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Acolyte, v. 2, issue 2, whole no. 6, Spring 1944
31858063101376_015
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Section II was written as an actual letter to Freehafer following Hoffman's first return to Auburn. Freehafer had written Hoffman what instructions he could remember as to finding Smith's place, with the added admonishment that he might find himself "in Yuggoth or some such place." FTL ) Dear Paul (the letter commences), How can I begin? Only yesterday I set out, my heart at ease, to see him. And after the awful things I saw and the strange places I ventured into, I know that I shall never go back willingly. I say willingly because I sometimes feel a strange compulsion as though someone or some thing from Outside were calling me toward the place where..... Your suspicions were not far off, you know. Oh, I found the road all right, and the pathway leading off it. But we had not gone that way before; we had driven around the woods. Now I know where Averoigne really is. Most unsuspectingly I followed the rocky pathway, which apparently had not been used for weeks, across the sun-deadened, stiff grass. Grasshoppers and other insects crossed my path, and the sun was beating down so heavily that I took off my cap, swinging it at my side as I made my way through the tall, rustling, dry grass. I took mental note of the small woods ahead into which the path led. The change came upon my consciousness unnoticed at first, and I was suddenly aware of it while I was enjoying the cool umbrage afforded me by the trees. There was no sound whatever in the glade except the noise made by my own footsteps. But I kept on, though the pathway could scarcely be seen now in the vegetation. Once I envisioned a beautiful woman standing beside a tree trunk, but as I approached, the image vanished, leaving no trace. I then attempted to follow the path once more, but discovered that in my anxiety to find where this beauteous creature had gone I had irrevocably lost the fading trail. In despair, I called upon the gods whose names had been whispered to me by my family since my childhood--upon Tsathoggua, Cthulhu, and Ubbo-Sathla, whence all terrestrial things cometh. At mention of that amorphous creature's name, a roaring crescendo of sound crashed upon my ears from every side, and the trees shook, and the earth trembled beneath my feet. The emerald gloom of the woods was suddenly tinged with a brilliant rosy light, then pale amber, then delicate azure and a kaleidoscope of colors which happened so rapidly that I lost all sense of time and direction and seemed lost in space.... I must have screamed then. Soon came awareness that I was kneeling on the peak of a towering mountain, a black sky above and tremendous winds rusing past me. My knuckles throbbed with pain, and I discovered that I had been beating my hands upon the rocky surface where I knelt until they were wet with blood. My throat felt strained fromscreaming, and how long I had been there I did not know. Then, as suddenly, I found myself again in the woods, running madly under the trees. I noticed that the hush had come upon the forest once more, and the natural gloom had replaced the play of weird auroral colors. I slackened my pace and became cognizant of my surroundings. I was once again on the path, and the wood was thinning before me. Temembrance of that awful moment on the peak came to me, and I looked at my hands, but they showed no signs of blood or bruise. Presently I saw someone coming down the path toward me. As we drew nearer each other, I knew of a certain that this was not the same Clark Ashton Smith I had met during the Yuletide of 1941. No, here was not that lean, cadaverous individual who showed us his paintings by candlelight. Here now before me was a man with a well filled out face, his thick, brown hair flowing over his brow. He greeted me with a natural, outspoken voice--not with that hushed, library voice he had used before. And then I knew that this was the real Clark Ashton Smith, and I feared to think what that thing really was we talked to in his house that chill December day. Yes, we had been wise to leave before dusk. I have decided that I had best tell you a fictional story of what transpired subsequently, for you would never believe what really happened. And for your peace of mind, and for my sanity's sake, I shall distort my relating of the events which happened after that, for there are some things which should never appear in writing. (Ia! Shub-nuggurath!) And so I shall make no reference to the strange -- 11 --
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Section II was written as an actual letter to Freehafer following Hoffman's first return to Auburn. Freehafer had written Hoffman what instructions he could remember as to finding Smith's place, with the added admonishment that he might find himself "in Yuggoth or some such place." FTL ) Dear Paul (the letter commences), How can I begin? Only yesterday I set out, my heart at ease, to see him. And after the awful things I saw and the strange places I ventured into, I know that I shall never go back willingly. I say willingly because I sometimes feel a strange compulsion as though someone or some thing from Outside were calling me toward the place where..... Your suspicions were not far off, you know. Oh, I found the road all right, and the pathway leading off it. But we had not gone that way before; we had driven around the woods. Now I know where Averoigne really is. Most unsuspectingly I followed the rocky pathway, which apparently had not been used for weeks, across the sun-deadened, stiff grass. Grasshoppers and other insects crossed my path, and the sun was beating down so heavily that I took off my cap, swinging it at my side as I made my way through the tall, rustling, dry grass. I took mental note of the small woods ahead into which the path led. The change came upon my consciousness unnoticed at first, and I was suddenly aware of it while I was enjoying the cool umbrage afforded me by the trees. There was no sound whatever in the glade except the noise made by my own footsteps. But I kept on, though the pathway could scarcely be seen now in the vegetation. Once I envisioned a beautiful woman standing beside a tree trunk, but as I approached, the image vanished, leaving no trace. I then attempted to follow the path once more, but discovered that in my anxiety to find where this beauteous creature had gone I had irrevocably lost the fading trail. In despair, I called upon the gods whose names had been whispered to me by my family since my childhood--upon Tsathoggua, Cthulhu, and Ubbo-Sathla, whence all terrestrial things cometh. At mention of that amorphous creature's name, a roaring crescendo of sound crashed upon my ears from every side, and the trees shook, and the earth trembled beneath my feet. The emerald gloom of the woods was suddenly tinged with a brilliant rosy light, then pale amber, then delicate azure and a kaleidoscope of colors which happened so rapidly that I lost all sense of time and direction and seemed lost in space.... I must have screamed then. Soon came awareness that I was kneeling on the peak of a towering mountain, a black sky above and tremendous winds rusing past me. My knuckles throbbed with pain, and I discovered that I had been beating my hands upon the rocky surface where I knelt until they were wet with blood. My throat felt strained fromscreaming, and how long I had been there I did not know. Then, as suddenly, I found myself again in the woods, running madly under the trees. I noticed that the hush had come upon the forest once more, and the natural gloom had replaced the play of weird auroral colors. I slackened my pace and became cognizant of my surroundings. I was once again on the path, and the wood was thinning before me. Temembrance of that awful moment on the peak came to me, and I looked at my hands, but they showed no signs of blood or bruise. Presently I saw someone coming down the path toward me. As we drew nearer each other, I knew of a certain that this was not the same Clark Ashton Smith I had met during the Yuletide of 1941. No, here was not that lean, cadaverous individual who showed us his paintings by candlelight. Here now before me was a man with a well filled out face, his thick, brown hair flowing over his brow. He greeted me with a natural, outspoken voice--not with that hushed, library voice he had used before. And then I knew that this was the real Clark Ashton Smith, and I feared to think what that thing really was we talked to in his house that chill December day. Yes, we had been wise to leave before dusk. I have decided that I had best tell you a fictional story of what transpired subsequently, for you would never believe what really happened. And for your peace of mind, and for my sanity's sake, I shall distort my relating of the events which happened after that, for there are some things which should never appear in writing. (Ia! Shub-nuggurath!) And so I shall make no reference to the strange -- 11 --
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