did what it was that came,
his eyes told him. Then he sat down stepped back in horror when he saw it.
limply in the chair, and his face shone He knew then that death faced him,
with joy. For the page was empty! and something far more horrible than
After a moment, the hysteria of relief death—something that went beyond the
seized him. He began to chuckle, first grave, that clutched at his soul and would
quietly, then more loudly, until at last give him no. peace through all eternity.
the walls of the room rang with his Yet he stood waiting, unable to defend
laughter. Tears streamed down his cheeks, himself or to cry out.
so great was his joy.
"Ho, ho!” he cried. "Well, Brother hen it was half-way across the
Lucifer! You surely gave me a fright. room, words came from the gray¬
Indeed I have studied too much, and ness.
thought too long upon these ancient "You spoke my name,” it said, and
chronicles—till now I must needs be see¬ there was in the voice something of the
ing the dead rise in my dreams! . . .” sound the wind had held. "You spoke
His laughter slowly subsided; the room my name; hence I was able to return,
was still again. He stiffened, strained his stronger, more alive than before.
ears. What was that sound he had heard "It is a pity,” the gray shape added,
which seemed to come from about the "that the ink in which I wrote last night
church and the spot where the abbey had did not survive. I must write now in
once stood? stronger ink.”
It was a sound as of a suddenly risen It moved slowly forward, one hand
wind when no wind was blowing else¬ upraised. Seeing that hand and its intent,
where—but there was in it more than John Druten at last found voice.
the wind. . . . "Stop!” he screamed.
Trembling and pale, John Druten tried The shape came on, ignoring his com¬
to shut out from his ears that other mand. So slowly it moved that it seemed
sound that he knew must follow; yet, it must take a century to cross the little
silent as it was, he could not keep it out. room; yet its movement was certain and
Now they were coming up the staircase— sure. . . .
slow, whispering footsteps which held in "But that alone,” it said, "will not
them infinite menace. suffice. I am not one to forgive, John
With a powerful effort, the vicar rose Druten. Last night you might have given
from his chair, walked slowly around the me a new life in death; instead, you sent
desk and took his stand with one hand me back to the dank tomb. For that, you
near the holy relic. It was too late now shall have a fate more fearful than was
to attempt to light the lamp, for already mine. You shall die horribly; and beyond
the steps were crossing the living-room. death, horribly you shall live. . . .”
494 WEIRD TALES

It was almost upon Druten now in its writhing mass that lay there. It might
deathly slow advance. Summoning all have been John Druten, for the clothes it
the force of his ebbing will-power, the wore were his and the hands were his;
vicar forced his hand down to seize the but the face was not. The evil glittering
box which sat near it. Again he raised it in its eyes, as it moved soundlessly from
high.
the room, could never have shone in the
"Stop!” he cried. "In the name of
eyes of John Druten.
Saint-”
Laughter drowned his words. "There Yet Druten was gone, and on the floor
are things I am able to learn that you can¬ at the spot where he had stood lay but a
not,” said the shape, "and one such is mound of moldering cloths: the gray
that your box is useless. Some one of your robes and cowl of a cenobite, so attired
predecessors was but prey to a scheming and old that they should have been under
vender. There are no true relics in the ground these seven centuries and more.
box. Throw it if you will. . . Inside them no body lay, but only a thick
With all the power he possessed, Dru¬ and moldering dust, and a nail, and a
ten threw the box full into the awful face. strand of hair, and something that might
But he knew even as he threw it that the have been a crumbling bone. . , ,
voice spoke truth. The box seemed to
Only these things in the room, and on
thud against the face; yet the shape came
the desk an opened book with pages that
on.
gleamed redly now, and a dusty, waiting
Its slow advance was ended. ...
silence. No sight or thought was there
John Druten screamed. He called upon
of John Druten’s body or of his soul; but
God and Christ and all the saints to aid
outside where ruined masonry encom¬
him. But he felt the walls of Hell sweep¬
passed a moonlit space, there where once
ing in upon him. And he knew that he
had Wenley Abbey stood, a new wind
slipped down into blackness beyond
moaned. Its sound held the note of a
which lay awful and eternal torment.
lost soul crying, and it rose higher with
He heard Brother Lucifer laugh. . . *
each moment, as if with each moment

W hen all sound in the room had

quieted, a figure came up from the
more aware of its awful fate.

Thus must the wind at Wenley Abbey

floor, seeming almost to flow from the moan for evermore. . . ,
 M ickman’s Model*
By H. P. LOVECRAFT

Y OU needn’t think I’m crazy, Eliot

—plenty of others have queerer
might have surmised I had some inside
information when I dropped him—and
prejudices than this. Why don’t that’s why I don’t want to think where
you laugh at Oliver’s grandfather, who he’s gone. Let the police find what they
won’t ride in a motor? If I don’t like can—it won’t be much, judging from the
that damned subway, it’s my own busi¬ fact that they don’t know yet of the old
ness; and we got here more quickly any¬ North End place he hired under the name
how in the taxi. We’d have had to walk of Peters. I’m not sure that I could find
up the hill from Park Street if we’d it again myself—not that I’d ever try,
taken the car. even in broad daylight! Yes, I do know,
I know I’m more nervous than I was or am afraid I know, why he maintained
when you saw me last year, but you don’t it. I’m coming to that. And I think you’ll
need to hold a clinic over it. There’s understand before I’m through why I
plenty of reason, God knows, and I fancy don’t tell the police. They would ask me
I’m lucky to be sane at all. Why the to guide them, but I couldn’t go back
third degree? You didn’t use to be so in¬ there even if I knew the way. There was
quisitive. something there—and now I can’t use the
Well, if you must hear it, I don’t subway or (and you may as well have
know why you shouldn’t. Maybe you your laugh at this, too) go down into
ought to, anyhow, for you kept writing cellars any more.
me like a grieved parent when you heard I should think you’d have known I
I’d begun to cut the Art Club and keep didn’t drop Pickman for the same silly
away from Pickman. Now that he’s dis¬ reasons that fussy old women like Doctor
appeared I go around to the club once in Reid or Joe Minot or Bosworth did.
a while, but my nerves aren’t what they Morbid art doesn’t shock me, and when a
were. man has the genius Pickman had I feel it
No, I don’t know what’s become of an honor to know him, no matter what
Pickman, and I don’t like to guess. You direction his work takes. Boston never
• From WEIRD TALES for October, 1927. had a greater painter than Richard Upton
495
496 WEIRD TALES

Pickman. I said it at first and I say it get any deeper. Gad, I wouldn’t be
still, and I never swerved an inch, either, alive if I’d ever seen what that man—if
when he showed that Ghoul Feeding. he was a man—saw!
That, you remember, was when Minot You recall that Pickman’s forte was
cut him. faces. I don’t believe anybody since Goya
You know, it takes profound art and could put so much of sheer hell into a
profound insight into nature to turn out set of features or a twist of expression.
stuff like Pickman’s. Any magazine-cover And before Goya you have to go back to
hack can splash paint around wildly and the mediaeval chaps who did the gar¬
call it a nightmare or Witches’ Sabbath or goyles and chimeras on Notre Dame and
a portrait of the devil, but only a great Mont Saint-Michel. They believed all
painter can make such a thing really scare sorts of things—and maybe they saw all
or ring true. That’s because only a real sorts of things, too, for the Middle Ages
artist knows the actual anatomy of the had some curious phases. I remember
terrible or the physiology of fear—the your asking Pickman yourself once, the
exact sort of lines and proportions that year before you went away, wherever in
connect up with latent instincts or heredi¬ thunder he got such ideas and visions.
tary memories of fright, and the proper Wasn’t that a nasty laugh he gave you?
color contrasts and lighting effects to stir It was partly because of that laugh that
the dormant sense of strangeness. I don’t Reid dropped him. Reid, you know, had
have to tell you why a Fuseli really brings just taken up comparative pathology, and
a shiver while a cheap ghost-story frontis¬ was full of pompous ’’inside stuff” about
piece merely makes us laugh. There’s the biological or evolutionary significance
something those fellows catch—beyond of this or that mental or physical symp¬
life—that they’re able to make us catch tom. He said Pickman repelled him
for a second. Dore had it. Sime has it. more and more every day, and almost
Angarola of Chicago had it. And Pick- frightened him toward the last—that the
man had it as no man ever had it before fellow’s features and expression were
or—I hope to heaven—ever will again. slowly developing in a way he didn’t like;
Don’t ask me what it is they see. You in a way that wasn’t human. He had a
know, in ordinary art, there’s all the dif¬ lot of talk about diet, and said Pickman
ference in the world between the vital, must be abnormal and eccentric to the
breathing things drawn from nature or last degree. I suppose you told Reid, if
models and the artificial truck that com¬ you and he had any correspondence over
mercial small fry reel off in a bare studio it, that he’d let Pickman’s paintings get
by rule. Well, I should say that the really on his nerves or harrow up his imagina¬
weird artist has a kind of vision which tion. I know I told him that myself—
makes models, or summons up what then.
amounts to actual scenes from the spec¬ But keep in mind that I didn’t drop
tral world he lives in. Anyhow, he man¬ Pickman for anything like this. On the
ages to turn out results that differ from contrary, my admiration for him kept
the pretender’s mince-pie dreams in just growing; for that Ghoul Feeding was a
about the same way that the life painter’s tremendous achievement. As you know,
results differ from the concoctions of a the club wouldn’t exhibit it, and the Mu¬
correspondence-school cartoonist. If I seum of Fine Arts wouldn’t accept it as a
had ever seen what Pickman saw—but gift; and I can add that nobody would
no! Here, let’s have a drink before we buy it, so Pickman had it right in his
W.T.—7
 PICKMAN’S MODEL 497

house till he went. Now his father has it "The place for an artist to love is the
in Salem—you know Pickman comes of North End. If any esthete were sincere,
old Salem stock, and had a witch ancestor he’d put up with the slums for the sake
hanged in 1692. of the massed traditions. God, man!
Don’t you realize that places like that
I got into the habit of calling on Pick- weren’t merely made, but actually grew?
Generation after generation lived and felt
man quite often, especially after I be¬
gan making notes for a monograph on and died there, and in days when people
weird art. Probably it was his work which weren’t afraid to live and feel and die.
put the idea into my head, and anyhow, I Don’t you know there was a mill on
found him a mine of data and sugges¬ Copp’s Hill in 1632, and that half the
tions when I came to develop it. He present streets were laid out by 1650? I
showed me all the paintings and draw¬ can show you houses that have stood two
ings he had about, including some pen- centuries and a half and more; houses
and-ink sketches that would, I verily be¬ that have witnessed what would make a
lieve, have got him kicked out of the club modern house crumble into powder.
if many of the members had seen them. What do moderns know of life and the
Before long I was pretty nearly a devotee, forces behind it? You call the Salem
and would listen for hours like a school¬ witchcraft a delusion, but I’ll wager my
boy to art theories and philosophic spec¬ four-times-great-grandmother could have
ulations wild enough to qualify him for told you things. They hanged her on
the Danvers asylum. My hero-worship, Gallows Hill, with Cotton Mather look¬
coupled with the fact that people gen¬ ing sanctimoniously on. Mather, damn
erally were commencing to have less and him, was afraid somebody might succeed
less to do with him, made him get very in kicking free of this accursed cage of
Confidential with me; and one evening monotony—I wish someone had laid a
he hinted that if I were fairly dose- spell on him or sucked his blood in the
mouthed and none too squeamish, he night!
might show me something rather unusual "I can show you a house he lived in,
—something a bit stronger than anything and I can show you another one he was
he had in the house. afraid to enter in spite of all his fine bold
"You know,” he said, "there are things talk. He knew things he didn’t dare put
that won’t do for Newbury Street— into that stupid Magnolia or that puerile
things that are out of place here, and Wonders of the Invisible World. Look
that can’t be conceived here, anyhow. It's here, do you know the whole North End
my business to catch the overtones of the once had a set of tunnels that kept certain
soul, and you won’t find those in a par¬ people in touch with each other’s houses,
venu set of artifidal streets on made land. and the burying-ground, and the sea?
Back Bay isn’t Boston—it isn’t anything Let them prosecute and persecute above
yet, because it’s had no time to pick up ground—things went on every day that
memories and attract local spirits. If they couldn’t reach, and voices laughed at
there are any ghosts here, they’re the tame night that they couldn’t place!
ghosts of a salt marsh and a shallow cove; "Why, man, out of ten surviving
and I want human ghosts—the ghosts of houses built before 1700 and not moved
beings highly organized enough to have since, I’ll wager that in eight I can show
looked on hell and known the meaning you something queer in the cellar. There’s
of what they saw, hardly a month that you don’t read of
W. T.—8
498 WEIRD TALES

workmen finding bricked-up arches and that one must paint terror as well as
wells leading nowhere in this or that old beauty from life, so I did some exploring
place as it comes down—you could see in places where I had reason to know
one near Henchman Street from the el¬ terror lives.
evated last year. There were witches and
’Tve got a place that I don’t believe
what their spells summoned; pirates and
three living Nordic men besides myself
what they brought in from the sea; smug¬
have ever seen. It isn’t so very far from
glers; privateers—and I tell you, people
the elevated as distance goes, but it’s cen¬
knew how to live, and how to enlarge
turies away as the soul goes. I took it
the bounds of life, in the old times! This
because of the queer old brick well in the
wasn’t the only world a bold and wise
cellar—one of the sort I told you about.
man could know—faugh! And to think
The shack’s almost tumbling down, so
of today in contrast, with such pale-pink
that nobody else would live there, and
brains that even a club of supposed
I’d hate to tell you how little I pay for it.
artists gets shudders and convulsions if a
The windows are boarded up, but I like
picture goes beyond the feelings of a that all the better, since I don’t want day¬
Beacon Street tea-table! light for what I do. I paint in the cellar,
"The only saving grace of the present
where the inspiration is thickest, but I’ve
is that it’s too damned stupid to question
other rooms furnished on the ground
the past very closely. What do maps and
floor. A Sicilian owns it, and I’ve hired
records and guide-books really tell of the it under the name of Peters.
North End? Bah! At a guess I'll guar¬
"Now if you’re game, I’ll take you
antee to lead you to thirty or forty alleys
there tonight. I think you’d enjoy the
and networks of alleys north of Prince
pictures, for as I said, I’ve let myself go
Street that aren’t suspected by ten living
a bit there. It’s no vast tour—I some¬
beings outside of the foreigners that
times do it on foot, for I don’t want to
swarm them. And what do those Dagoes
attract attention with a taxi in such a
know of their meaning? No, Thurber,
place. We can take the shuttle at the
these ancient places are dreaming gor¬
South Station for Battery Street, and
geously and overflowing with wonder and
after that the walk isn’t much.”
terror and escape from the commonplace,
and yet there’s not a living soul to under¬
stand or profit by them. Or, rather,
W ell, Eliot, there wasn’t much for
me to do after that harangue but to
there’s only one living soul—for I haven’t
keep myself from running instead of
been digging around in the past for
nothing! walking for the first vacant cab we could
sight. We changed to the elevated at the
"See here, you’re interested in this sort
South Station, and at about twelve o’clock
of thing. What if I told you that I’ve got
had climbed down the steps at Battery
another studio up there, where I can
Street and struck along the old water¬
catch the night-spirit of antique horror
front past Constitution Wharf. I didn’t
and paint things that I couldn’t even
think of in Newbury Street? Naturally keep track of the cross streets, and can’t
tell you yet which it was we turned up,
I don’t tell those cursed old maids at
but I know it wasn’t Greenough Lane.
the club—with Reid, damn him, whisper¬
ing even as it is that I’m a sort of monster When we did turn, it was to climb
bound down the toboggan of reverse evo¬ through the deserted length of the oldest
lution. Yes, Thurber, I decided long ago and dirtiest alley I ever saw in my life.
 WEIRD TALES 499

with crumbling-looking gables, broken street would call fairly "hard-boiled,’'

small-paned windows, and archaic chim¬ but I’ll confess that what I saw on the
neys that stood out half-disintegrated walls of that room gave me a bad turn.
against the moonlit sky. I don’t believe They were his pictures, you know—the
there were three houses in sight that ones he couldn’t paint or even show in
hadn’t been standing in Cotton Mather’s Newbury Street — and he was right
time—certainly I glimpsed at least two when he said he had "let himself go.”
with an overhang, and once I thought I Here—have another drink—I need one
saw a peaked roof-line of the almost for¬ anyhow!
gotten pre-gambrel type, though antiqua¬ There’s no use in my trying to tell you
rians tell us there are none left in Boston. what they were like, because the awful,
From that alley, which had a dim light, the blasphemous horror and the unbe¬
we turned to the left into an equally lievable loathsomeness and moral fetor
silent and still narrower alley with no came from simple touches quite beyond
light at all; and in a minute made what the power of words to classify. There
I think was an obtuse-angled bend toward was none of the exotic technique you see
the right in the dark. Not long after this in Sidney Sime, none of the trans-Satur-
Pickman produced a flashlight and re¬ nian landscapes and lunar fungi that
vealed an antediluvian ten-paneled door Clark Ashton Smith uses to freeze the
that looked damnably worm-eaten. Un¬ blood. The backgrounds were mostly old
locking it, he ushered me into a barren churchyards, deep woods, cliffs by the
hallway with what was once splendid sea, brick tunnels, ancient paneled rooms,
dark-oak paneling — simple, of course, or simple vaults of masonry. Copp’s Hill
but thrillingly suggestive of the times of Burying-Ground, which could not be
Andros and Phips and the witchcraft. many blocks away from this very house,
Then he took me through a door on the was a favorite scene.
left, lighted an oil lamp, and told me to The madness and monstrosity lay in
make myself at home. the figures in the foreground—for Pick-
Now, Eliot, I’m what the man in the man’s morbid art was pre-eminently one

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500 WEIRD TALES

of demoniac portraiture. These figures what happens to those stolen babes—how

were seldom completely human, but often they grow up—and then I began to see
approached humanity in varying degrees. a hideous relationship in the faces of the
Most of the bodies, while roughly biped¬ human and non-human figures. He was,
al, had a forward-slumping and a vaguely in all his gradation of morbidity between
canine cast. The texture of the majority the frankly non-human and the de-
was a kind of unpleasant rubberiness. gradedly human, establishing a sardonic
Ugh! I can see them now! Their occupa¬ linkage and evolution. The dog-things
tions—well, don’t ask me to be too pre¬ were developed from mortals!
cise. They were usually feeding—I won’t And no sooner had I wondered what
say on what. They were sometimes he made of their own young as left with
shown in groups in cemeteries or under¬ mankind in the form of changelings,
ground passages, and often appeared to than my eye caught a picture embodying
be in battle over their prey—or rather, that very thought. It was that of an
their treasure-trove. And what damnable ancient Puritan interior — a heavily
expressiveness Pickman sometimes gave beamed room with lattice windows, a
the sightless faces of this charnel booty! settle, and clumsy Seventeenth Century
Occasionally the things were shown leap¬ furniture, with the family sitting about
ing through open windows at night, or while the father read from the Scriptures.
squatting on the chests of sleepers, worry¬ Every face but one showed nobility and
ing at their throats. One canvas showed reverence, but that one reflected the mock¬
a ring of them baying about a hanged ery of the pit. It was that of a young man
witch on Gallows Hill, whose dead face in years, and no doubt belonged to a sup¬
held a close kinship to theirs. posed son of that pious father, but in
But don’t get the idea that it was all essence it was the kin of the unclean
this hideous business of theme and set¬ things. It was their changeling—and in
ting which struck me faint. I’m not a a spirit of supreme irony Pickman had
three-year-old kid, and I’d seen much given the features a very perceptible re¬
like this before. It was the faces, Eliot, semblance to his own.
those accursed faces, that leered and
slavered out of the canvas with the very B y this time Pickman had lighted a
breath of life! By heaven, man, I verily lamp in an adjoining room and was
believe they were alive! That nauseous politely holding open the door for me,
wizard had waked the fires of hell in pig¬ asking me if I would care to see his
ment, and his brush had been a night- "modem studies”. I hadn’t been able to
mare-spawning wand. Give me that de¬ give him much of my opinions—I was
canter, Eliot! too speechless with fright and loathing—
There was one thing called Tbe Lesson but I think he fully understood and felt
—heaven pity me, that I ever saw it! Lis¬ highly complimented. And now I want
ten—can you fancy a squatting circle of to assure you again, Eliot, that I’m no
nameless dog-like things in a churchyard mollycoddle to scream at anything which
teaching a small child how to feed like shows a bit of departure from the usual.
themselves? The price of a changeling, I’m not easily knocked out. Remember,
I suppose—you know the old myth about too, that I’d just about recovered my
how the weird people leave their spawn wind and gotten used to those frightful
in cradles in exchange for the human pictures which turned Colonial New Eng¬
babes they steal. Pickman was showing land into a kind of annex of hell. Well,
 WEIRD TALES 301

In spite of all this, that next room forced

a real scream out of me, and I had to
dutch at the doorway to keep from keel¬ ( THE TRUTH
ing over. The other chamber had shown THAT WAS
a pack of ghouls and witches overrun¬ DAMNED
ning the world of our forefathers, but
Man dared become masterful and inde¬
this one brought the horror right into our pendent! Centuries ago he began to probe
own daily life! the mysteries of the universe, to disclose
the hidden truths of nature. Astounding
Gad, how that man could paint! There results were achieved — miracles, some
declared them. The conditions which en¬
was a study called Subway Accident, in slaved men and women—misfortune, dis¬
which a flock of the vile things were ease and dispair—were conquered. This
wealth of knowledge was accumulated in
clambering up from some unknown cata¬ vast temples and seats of learning avail¬
comb through a crack in the floor of the able to all who sought it. This growing
power and knowledge of the masses was
Boylston Street subway and attacking a a challenge to selfish rulers and corrupt
crowd of people on the platform. An¬ priesthoods. Alexandria was ordered
burned,Tripoli destroyed. The rare know¬
other showed a dance on Copp’s Hill ledge was damned, seized and burned.
among the tombs with the background of THIS FREE BOOK
today. Then there were any number of Startling is the revelation that these
strange laws of life, nature, and personal
cellar views, with monsters creeping in power have not entirely vanished from the
through holes and rifts in the masonry earth. Secret Brotherhoods were formed
to conceal eopies of the ancient manu¬
and grinning as they squatted behind scripts, or rescue them from beneath i
barrels or furnaces and waited for their crumbling temple walls. The Rosicru-
cians, one of these ancient brotherhoods
first victim to descend the stairs. (notareligion),havo preserved this know¬
ledge that makes posable PERSONAL
One disgusting canvas seemed to de¬ POWERandHAPPINESS. Write for
pict a vast cross-section of Beacon Hill, the FREE SEALED BOOK. It tells
bow you may procure these age-old secret
with ant-like armies of the mephitic methods. Addresst Scribe R. R. B.
monsters squeezing themselves through Roaicrucian Brotherhood
burrows that honeycombed the ground.
Dances in the modern cemeteries were
freely pictured, and another conception
somehow shocked me more than all the
rest—a scene in an unknown vault, where
scores of the beasts crowded about one
who held a well-known Boston guide¬
book and was evidently reading aloud.
All were pointing to a certain passage,
and every face seemed so distorted with
epileptic and reverberant laughter that I __your Drag: Sundries, Special¬
ty | tics. Supplies, Novettiea, etc., direct
almost thought I heard the fiendish l3UV6l from manufacturer through our
■ Mail-Order Dept. All personal items
echoes. The title of the picture was, I are mailed postpaid by ns In plain
fw/u I sealed package. We have every¬
Holmes, Lowell and Longfellow Lie thing:. Send for lit KB, illustrated
mail-order catalog.
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As I gradually steadied myself and got
readjusted to this second room of deviltry
WANTED -yatvrii^eVn^ Keep posted. Valuable coin*
and morbidity, I began to analyze some pass through your hands daily. Before sending coins
of the points in my sickening loathing. mail 10c for new 1936 coin book. Union Coin Com-
502 WEIRD TALES

In the first place, I said to myself, these walked nearer, and I saw that it must be •
things repelled because of the utter inhu¬ five feet across, with walls a good foot
manity and callous cruelty they showed in thick and some six inches above the
Pickman. The fellow must be a relentless ground level—solid work of the Seven¬
enemy of all mankind to take such glee teenth Century, or I was much mistaken.
in the torture of brain and flesh and the That, Pickman said, was the kind of thing
degradation of the moral tenement. In he had been talking about—an aperture
the second place, they terrified because of of the network of tunnels that used to un¬
their very greatness. Their art was the dermine the hill. I noticed idly that it
art that convinced—when we saw the pic¬ did not seem to be bricked up, and that a
tures we saw the demons themselves and heavy disk of wood formed the apparent
were afraid of them. And the queer part cover. Thinking of the things this well
was, that Pickman got none of his power must have been connected with if Pick-
from the use of selectiveness or bizarrerie. man’s wild hints had not been mere rhet¬
Nothing was blurred, distorted, or con¬ oric, I shivered slightly; then turned to
ventionalized; outlines were sharp and follow him up a step and through a nar¬
life-like, and details were almost pain¬ row door into a room of fair size, pro¬
fully defined. And the faces! vided with a wooden floor and furnished
It was not any mere artist’s interpreta¬ as a studio. An acetylene gas outfit gave
tion that we saw; it was pandemonium the light necessary for work.
itself, crystal-dear in stark objectivity. The unfurnished pictures on easels or
That was it, by heaven! The man was propped against the walls were as ghastly
not a fantaisiste or romanticist at all—he as the finished ones upstairs, and showed
did not even try to give us the churning, the painstaking methods of the artist.
prismatic ephemera of dreams, but coldly Scenes were blocked out with extreme
and sardonically reflected some stable, care, and penciled guide-lines told of the
mechanistic and well-established horror- minute exactitude which Pickman used in
world which he saw fully, brilliantly, getting the right perspective and propor¬
squarely and unfalteringly. God knows tions. The man was great—I say it even
what that world can have been, or now, knowing as much as I do. A large
where he ever glimpsed the blasphe¬ camera on a table excited my notice, and
mous shapes that loped and trotted and Pickman told me that he used it in taking
crawled through it; but whatever the baf¬ scenes for backgrounds, so that he might
fling source of his images, one thing was paint them from photographs in the stu¬
plain. Pickman was in every sense—in dio instead of carting his outfit around
conception and in execution—a thorough, the town for this or that view. He thought
painstaking, and almost scientific realist. a photograph quite as good as an actual
scene or model for sustained work, and
M y host was now leading the way declared he employed them regularly.
down-cellar to his actual studio, and There was something very disturbing
I braced myself for some hellish effects about the nauseous sketches and half-fin¬
among the unfinished canvases. As we ished monstrosities that leered, around
reached the bottom of the damp stairs he from every siiJe of the room, and when
turned his flashlight to a comer of the Pickman suddenly unveiled a huge canvas
large open space at hand, revealing the on the side away from the light I could
circular brick curb of what was evidently not for my life keep back a loud scream
a great well in the earthen floor. We —the second I had emitted that night. It
 WEIRD TALES 503

echoed and re-echoed through the dim

vaultings of that ancient and nitrous cel¬ m MlDWISr Cfive* Ifcm
lar, and I had to choke back a flood of re¬ PUSH BUTTOn TUninG
action that threatened to burst out as hys¬
terical laughter. Merciful Creator, Eliot,
P(«i ELECTRIK SAVER
but I don’t know how much was real and
how much was feverish fancy! It doesn’t
seem to me that earth can hold a dream
like that!

It was a colossal and nameless blas¬

phemy with glaring red eyes, and it held
in bony claws a thing that had been a
man, gnawing at the head as a child nib¬
bles at a stick of candy. Its position was
a kind of crouch, and as one looked one
felt that at any moment it might drop its
present prey and seek a juicier morsel.
But, damn it all, it wasn’t even the fiend¬
ish subject that made it such an immortal
fountain-head of all panic—not that, nor EVERYWHERE, radio enthusiast* I
are praising.this amaiingly beautiful, P
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body nor the half-hooved feet—none of
Canadian, police, amateur, eommerJalj
these, though any one of them might well
have driven an excitable man to madness.

It was the technique, Eliot—the cursed,

the impious, the unnatural technique! As
I am a living being, I never elsewhere
saw the actual breath of life so fused
into a canvas. The monster was there—
it glared and gnawed and gnawed and if
glared—and I knew that only a suspen¬ X '?7C£ 30-DAY TRIAL OFFER a,«/
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ever had.

Pinned with a thumb-tack to a vacant

part of the canvas was a piece of pa¬ \QTou
per, now badly curled up—probably, I
thought, a photograph from which Pick- Gamblers Secrets Exposed
New Book. BEAT THE CHBAT.
man meant to paint a background as hid¬
3rd without taking c
eous as the nightmare it was to enhance. Making any point with aloe, itackdls eapotea. naeea. m
I reached out to uncurl and look at it, ChMt." JOHNSTON'S BOOKS, Boi 2488-W, Kama, i
504 WEIRD TALES

when suddenly I saw Pickman start as if tious in these old places—our rodent
shot. He had been listening with peculiar friends are the one drawback, though I
intensity ever since my shocked scream sometimes think they’re a positive asset
had waked unaccustomed echoes in the by way of atmosphere and color.”
dark cellar, and now he seemed struck
with a fright which, though not compar¬
able to my own, had in it more of the
W ell, Eliot, that was the end of the
night’s adventure. Pickman had
physical than of the spiritual. He drew promised to show me the place, and
a revolver and motioned me to silence, heaven knows he had done it. He led
then stepped out into the main cellar and me out of that tangle of alleys in another
closed the door behind him. direction, it seems, for when we sighted
a lamp-post we were in a half-familiar
I think I was paralyzed for an instant.
Imitating Pickman’s listening, I fancied I street with monotonous rows of mingled

heard a faint scurrying sound somewhere, tenement blocks and old houses. Charter
Street, it turned out to be, but I was too
and a series of squeals, or bleats, in a di¬
rection I couldn’t determine. I thought flustered to notice just where we hit it.
of huge rats and shuddered. Then there We were too late for the elevated, and

came a subdued sort of clatter which walked back downtown through Han¬
somehow set me all in goose-flesh—a fur¬ over Street. I remember that walk. We

tive, groping kind of clatter, though I switched from Tremont up Beacon, and
Pickman left me at the corner of Joy,
can’t attempt to convey what I mean in
words. It was like heavy wood falling where I turned off. I never spoke to him
again.
on stone or brick—wood on brick—what
Why did I drop him? Don’t be impa¬
did that make me think of?
tient. Wait till I ring for coffee. We’ve
It came again, and louder. There was
had enough of the other stuff, but I for
a vibration as if the wood had fallen far¬
one need something. No—it wasn’t the
ther than it had fallen before. After that
paintings I saw in that place; though I’ll
followed a sharp grating noise, a shouted swear they were enough to get him ostra¬
gibberish from Pickman, and the deafen¬
cized in nine-tenths of the homes and
ing discharge of all six chambers of a re¬
clubs of Boston, and I guess you won’t
volver, fired spectacularly as a lion-tamer
wonder now why I have to steer clear of
might fire in the air for effect. A muffled subways and cellars. It was—something
squeal or squawk, and a thud. Then more I found in my coat the next morning.
wood and brick grating, a pause, and the You know, the curled-up paper tacked to
opening of the door—at which I’ll con¬
that frightful canvas in the cellar; the
fess I started violently. Pickman reap¬ thing I thought was a photograph of
peared with his smoking weapon, cursing
some scene he meant to use as a back¬
the bloated rats that infested the ancient ground for that monster. That last scare
well. had come while I was reaching to uncurl
"The deuce knows what they eat, Thur- it, and it seems I had vacantly crumpled
ber,” he grinned, "for those archaic tun¬ it into my pocket. But here’s the coffee—*
nels touched graveyards and witch-den take it black, Eliot, if you’re wise.
and seacoast. But whatever it is, they Yes, that paper was the reason I
must have run short, for they were devil¬ dropped Pickman; Richard Upton Pick-
ish anxious to get out. Your yelling man, the greatest artist I had ever known!
stirred them* up, I fancy. Better be cau¬ —and the foulest being that ever leaped
 -WEIRD TALES 505

the bounds of life into the pits of myth

and madness. Eliot, old Reid was right.
He wasn’t strictly human. Either he was
born in strange shadow, or he’d found a
way to unlock the forbidden gate. It’s
all the same now, for he’s gone—back
into the fabulous darkness he loved to
haunt. Here, let’s have the chandelier
going.

Don’t ask me to explain or even con¬

jecture about what I burned. Don’t ask
me, either, what lay behind that mole¬
like scrambling that Pickman was so keen
to pass off as rats. There are secrets, you
know, which might have come down
from old Salem times, and Cotton Mather
tells even stranger things. You know
how damned life-like Pickman’s paintings
were—how we all wondered where he
got those faces.
Well—that paper wasn't a photograph
of any background, after all. What it
showed was simply the monstrous being
he was painting on that awful canvas. It
was the model he was using—and its
background was merely the wall of the
cellar studio in minute detail. But by
heaven, Eliot, it was a photograph from
life.

Coming Soon—

DIG ME NO GRAVE
By Robert E. Howard

A posthumous weird story by a bril¬

liant master of eery fiction.

Watch for this in Weird Tales

W E CANNOT iterate too often that
Weird Tales is your magazine. It
Wooden Stakes—are uniformly good. The
news of Robert E. Howard’s death is indeed
is you, the readers, who make the tragic. His outstanding character and excep¬
publication of this magazine possible; and it tional writing talents were revealed in every
is to you, therefore, that we turn for guid¬ one of his works; WT and every reader of
ance in selecting the kind of stories that you weird fiction will sincerely mourn his abrupt
like. Write us a letter, telling what you passing. I shall miss especially his thrilling
think of the stories published, whether you tales of the colorful Conan—one of the
like them or whether you don’t. What stories most endearing characters ever drawn. The
do you consider outstanding? Are there any two poems in this issue are very good. Espe¬
stories that you consider downright bad? cially enjoyable and spine-tingling was Ly-
What types of stories do you prefer, always canthropus. The idea behind it could have
bearing in mind that the stories must be com¬ served very adequately as the plot of a short
patible with the title. Weird Tales? It is short-story. In general, you’re doing excel¬
only by means of your letters that we are lently in your capacity as editor of Weird
able to keep this magazine in conformity Tales. I am indeed grateful for the many
with what you want. hours of solid enjoyment I have derived
from the reading of this fine publication.
Hours of Solid Enjoyment You are to be highly complimented, both on
Corwin Stickney, Jr., director of the Sci¬ the excellence of your format, and on the
ence-Fantasy Correspondence Club, writes high literary standard you have set, attained,
from Belleville, New Jersey: "The August- and held.”
September issue is quite satisfactory. In one
of her rare moods, Brundage painted a truly Howard’s Collected Works
weird cover. Her nudes, though they some¬ Julius Hopkins, of Washington, D. G,
times appear to have dieted too extensively, writes: "Robert E. Howard’s death is truly
are attractive—but hardly weird. The best a great loss to our magazine, for he was one
complete story this month is, undoubtedly, of the real masters of weird fiction. In view
Werewolf of the Sahara. G. G. Pendarves is of his untimely departure from our material
a miter. He has created a vivid story that world, I suggest that you print a collection
I’ll long remember. In my mind it is, as you of his best works, selections to be made by
say, a tremendous tale. Somehow I was dis¬ the readers of VHP. I also think that you
appointed with The Door Into Infinity. might print a picture or sketch of Mr. How¬
Something lacking, that’s all. The story ard with a brief biography. Why do I
seemed to drag wofully in spots. Hamilton think you should do this? Just because
can, and will, do better. The Medici Boots Robert E. Howard was one of the most pop¬
is quite interesting, but far more interesting ular writers WT ever had and probably ever
I found Virgil Finlay’s peculiar and beauti¬ will have. ... It is not difficult to select the
ful illustration for it. He's a really excel¬ best story in the September issue. The
lent artist; I hope you’ll give him more than Medici Boots by Pearl Norton Swet is with¬
one story to illustrate in future issues. Other out a doubt the number one tale for this
K ns—Death Holds the Post, In the Dark, month. It possesses real weirdness. I en¬
e Diary of Philip Westerly, and Pour joyed it tremendously. Virgil Finlay’s illus-
 .WEIRD TALES 5075

tration for this story is superb. Death Holds

the Post by Derleth ana Schorer contains
an old plot, but is nevertheless done in fine
style. Hie description of the cadavers in The Cream of
the outpost is excellent. The Diary of Philip
Westerly and In the Dark are splendid short-
shorts, and I like them better than a couple
Weird Fiction
of the longer tales. Four Wooden Stakes,
the reprint, is just an ordinary vampire • Weird Tales prints the best weird
tale, authored, evidently, by a novice in the
field of writing. The story is too concise. fiaion in the world today. The high
Part 2 of Red Nails is very slaughterous, ex¬ literary quality of its stories is evi¬
citing, and extremely interesting. We are
denced by the comparatively large
going to miss Conan, the barbarian. It’s
too bad that Mr. Howard didn’t write a number of stories from Weird Tales
story in which his popular brain-child would
that have been reprinted or awarded
be vanquished, so we could know how great
a thing it would take to bring death to this honorable mention in annual best fic¬
superhuman, who has successfully defied tion anthologies. You are assured of
death dealt at him by giants, armies, mon¬
strosities, and magicians. When one sees reading the best when you read Weird
the name of Edmond Hamilton beside the Tales, The Unique Magazine.
title of a story, he expeas to find something
worth reading; however, such is not the
case with The Door Into Infinity. I am very TREAT THE
much surprized that Mr. Hamilton would
allow his name to be printed with such a SHOE DEODORIZER AND STERILIZER
A speciaf preparation compounded from specific chem¬
story as this. It’s just another cheap thriller— icals that sterilizes the inside of shoes by destroying
bacteria and fungi spores, the cause of Ringworm,
the kind that we readers have pleaded again Athlete’s Foot. etc. Prevents reinfection from shoes
and again for you to keep out of WT. Are - slippers and checks excessive perspiration. To be
d in shoes only. Increase the wearing life of your
you beginning to print this magazine with s and be comfortable. Price 5<* and Trial
e 25c. J. & V. Schreiner
’names’ instead of stories? In spite of the
numerous protests against publishing any
more Doaor Satan adventures, you continue Disease
to print them. Why use precious space for
tales the readers don’t want? Mr. Ernst can
CONTROLS of Blood
write some real weird ones, if you’ll just
let him. He’s a splendid author, has a good
style, and I like to peruse his work; but I,
JOHN STERLING REMEDY CO. K.««ciS?M..
for one, don’t like such stuff as the Doctor
Satan series. ... I would like to see a
Virgin Finlay illustration on the cover be¬ DIRECT from FRANCE
cause I know there would be a touch of true
weirdness to it. Next month’s stories look
like an all-star line-up. I hope they are as
good as advance reports indicate.”

Not a Pseudonym
A Ghostly Voice from the Ether!
Joseph Allan Ryan, of Cambridge, Mary¬ Jl was as if some phantom were whispering
land, writes: "Just’ wondering—is Thorp through the ether in the language of another
McClusky the pseudonym for another of planet: Read
your authors? Seems to me I’ve never heard
"THE MOON TERROR"
of him before, but he took a time-worn plot (in book form)
and made a distina and satisfying story out PRICE—50c
of it—a sort of summary of DrScula, leaving
out the tiresomely dragging sections of the Subscribe to Weird Tale*
508 WEIRD TALES

latter story. Very few authors can build a always wanted to know why about every¬
good story around a much-used theme— thing and no one knows how much Weird
perhaps Seabury Quinn in weird fiction and Tales has meant to me. I have just read
the late Stanley G. Weinbaum in science- about Robert E. Howard’s death. What a
fiction. And no doubt ‘Abdul Alhazred’ pity! He was tunong your best. To think
Lovecraft could do the same; but I couldn't we never will have Conan again! How I
prove my statement, for Lovecraft always always love him, and what a grand time!
uses a new plot for his masterpieces. Where He has never a dull moment. Red Nails is
is Lovecraft these days, anyway? Is he tak¬ grand, and of course I have saved all my
ing a temporary vacation, or is he taking his back numbers. You should see the stacks of
time ana writing a long serial novel? them. I read them over and love them.
(Shades of Arlton Eadie!) Gertrude Hem- Now I must make a plea for my greatest
ken ran out of cute words in her latest effort hero, Doctor Jules de Grandin. I see that he
and wrote something serious, for a change. is coming soon, and I can hardly wait. I
Ah, Trudy, I never thought you’d let us sometimes wonder if there is anyone in the
down that way! We’d just as soon hear world like him? I don’t think so. After all,
(God forbid!) Joe Penner delivering a we have Mr. Quinn to thank. ... I must
scientific treatise. Go back to your old style say something about Virgil Finlay’s draw¬
and give us your baby-talk. I feel positively ings. They are exquisite. The one in the
cheated—only one Finlay illustration in the August issue with The Medici Boots is won¬
August-September issue. Incidentally, why derful, and also with The Room of Shadows.
not give us a cover by Virgil? It wouldn’t There is such a haunting look that it makes
do any harm to try him once or twice—he a lump in my throat and makes me wish for
does delve into oils now and then, you know. all the things that might have been and long
I don’t mean for you to lay Mrs. Brundage to have lived when the world was young and
off, by any means—she's swell—but variety dark things flew and crawled and man had
is the spice of life, and even WT can use a to fight, not just exist. And while I am
little variety on the covers .... Your new¬ talking about drawings—I am so used to
est illustrator, Harold De Lay, is very good Margaret Brundage’s lovely nudes on the
on the straight art work; but don’t give him covers that the magazine wouldn’t be com¬
any of the particularly weird stuff to do plete without them. I like the reprints be¬
until we know definitely whether or not cause I am always thinking I missed some¬
we’re going to like him. Why not give thing before I started reading Weird
Virgil Finlay a story of Quinn’s—a Jules de Tales. ... If ever Weird Talbs goes off
Grandin story, of course—to illustrate ? Then the market I wouldn’t know what to do the
we’d have a sort of collaboration between first of the month. ... I think I have put
the two masters. Seabury Quinn would feel twelve years of thinking into this letter and
honored to have his work done by Finlay— maybe some night when 1 am restless again
and vice versa.” [No, Thorp McClusky is I will sit in the dead of night and write you
not a pen name. It is the real name of a again.”
new writer. Two new stories by H. P. Love¬
craft will appear right soon, and they are Loot of the Vampire
well worth waiting for. You ask that we Donald Allgeier, of Springfield, Missouri,
have Virgil Finlay illustrate one of Seabury writes: "The July Weird Tales was truly a
Quinn’s de Grandin stories; he has done fine issue. In my opinion Loot of the Vam¬
just that in this issue.—The Editor.} pire is best in the issue. McClusky has de¬
veloped some interesting new ideas on the
Twelve Years of Thinking old vampire theme. Virgil Finlay’s drawing
Margaret Warren, of Columbus, Ohio, for the second installment is one of the best
writes in part: "This is my very first fan weird illustrations I have yet seen. Red
letter of any kind in my life, but 1 have Nails and Lost Paradise vie for second hon¬
read Weird Tales since I was eleven years ors. Once again we are privileged to roam
old, when I had to sneak to the attic to do through the wildernesses and cities of an¬
so. I am twenty-three now and an orphan. cient, forgotten lands with Conan, the pre¬
I am very shy and self-conscious and have al¬ mier adventurer of all time. The new story
ways leaned on the heavy weird things and starts out in a way that augurs well for fu-
 WEIRD TALES 509

ture installments. In Valeria, we have an

ideal companion for the Gmmerian. And
once again C. L. Moore puts a dream on
LET ME TELL YOU
About your business, travel,
paper—a lovely fantasy. Northwest Smith changes, matrimony, love affairs,
friends, enemies, lucky days and
remains one of the greatest fiction characters many other interesting and Im¬
yet created. Kayser's best yet was The Un¬ portant affairs of your life as In¬
dicated by astrology. Bend for
born, an unusual story, vividly and strikingly your special Astral Reading. All
narrated. Clark Ashton Smith was at his best work strictly scientific, individual
and guaranteed satisfactory. FOR
in his new tale of necromancy and dark MANY YEARS PRIVATE AS¬
magic. When the World Slept is an excel¬ TROLOGICAL ADVISER TO
ROYALTY and the ELITE. Write
lent and interesting variation on an old plot. name, address and date of birth
plainly. No money required, but
The idea of the sleeping maiden as his com¬ if you like send 20 cents (stamps;
panion was a good touch. Kbaru Knows All No Coins), to help defray oosts.
Address: PUNDIT TABORE, (Dept. 426-B), Upper
was the best of this month’s crop of ultra¬ Forjett Street, BOMBAY VII, BRITISH INDIA.
Postage to India is 6c.
shorts. . . . The Eyrie continues to be the
most interesting readers’ department in any
magazine. I like the friendly little para¬
graph by the editor at the beginning of it.”
S^IE8°AND*NOV)a!,TIE8hin Americar:Ev«y mai
-1 These marvelous values SELL ON SIGHTI
Jules de Grandin luarantee assures satisfaction or money bach.
Unbeatable duality I Amazing low priceBl WK HAY
POSTAGE.^ Complete line of j NEW ^FALL ^NECKWEAJt
J. H. Hammond, of Alexandria, Virginia,
writes: "I have been a reader of Weird ith Patented siyde-On ready^tied*tl«B^T Send
f for Free Illustrated Deserlptlve Catalog and BWPIP
Tales ever since the magazine has been SAMPLE SWATCHES See why our men are"""”"
1ST MONEY-MAKERS. WritoNOWl tflHMK
published. I have never missed a copy yet. BOULEVARD CRAVATS, n W. 21rt St., Dept M-ajNEW TOUR
What has become of Seabury Quinn? When
will we have one of his stories, with Jules CLASSIFIED ADVERTISEMENTS
de Grandin, published again? It does not SMALL ADS WORTH WATCHING
seem like Weird Tales without him. Loot Books
of the Vampire and Red Nails and The Re¬ THE MOON TERROR—A stupendous weird-scientific
novel of Oriental intrigue to gain control of the world!
turn of Sarah Purcell are my favorite stories Cloth-bound with handsome colored jacket—50 cents
in the July issue. I do not like Lost Para¬ postpaid. WEIRD TALES, 840 N. Michigan Ave.,
dise. What I like is plain old-fashioned
Business Opportunities
ghost stories, werewolf stories and vampire
START BUSINESS t
stories. I also like weird-scientific stories. increases gas mileage Si ... ____
So give us what we want.” [Some more ness plans, $5.00. William Krachie, 646 J
Street, New York.
fine de Grandin stories will appear soon.— BIG MONEY EASILY MADE in home or office.
The Editor.] -. - Free booklet teils how. John S:
», N. Y.
Child of the Winds
. capital required. Liberal commissions.
Aleta Dore, of New York Gty, writes: bonus. Write for details. Circulation A_
"Although I have never written to a maga¬ WEIRD TALES Magazine, 840 N. Michigan Ave..
zine before and even now feel I am a month
behind with my letter, I must tell you how
STOP TIRED ACHING FEET I New dl
much I enjoyed Child of the Winds by Ed¬ foot suffering for only few cents. 25c brings complete
mond Hamilton. I thought it was delight¬ secret. Williami Y—-—*
Krachie, 646 East 11— Street,
-- New
York.
ful. Seabury Quinn’s departure from his FRECKLES VANISH ALMOST INSTANTLY! Send
usual story of Jules de Grandin was also suc¬ $1.00 for complete secret. Money cheerfully refunded
without question
-■* if —*
n< William Krachie, 646
cessful. I found the story most interesting.” East 11 Street, New
Old Money Collectors
A Disappointing Issue
B. M. Reynolds, of North Adams, Massa¬
Wollard, 108 Potrero A
chusetts, writes: “It was with deep regret
that I learned of Robert E. Howard’s sudden
and untimely death. A great favorite with WHO IS THE MYSTERIOUS “«WO”i The solution
io this baffling mystery Is thrillingly told in one of the
all of us, I know that he and his work will .nost startling stories ever written — THE MOON
TERROR, in book form. Price 50c. WEIRD TALES!,
always be remembered. His fertile imagina- 840 North Michigan, Chicago, Illinois,
510 WEIRD TALES

tion, vivid depiction of the fantastic and lit¬ fine beyond words. Werewolf of the Sahara
erary style were the work of sheer genius. was distinctively unique. No one but Pen-
Farewell, Robert E. Howard. That you set darves would think of using the Sahara des¬
your course by the stars, I have no doubt. ert as a background for a werewolf story.
We, the readers of Weird Tales, will never Judging from her past stories and her pres¬
forget you. I was greatly disappointed with ent one, she knows the East as well as Price
the August-September issue of Weird does. The struggle between good and evil
Tales, especially after the great job you reminded me of The Devil’s Graveyard pub¬
turned out in July. It was by far the poor¬ lished over a decade ago. Belief in were¬
est number you have ever given us. Red wolves has existed more than two thousand
Nails by Howard is excellent, one of his years. The best weird oriental story I ever
best, but I turn thumbs down on the balance read in your magazine was The Rajah’s Gift,
of the issue.” the story of a man’s pride which was so great
that it killed him. I notice you are publish¬
With or Without Ghouls ing more historical stories. Although The
Charles H. Bert, of Philadelphia, writes: Medici Boots cannot be classified as one,
"I noticed in the Eyrie Henry Kuttner’s let¬ nevertheless the author has woven the an¬
ter regarding my comments on his story. cient past into the present and turned out an
The Graveyard Rats, in which he believes his exceptionally fine story. Red Nails is devel¬
story was more convincing with the ghoul, oping splendidly. Compliments to Harold
I dislike to be too critical and fault-finding, De Lay for his clever illustration. Finlay
but I think the story would have been more turned out a nice one too. His illustration is
effective without the ghoul. He depicts in so real and life-like that it occurred to me
his story the dreadful hunger of the rats. that the blond Medici could speak. I am
Logically, if the rats were so, why didn’t curious to know h<jw a cover drawing would
they attack the ghoul instead of the care¬ look by Finlay. What is this! I remember
taker? Hie nature of rats is that they will no request in the Eyrie for Four Wooden
eat anything when hungry. Also, Kuttner Stakes. There are so many fine yarns in the
had built the horror sequence up to an ad¬ past issue that it causes me to wonder why
mirable height and the inclusion of the you chose such a mediocre story for a re¬
ghoul added little to it. For a real study of print. Whispering Tunnels would have made
gruesome horror, Rickman’s Model, by Love- a great reprint. Take this hint: by using a
craft, is unsurpassed. However, I liked smaller type in your reprint department you
Kuttner’s story very much. ... I am very can publish longer stories and make them
sorry indeed to read about the sudden death more satisfying to the readers.”
of Robert E. Howard. I had a profound
Robert E. Howard’s Stories
admiration for his work. His work had the
subtle touch of genius and a fascinating, Doctor John D. Clark, of Pittsfield, Mas¬
brilliant style. His stories, in your own sachusetts, writes: "I was very sorry to hear
words, 'fired the imagination by the compel¬ of the death of Robert E. Howard. He will
ling sweep of its fantasy and the strange be missed. He could write a weird adven¬
power of its style.’ The stories I recall that ture story in a way that no other author can
were his super-best were: The Shadow approach. His stories were tightly written,
Kingdom, Moon of Skulls, Kings of the convincing (at the time) and literate. Why
Night, Gods of Bal Sagoth, Wings in the not bring out some of his older stories, such
Night, The Black Stone, Worms of the as the King Kull stories, Solomon Kane, and
Earth, The Scarlet Citadel, and A Witch those of the Irishman-Saxon team in book
Shall be Born. In the historical line Howard form? Many of the Weird Tales addicts-
was supreme; The Sowers of the Thunder, such as myself would appreciate it. I don’t
Lord of Samarcand, and The Lion of Tibe¬ mention the Conan stories because I already
rias were his best. In this triumvirate he has have collected all of them and have them
caught all the glamor, glory, richness, loves bound. But unfortunately I was converted
and hates of the ages they depicted. Howard to your magazine after the time of the other
is irreplaceable, I doubt if you ever will get stories, and have only heard enough about
another author like him. ... I always enjoy them to feel badly because I missed them!
oriental stories, and those you publish are I shall not put in one of the usual lists of-
 WEIRD TALES 311

stories I like and don’t like. Heaven knows

the job of an editor is bad enough without
having to please everybody. In the first place,
NEXT MONTH
it can’t be done. And in the second, I con¬
tinue to buy the magazine, and to brag about
it—you’d think I wrote it—to anybody who
The Cyclops of
will listen, and to many who won’t.”

Our Eery Yarns

Xocrtl
By Otis A. Kline and
Robert A. Madle, of Philadelphia, writes:
“For the past two and one-half years Weird E. Hoffmann Price
Tales has pleased me with its eery yarns of
vampires, ghouls, monsters, barbarian ad¬
venturers, with its stories of science, rocket
H ere is a superb novelette, which
we feel sure you will greatly
flights and alien dimensions; in fact I have
liked practically every story you have printed. enjoy. Two of the most popular
The August-September issue did not detract writers of weird fiction have collabo¬
from your reputation of being The Unique rated to weave the eery spell of this
Magazine but added to it. G. G. Pendarves’ story about a one-eyed monstrosity that
Werewolf of the Sahara is the story which
spread death and panic terror over a
appeals most to me in the current issue.
peaceful Mexican countryside.
Robert E. Howard’s Conan adventure takes
second place. Weird fiction has lost one of
its best authors in the death of Howard.” T his story, unlike most weird fic¬
tion, is based on perfectly possible
Long-Winded? No Indeed!
happenings. But it is no less fascinat¬
Ian C. Knox writes from London, Eng¬ ing for that reason. It is a strange tale
land: "Congratulations and condolences.
of stark horror. Despite its length,
The latter on the death of Robert E. Howard;
the congratulations on his two serials. In this powerful tale will be published
my humble opinion he was your best author. complete
Here is a suggestion as tribute—canvass
your readers and I am sure they will agree.
Publish the best of his Conan stories in book in the next issue of
form, in two volumes (cover, of course, by
Brundage).... In this form they will take
up less room than the stacks of magazines. I WEIRD TALES
don’t know about his other heroes. I missed
Kull and Solomon Kane (through not know¬ on sale November 1st
ing of your existence then), and Turlogh
O’Brien seems to me a rather inferior Co¬ To avoid missing your copy, clip and mail this
nan. . . . Not counting Howard, the six coupon today for SPECIAL SUBSCRIPTION
OPPER. / (You Save 25c)
authors whom I want most to read in your
pages are, in order: Otis Adelbert Kline,
C. L. Moore, SeaBury Quinn, Edmond Ham¬
ilton, Clark Ashton Smith, and Carl Jacobi.
By the way, isn’t it time you got something
more out of Kline, or has he given up writ¬
ing? And what about a series (serials and
shons) by Hamilton about his world of Kal-
issssgasssB
dar? Please excuse this long-windedness;
but I do not bombard you with letters once
a month like some of your readers, and only
write up very occasionally. Consequently,
when I do, I have a lot to say.”
512 WEIRD TALES

Short Comments Satan yarn and Edmond Hamilton’s Door

Into Infinity are tied for second place. . . ,
Earl Peirce, Jr., of Washington, D. C.,
Glad to see that Weird Tales will appear
writes: "Have read and enjoyed the July
on the news stands dated a month ahead of
WT. By all means continue with August
time, as in the old days.”
Derleth’s monthly ghost story. And I would
like to see more of Henry Kuttner's work in Henry Kuttner writes from his home in
your magazine. He writes splendid ballads, Beverly Hills, California: "Nice cover on the
and his graveyard-rat story, including the September WT, although I don’t like pug-
'fourth at bridge,’ was one of the better nosed heroines. But, frankly, on the whole
yarns. I enjoyed Wellman’s The Kelpie and the issue seemed somehow lacking in weird¬
Bodo Wildberg’s The Snakeskin Cigar-Case. ness. Maybe the absence of (be bogeyboys—
Your short stories of late have been veritable Bloch and Smith and Lovecraft—accounted
gems. They are not 'fillers,’ but fillings.” for that. I liked Kayser’s story for the very
clever twist at the end.”
Therese Ericsson, of Hasselfors, Sweden,
Louis C. Smith, of Oakland, California,
writes: “I have just received the March copy
writes: "Edmond Hamilton was good, as
of your magazine from London, but I do
always, in (he last issue, with The Door Into
not find its contents quite so fascinating as
Infinity. But I’d still relish some of his old
it used to be. There is too much of the end
Interstellar Patrol stories. G. G. Pendarves
of the world in it, and the grave rats was a
is just about the master of his subject, to
horrid story without being fascinating.”
my way of thinking. You can’t go wrong on
Bruce Bryan, of Washington, D. C., him. And I still think Mrs. Brundage’s
writes: "Let me congratulate the author of nudes are great stuff; they are better than any
Loot of the Vampire for turning out a mag¬ of the cruder things you used to run on the
nificent vampire tale—new in every respect, coverr,"
as far as I’m concerned, grandly illustrated,
and making you roll every word over and Most Popular Story
over on your tongue to be sure of getting Readers, what is your favorite story in this
the last juicy drop of taste out of it. In the issue? Write us a letter, or fill out the cou¬
words of Nyarlathotep, 'It was swell!’ ” pon below, and send it to the Eyrie, Weird
John V. Baltadonis, of Philadelphia, Tales. The most popular story in the Au-
writes: "Excluding Red Nails from consid¬ gust-September issue, as shown by your votes
eration, as I do not read the serials until they and letters, was the second part of the late
are completed, the best story in the Septem¬ Robert E. Howard’s serial. Red Nails. This
ber issue was G. G. Pendarves’ thrilling tale, was closely followed by Werewolf of the
Werewolf of the Sahara. Paul Ernst’s Doc Sahara, by -G. G. Pendarves.

MY FAVORITE STORIES IN THE NOVEMBER WEIRD TALES ARE:

Story Remarks
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I do not like the following stories:
(1)_ Why?_

(2)-
r
It will help us to know what kind of J Reader’s name and address:
stories you want in Weird Tales if you *
will fill out this coupon and mail it to | "
The Eyrie, Weird Tales, 840 N. Michigan I ■
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in 1923 and.there has been a steady drain on the supply of back copies ever since. At present,
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T HE MOON TERROR, by A. c.
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DIMENSION, by Farnsworth Wright, is
an uproarious skit on the four-dimensional
novel of Chinese intrigue to gain control of theories of the mathematicians, and inter¬
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OOZE, by Anthony M. Rud, tells of a only. It cannot be purchased in any book store.
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PENELOPE, by Vincent Starrett, is a
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the fantastic thing that happened when the
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AN ADVENTURE IN THE FOURTH | City.State.