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Funtasy, v. 1, issue 1, Spring 1939

Page 14

FUNTASY                                Page 14

           THE WIZARD'S COMMAND 
                    by Louis Kuslan

_________________________________________
In case anyone has his doubts as to just what this little short-short is, we'd like to say that it is our belief that it is something of a burlesque on the quaint storiettes of Bob Tucker and Will Sykora.....Ed. 
_________________________________________
The gaunt, fiery eyed magician slowly waved his wand, meanwhile muttering incantations known only to him and other wise men. He repeated these egnimatic words over and over. After drawing a pentacle upon the dust-laden floor, he stood on each corner of the figure for a few minutes. Then, he advanced quickly to a far corner of the room wherein stood a kettle, filled to the brim with a reddish brew in which seethed the horrors of Hell. (For the unenlightened, please see Shakespeare's MACBETH, Act Umpty, Scene, foo.) In spite of his knowledge of that which men called The Black Arts, he trembled. Whether from fear or exultation, none but he could tell.

"There is but the last step to perform, now" he breathed softly to himself. "I, after reciting the Koran backwards, after memorizing The Necronomicon must only throw this pinch of powder into the flames in order--But! Time passes! I must hasten that the appointed time may not come and go in vain. There! It is done," his voice boomed hollowly amid the lofty rafters of the chamber. 

"Ha!" he cried, as a deep rolling sound reverberated, seeming to mock his previous words. "I have succeeded at last!"

A voice, the epitomy of dread to anyone, but the mage, filled the dim room before the last echoes of the earlier fear-inspiring tones had gradually died. "I am the spirit called Poo-Ba!" the voice seemed to groan. "You have summoned me forth from the abode of Shades. Command as you will; you are master."

The wizard could not reply immediately for his tongue was as if cloven in two by fear of the command he would have to give. Some fragment of courage, and the knowledge that HE was master enabled him at last to speak in a voice appropriate to his position. "PooBa!" he almost bellowed, "I have long endeavored to raise you from the lands of Shades, and only now have I succeeded. I have only one wish, nay, one command! You must answer! Poo-Ba! You must answer!"

The spirit replied resentfully, "yes, Master. Ask me one question, only one; and I must answer."

The magician, hastily, as though he was only master for one second and that infinitesimal fraction of eternity was slipping through his grasp, cried in an agonized voice, "What chance, Poo-Ba, what chance has Horse-foo got to win the third race at Saratoga, tomorrow. I have ten dollars to put on his nose if he will win!"

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And that, smirking reader, is that! What was the answer? Did the wizard win? Did Horse-foo win? Did FUNTASY lose? Hmm!
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                  ODE TO THE WAFFF!
              The world is round,
                     Or so they say,
              But we know better, don't we?
              For if 't'were roun',
                    We'd all fall down--
              And we don't [uless?] we're soak-ee!

              -by "The Right Honourable Chancellor of the Frequencies!

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FUNTASY Page 14 THE WIZARD'S COMMAND by Louis Kuslan _________________________________________ In case anyone has his doubts as to just what this little short-short is, we'd like to say that it is our belief that it is something of a burlesque on the quaint storiettes of Bob Tucker and Will Sykora.....Ed. _________________________________________ The gaunt, fiery eyed magician slowly waved his wand, meanwhile muttering incantations known only to him and other wise men. He repeated these egnimatic words over and over. After drawing a pentacle upon the dust-laden floor, he stood on each corner of the figure for a few minutes. Then, he advanced quickly to a far corner of the room wherein stood a kettle, filled to the brim with a reddish brew in which seethed the horrors of Hell. (For the unenlightened, please see Shakespeare's MACBETH, Act Umpty, Scene, foo.) In spite of his knowledge of that which men called The Black Arts, he trembled. Whether from fear or exultation, none but he could tell. "There is but the last step to perform, now" he breathed softly to himself. "I, after reciting the Koran backwards, after memorizing The Necronomicon must only throw this pinch of powder into the flames in order--But! Time passes! I must hasten that the appointed time may not come and go in vain. There! It is done," his voice boomed hollowly amid the lofty rafters of the chamber. "Ha!" he cried, as a deep rolling sound reverberated, seeming to mock his previous words. "I have succeeded at last!" A voice, the epitomy of dread to anyone, but the mage, filled the dim room before the last echoes of the earlier fear-inspiring tones had gradually died. "I am the spirit called Poo-Ba!" the voice seemed to groan. "You have summoned me forth from the abode of Shades. Command as you will; you are master." The wizard could not reply immediately for his tongue was as if cloven in two by fear of the command he would have to give. Some fragment of courage, and the knowledge that HE was master enabled him at last to speak in a voice appropriate to his position. "PooBa!" he almost bellowed, "I have long endeavored to raise you from the lands of Shades, and only now have I succeeded. I have only one wish, nay, one command! You must answer! Poo-Ba! You must answer!" The spirit replied resentfully, "yes, Master. Ask me one question, only one; and I must answer." The magician, hastily, as though he was only master for one second and that infinitesimal fraction of eternity was slipping through his grasp, cried in an agonized voice, "What chance, Poo-Ba, what chance has Horse-foo got to win the third race at Saratoga, tomorrow. I have ten dollars to put on his nose if he will win!" ________________________________________ And that, smirking reader, is that! What was the answer? Did the wizard win? Did Horse-foo win? Did FUNTASY lose? Hmm! ________________________________________ ODE TO THE WAFFF! The world is round, Or so they say, But we know better, don't we? For if 't'were roun', We'd all fall down-- And we don't [uless?] we're soak-ee! -by "The Right Honourable Chancellor of the Frequencies!