DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Acolyte, v. 2, issue 2, whole no. 6, Spring 1944

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Acolyte, v. 2, issue 2, whole no. 6, Spring 1944

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eyes. Just as we were considering ourselves lost, the car ahead suddenly slowed and turned around. To all appearance we had reached a desolate upland of rotting tree stumps and weatherworn rocks.
"There's his place," the man said, "but I doubt if he's home. There's no smoke from his chimney." I looked int he direction he was pointing. There, a short distance down the hill, stood a weathered frame cabin with shingled sides, the only structure in sight.
The dairyman disappeared across the field as we drove on and came to a halt in front of the cabin. As we stepped out into the soggy ground, I became aware of something moving up the hill from the right. A momentary loss of consciousness assailed us, and when we were again in control of our senses, we were confronted by a man wearing a dark coat and beret. (Later we found that our minds had been explored telepathically and that we should have met an unimaginable end had they been found hostile.) As the man approached, we saw that he held a small section of light cardboard, on which was hand-printed the name "Clark Ashton Smith". Oddly enough, an arrow beneath the name now appeared to be pointing to the bearer, who introduced himself as Clark Ashton Smith. He explained that he had just set out with the sign, intending to place it for our guidance where the road turned off into the field.
After we had introduced ourselves, Smith led us into his cabin. We passed through an opening in a stone wall on top of which were long-bleached skulls of some unknown animals. Entering a porch, we went through a dark room into one even darker, lightened only by the glimmering from the storm-darkened sky--the light coming from two small windows, one at each end of the long and narrow room. The meager heat from a woodstove in the center of the den barely dispelled the damp and clammy chill. The far side of the room was broken by two closed doors. Shoulder-high shelves of books lined the walls, and all other wall space was covered by fascinating originals by Smith and other weird artists. On a shelf beneath a window was a group of grotesque stone statuettes; some stood, some sat, some leaned or craned at weird angles. Many were merely heads.  Smith had made them himself from native rocks, he informed us, and he named them for the various gods which were represented there in stone.
"This is Tsathoggua," he said very matter-of-factly, as he fondled a squat and ugly little image. We noted that he did not say that it was supposed to be Tsathoggua, merely that it was.
When we had examined most of the statuary, we turned to study the pictures on the walls. From somewhere, CAS suddenly produced a lighted candle in a thallow-crusted heavy brass holder, and he held this up so that we could see the pictures in clearer detail. Most of the drawings were his own, and he seemed to delight in demonstrating the types of vegetation on alien worlds and the odd life forms in hither-to-undiscovered lands.
Now, all this time there was a certain stiffness about us all, including CAS, and as we examined the statuary and the pictures, there was a tension in our conversation. Smith's first words had been hushed almost to a whisper, and we automatically talked in the same low tones. Although there was no definite feeling of hostility, still there was no air of friendliness and informality, but a sense of restraint. Undoubtedly Smith sensed this too, for he suggested that he and Paul go back to Auburn (Arkham!) to get some wine, and that they bring back an interesting Barnacle-Bill-the-Sailor type friend of his. Perhaps he felt that he was being started at too intensively, and wanted someone else there to share the center of interest.
Those low mutterings in which we had been conversing were getting on my nerves, so after the two had left for town, I spoke in my normal tone of voice. The others joined in laughter at the realization of how still it had become, and thereafter, even after Smith had returned, we conversed in ordinary tones.
While the others were gone, we took advantage of our chance to snoop behind the two mysterious doors we had noticed in the far side of the room. We opened one. The room beyond was furnished very simply with a bed and one or two other articles of furniture. Piled high on the bed were great stacks of letters in a dishevelment which apparently had existed for some time, and so we began to wonder where Klarkash Ton slept--if he slept! We commenced to search for a coffin. Only Henry saw

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Saving...

eyes. Just as we were considering ourselves lost, the car ahead suddenly slowed and turned around. To all appearance we had reached a desolate upland of rotting tree stumps and weatherworn rocks. "There's his place," the man said, "but I doubt if he's home. There's no smoke from his chimney." I looked int he direction he was pointing. There, a short distance down the hill, stood a weathered frame cabin with shingled sides, the only structure in sight. The dairyman disappeared across the field as we drove on and came to a halt in front of the cabin. As we stepped out into the soggy ground, I became aware of something moving up the hill from the right. A momentary loss of consciousness assailed us, and when we were again in control of our senses, we were confronted by a man wearing a dark coat and beret. (Later we found that our minds had been explored telepathically and that we should have met an unimaginable end had they been found hostile.) As the man approached, we saw that he held a small section of light cardboard, on which was hand-printed the name "Clark Ashton Smith". Oddly enough, an arrow beneath the name now appeared to be pointing to the bearer, who introduced himself as Clark Ashton Smith. He explained that he had just set out with the sign, intending to place it for our guidance where the road turned off into the field. After we had introduced ourselves, Smith led us into his cabin. We passed through an opening in a stone wall on top of which were long-bleached skulls of some unknown animals. Entering a porch, we went through a dark room into one even darker, lightened only by the glimmering from the storm-darkened sky--the light coming from two small windows, one at each end of the long and narrow room. The meager heat from a woodstove in the center of the den barely dispelled the damp and clammy chill. The far side of the room was broken by two closed doors. Shoulder-high shelves of books lined the walls, and all other wall space was covered by fascinating originals by Smith and other weird artists. On a shelf beneath a window was a group of grotesque stone statuettes; some stood, some sat, some leaned or craned at weird angles. Many were merely heads. Smith had made them himself from native rocks, he informed us, and he named them for the various gods which were represented there in stone. "This is Tsathoggua," he said very matter-of-factly, as he fondled a squat and ugly little image. We noted that he did not say that it was supposed to be Tsathoggua, merely that it was. When we had examined most of the statuary, we turned to study the pictures on the walls. From somewhere, CAS suddenly produced a lighted candle in a thallow-crusted heavy brass holder, and he held this up so that we could see the pictures in clearer detail. Most of the drawings were his own, and he seemed to delight in demonstrating the types of vegetation on alien worlds and the odd life forms in hither-to-undiscovered lands. Now, all this time there was a certain stiffness about us all, including CAS, and as we examined the statuary and the pictures, there was a tension in our conversation. Smith's first words had been hushed almost to a whisper, and we automatically talked in the same low tones. Although there was no definite feeling of hostility, still there was no air of friendliness and informality, but a sense of restraint. Undoubtedly Smith sensed this too, for he suggested that he and Paul go back to Auburn (Arkham!) to get some wine, and that they bring back an interesting Barnacle-Bill-the-Sailor type friend of his. Perhaps he felt that he was being started at too intensively, and wanted someone else there to share the center of interest. Those low mutterings in which we had been conversing were getting on my nerves, so after the two had left for town, I spoke in my normal tone of voice. The others joined in laughter at the realization of how still it had become, and thereafter, even after Smith had returned, we conversed in ordinary tones. While the others were gone, we took advantage of our chance to snoop behind the two mysterious doors we had noticed in the far side of the room. We opened one. The room beyond was furnished very simply with a bed and one or two other articles of furniture. Piled high on the bed were great stacks of letters in a dishevelment which apparently had existed for some time, and so we began to wonder where Klarkash Ton slept--if he slept! We commenced to search for a coffin. Only Henry saw --- 9 ---