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Acolyte, v. 3, issue 1, whole no. 9, Winter 1945
Page 22
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The last story is remarkable for the way in which the horror of the alien and the fascination of the alien are equally maintained until almost the very end. Machen is the only other writer I can think of who could do this as well. THE RUNNER They said to leave the ancient house alone: Some Thing lived there that none would call by name. But I was bold and did not mind a bit The cobwebs and old stoves that knew no flame. A creaking stair led upward into the gloom To strange old gables, hoary now with mould. A study there, with dusty books and scrolls That made my seeking fingers numb with cold. I could not read those tomes of Elder lore, And laughed at what the people once had said: A man had called a thing from far below, A running thing that had no eyes or head. It had fast feet (the ancient legend said) And lurked around the shadows of the stair. It chased intruders, drove them mad, perhaps; Or brought them back unclothed into its lair. I laughed again a these wild tales and left Because I saw no living thing within the place. Books, manuscripts and scrolls I later burned, Nor did I see the Running Thing without a face. The doctor says that I imagine things: No creature dogs my footsteps night and day. But now I have a pounding in my ears As if the hounds of hell were all at bay. Sometimes a cold, dank wind will whisper by, And hurried footfalls plague my weary ears; Though I see nothing and my friends do not, I cannot chase away these horrid fears. Now far, now near, the awful Runner goes, And one dark night I saw a silhouette Of lumpy shoulders and a bony, outstretched claw. I fear the thing is going to catch me yet....... ---Duane W. Rimel -----oo0oo----- THE MUMMY We found the tomb at sunset, but the brown-skinned fellahs Refused to pry into the hallowed ground. My comrades slept. Amid the dark and flthy cellars I hacked the ancient door, and with the sound Of ghastly wailing wood its queer seals gave; My flaring torch disclosed a mummy bound Upright in one end of a darkened cave. Dread shook my limbs as I approached the fearsome place And gazed into its black, dilated eyes. An odd aroma stung; I saw its wrinkled face Smile. I heard my quick and gasping sights; Then...felt my arms tight in white folds; I saw A strange white man go through the open door. ---Arthur F. Hillman -- 22 --
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The last story is remarkable for the way in which the horror of the alien and the fascination of the alien are equally maintained until almost the very end. Machen is the only other writer I can think of who could do this as well. THE RUNNER They said to leave the ancient house alone: Some Thing lived there that none would call by name. But I was bold and did not mind a bit The cobwebs and old stoves that knew no flame. A creaking stair led upward into the gloom To strange old gables, hoary now with mould. A study there, with dusty books and scrolls That made my seeking fingers numb with cold. I could not read those tomes of Elder lore, And laughed at what the people once had said: A man had called a thing from far below, A running thing that had no eyes or head. It had fast feet (the ancient legend said) And lurked around the shadows of the stair. It chased intruders, drove them mad, perhaps; Or brought them back unclothed into its lair. I laughed again a these wild tales and left Because I saw no living thing within the place. Books, manuscripts and scrolls I later burned, Nor did I see the Running Thing without a face. The doctor says that I imagine things: No creature dogs my footsteps night and day. But now I have a pounding in my ears As if the hounds of hell were all at bay. Sometimes a cold, dank wind will whisper by, And hurried footfalls plague my weary ears; Though I see nothing and my friends do not, I cannot chase away these horrid fears. Now far, now near, the awful Runner goes, And one dark night I saw a silhouette Of lumpy shoulders and a bony, outstretched claw. I fear the thing is going to catch me yet....... ---Duane W. Rimel -----oo0oo----- THE MUMMY We found the tomb at sunset, but the brown-skinned fellahs Refused to pry into the hallowed ground. My comrades slept. Amid the dark and flthy cellars I hacked the ancient door, and with the sound Of ghastly wailing wood its queer seals gave; My flaring torch disclosed a mummy bound Upright in one end of a darkened cave. Dread shook my limbs as I approached the fearsome place And gazed into its black, dilated eyes. An odd aroma stung; I saw its wrinkled face Smile. I heard my quick and gasping sights; Then...felt my arms tight in white folds; I saw A strange white man go through the open door. ---Arthur F. Hillman -- 22 --
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