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Science Fiction Collector, v. 3, issue 5, September-October 1937
Page 8
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[handwritten] Page 8 Science Fiction Collector The Thing in the Picture by Niles Frome [illustration of a man's profile] [typewritten] I noted that when Arthur showed me his paintings and drawings, which were scattered all over the big house, he neglected to show me one dark corner --- where I'm sure I could dimly make out a curtain, such as might cover a painting. I promptly forgot about the matter, though, as Arthur was showing me another wonderful work of his. That night, however, as the moon crept past my window, I found that I could not sleeps--- I thought I saw a beautiful girl's poignant face whenever I shut my eyelids. She seemed to be beckoning me --- beckoning me from that dark alcove wherein was that curtained picture. Finally, unable to restrain myself, I got up and walked to the curtained painting --- which it really proved to be. Drawing the curtains, I gasped, for it was such a picture that I had doubted even Abraham Arthur's skill could produce. What it had been done with was not apparent; it seemed more like a photograph than an artificial painting -- so graphic was it, so devoid of even the tiny touch of artificialness a master artist might give it. But it was dark and terrible in its beauty -- the beauty of a thunder-cloud rolling over vaporous skies -- the beauty that a sea adopts at night, in the place of its warm, pleasant appeal of the day. Was it the way the gnarled trees were crouched with their canopies of leaves low to the ground that caused alow horror to creep into my bones? Or was it merely a burden of supernatural horror some mad artist had managed to release by infusing it in this fantastice painting? The light seemed to grow brights. I could see something at the end of the strip bare of the short, scrubby grass -- a dim doorway. A doorway into some fabulous palace, to my rambling imagination. Suddenly at the foot of the path stood the enchanting girl I had come to find. At first, I thought she was naked, that her full hips shaped sensual appear, but then I knewI was mistaken -- for there she stood, modestly clothed, her lips no longer pregnant with passion, but instead very, very afraid. I could almost see her breathe heavily, as though from fleeing some pursuing monstrosity, and shivering in some stray wind that seemed to remind her of a dreadful, shapeless thing of menace. Abruptly, like a puff of smoke, she disappeared. For a moment I stood there in almost physical pain -- I had seen the most saintly, but supernal beauty I had ever seen in a woman. Finally, I retired to my bedroom and attempted to win a few hours of much needed slumber. I succeeded this time; but in my
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[handwritten] Page 8 Science Fiction Collector The Thing in the Picture by Niles Frome [illustration of a man's profile] [typewritten] I noted that when Arthur showed me his paintings and drawings, which were scattered all over the big house, he neglected to show me one dark corner --- where I'm sure I could dimly make out a curtain, such as might cover a painting. I promptly forgot about the matter, though, as Arthur was showing me another wonderful work of his. That night, however, as the moon crept past my window, I found that I could not sleeps--- I thought I saw a beautiful girl's poignant face whenever I shut my eyelids. She seemed to be beckoning me --- beckoning me from that dark alcove wherein was that curtained picture. Finally, unable to restrain myself, I got up and walked to the curtained painting --- which it really proved to be. Drawing the curtains, I gasped, for it was such a picture that I had doubted even Abraham Arthur's skill could produce. What it had been done with was not apparent; it seemed more like a photograph than an artificial painting -- so graphic was it, so devoid of even the tiny touch of artificialness a master artist might give it. But it was dark and terrible in its beauty -- the beauty of a thunder-cloud rolling over vaporous skies -- the beauty that a sea adopts at night, in the place of its warm, pleasant appeal of the day. Was it the way the gnarled trees were crouched with their canopies of leaves low to the ground that caused alow horror to creep into my bones? Or was it merely a burden of supernatural horror some mad artist had managed to release by infusing it in this fantastice painting? The light seemed to grow brights. I could see something at the end of the strip bare of the short, scrubby grass -- a dim doorway. A doorway into some fabulous palace, to my rambling imagination. Suddenly at the foot of the path stood the enchanting girl I had come to find. At first, I thought she was naked, that her full hips shaped sensual appear, but then I knewI was mistaken -- for there she stood, modestly clothed, her lips no longer pregnant with passion, but instead very, very afraid. I could almost see her breathe heavily, as though from fleeing some pursuing monstrosity, and shivering in some stray wind that seemed to remind her of a dreadful, shapeless thing of menace. Abruptly, like a puff of smoke, she disappeared. For a moment I stood there in almost physical pain -- I had seen the most saintly, but supernal beauty I had ever seen in a woman. Finally, I retired to my bedroom and attempted to win a few hours of much needed slumber. I succeeded this time; but in my
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