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Polaris, v. 1, issue 1, December 1939
13
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POLARIS 13 the cloak very closely about Diane to keep her from trembling. Sitting there so quietly, I realized that my effort had cost me more than I had anticipated it might, for a great weakness gradually stole over me, and my head sank on my chest from sheer weariness. Diane sat unspeaking and apparently marvelling at the interior of the church: the beautifully wrought pillars, the coloured glass and the dark furniture. Noting her intent scrutiny, I had inquired about it, and learned, to my astonishment, that Diane had never before been inside a church. This I recalled with some perturbation, remembering that indeed she had never attended service with me. She was so clean and pure that the thought of it did not seem exactly right. In my complete exhaustion, I must have fallen partly asleep, for I remember hearing, suddenly, the playing of an organ; very far away, but hauntingly beautiful, as if coming from some immeasurable distance. It was a melancholy sound, bringing with it memories of a younger day, and my early courtship of Diane. The melody rose and fell, modulating into a symphony of intense vibration, till it seemed as if the music were in that very room. The notes were unrecognizable both in tonal quality and expression; yet I felt certain that they were coming from an organ. This, I thought, must be the opening hymnal of the morning service, but I could not open my eyes to make sure. Diane was still beside me, and her hands were almost icy cold. Then she uttered a low gasp, and I knew that something terrible had happened. I sat erect, staring at her; but in place of the fear I expected to see traced on her pale features, there was an expression of peace-- of lasting gratitude; and I heard her whisper then that the music had cleansed her soul. And when in relief I sank back to my half-slumbering coma, I heard the organ again, for it had stopped during the interim of whispering. This time the music was gloriously and ecstatically beautiful, lulling me to a profound state of lethargy. The longer I listened, the more certain I became that it was an altogether unearthly resonance; one which I could in no way interpret save that it gripped the very soul in a paralyzing and consuming embrace. The last thing I can remember is a glimpse of Diane's throat-- a glimpse which revealed that the inverted cross had completely vanished from her pale flesh. After that I think we both fell asleep. It is evening now and I am back in bed-- but under different circumstances than when I left it this morning. I have been forced to lie down, as they say a terrible fever has set in from the exposure I endured. The doctor is hiding something from me-- and when people come in the room, they stare at me queerly; even pity is written on their faces! When I demanded how I came to be at home again, they said that the good minister brought me in his buggy. They will tell very little about Diane, but I have heard them whispering terrible things about her-- that she never before attended church because she had written in the book of Lucifer. God! If I could only stand up for her... I am accused of a hideous crime-- I will not mention the charge; but they say that early this morning I arose, went to the cemetery by the church, and did awful things which I heatedly disclaim. They say that Diane died three days ago-- that I broke into (Continued on Page 15)
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POLARIS 13 the cloak very closely about Diane to keep her from trembling. Sitting there so quietly, I realized that my effort had cost me more than I had anticipated it might, for a great weakness gradually stole over me, and my head sank on my chest from sheer weariness. Diane sat unspeaking and apparently marvelling at the interior of the church: the beautifully wrought pillars, the coloured glass and the dark furniture. Noting her intent scrutiny, I had inquired about it, and learned, to my astonishment, that Diane had never before been inside a church. This I recalled with some perturbation, remembering that indeed she had never attended service with me. She was so clean and pure that the thought of it did not seem exactly right. In my complete exhaustion, I must have fallen partly asleep, for I remember hearing, suddenly, the playing of an organ; very far away, but hauntingly beautiful, as if coming from some immeasurable distance. It was a melancholy sound, bringing with it memories of a younger day, and my early courtship of Diane. The melody rose and fell, modulating into a symphony of intense vibration, till it seemed as if the music were in that very room. The notes were unrecognizable both in tonal quality and expression; yet I felt certain that they were coming from an organ. This, I thought, must be the opening hymnal of the morning service, but I could not open my eyes to make sure. Diane was still beside me, and her hands were almost icy cold. Then she uttered a low gasp, and I knew that something terrible had happened. I sat erect, staring at her; but in place of the fear I expected to see traced on her pale features, there was an expression of peace-- of lasting gratitude; and I heard her whisper then that the music had cleansed her soul. And when in relief I sank back to my half-slumbering coma, I heard the organ again, for it had stopped during the interim of whispering. This time the music was gloriously and ecstatically beautiful, lulling me to a profound state of lethargy. The longer I listened, the more certain I became that it was an altogether unearthly resonance; one which I could in no way interpret save that it gripped the very soul in a paralyzing and consuming embrace. The last thing I can remember is a glimpse of Diane's throat-- a glimpse which revealed that the inverted cross had completely vanished from her pale flesh. After that I think we both fell asleep. It is evening now and I am back in bed-- but under different circumstances than when I left it this morning. I have been forced to lie down, as they say a terrible fever has set in from the exposure I endured. The doctor is hiding something from me-- and when people come in the room, they stare at me queerly; even pity is written on their faces! When I demanded how I came to be at home again, they said that the good minister brought me in his buggy. They will tell very little about Diane, but I have heard them whispering terrible things about her-- that she never before attended church because she had written in the book of Lucifer. God! If I could only stand up for her... I am accused of a hideous crime-- I will not mention the charge; but they say that early this morning I arose, went to the cemetery by the church, and did awful things which I heatedly disclaim. They say that Diane died three days ago-- that I broke into (Continued on Page 15)
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