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Cosmic Tales, v. 2, issue 1, Summer 1939
Page 19
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COSMIC TALES lution of the problem struck him. It was a heaven-sent inspiration. He referred to the pad again. Yes--obviously--the figures represented an address. 454, 13th [[underline]]A[[end underline]]venue? He stared at the sheet before him, highly excited by this discovery. Here was a mystery which appealed to his mystically-biased mind. What would he find at that address if he were to go there? He paused, undecided. Curiosity battled with such scepticism as he possessed, but it was inevitable that curiosity should eventually win that day. He donned a hat and coat and set out for 13th Avenue. Number 454 was locked, he found, but the doctor was far too keenly interested in this case to permit such a trifle to deter him. The investigation must go on. He approached the house from the back, climbed the low garden wall, forced open the scullery window with his penknife and prowled about like an experienced burglar. And all unknown to the doctor, Paine anxiously followed him upstairs; watched him as the other discovered the still body on the bed, and stood anxiously by as the doctor examined the corpse thoroughly. Burke was frowning. Obviously he was not satisfied with the condition of the body. Paine watched eagerly as he opened his bag and drew out a tiny rubber-capped phial labeled "Adrenalin--sterile". Then a hypodermic was brought out, cleaned and fitted with an enormously long needle. The doctor prepared the bed for an operation. The corpse was stripped, and the chest rendered aseptic with a solution of alcohol. Without hesitation, the doctor proceeded with the process of reviving the lifeless body. Paine watched in fascination, for it was the first time that he had ever seen an operation; but, as a sudden realization of the fact that it was his own body on the bed overcame him, he turned away, and did not look again. But, he could feel the sharp, adrenalin-filled needle piercingthe flesh of the thorax-- [[underline]]his[[end underline]] thorax--to stab cautiously at the inanimate heart, and inject it in the stimulating fluid. He wondered what his own sensations would be like when his body would re-awaken. but he was not left long in doubt. Without the slightest warning, he was overcome by giddiness. The room swirled sickeningly about him, seemed to grow hazy and blurred, then vanish completely into a vast impenetrable void. And Paine was falling, falling..... **************** The years have passed by, and Peter Paine is passing into the autumn of his life. He works now in an office in the city, a shabby and ink-flecked clerk. People who know him remark upon the dreamy expression which is ever in his eye, and talk knowingly about his air of listlessness and lassitude. They say that he has an inferiority complex. They say that he is an escapist, a good-for-nothing, a failure in life. But they are wrong. The truth of the matter is that Paine yearns for the freedom of an astral existence. The restrictions of the body are an anathema to him, for once he experienced the marvels of a new plane of being, and now--his days are spent in futile longing for the teturn of that experience. But it never comes, and his only consolation is his memory. Finis _______________________________________________ ONE CAN NEVER KNOW (con't from page 35) You have taken a chance and lost!" Her soft, cool laugh tinkled like tiny silver bells from a distance, and then faded slowly away. For a moment, the place was enveloped in a shimmering haze as her body melted away into the atmosphere. And the wrinkled, wretch- (con't on page 13)
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COSMIC TALES lution of the problem struck him. It was a heaven-sent inspiration. He referred to the pad again. Yes--obviously--the figures represented an address. 454, 13th [[underline]]A[[end underline]]venue? He stared at the sheet before him, highly excited by this discovery. Here was a mystery which appealed to his mystically-biased mind. What would he find at that address if he were to go there? He paused, undecided. Curiosity battled with such scepticism as he possessed, but it was inevitable that curiosity should eventually win that day. He donned a hat and coat and set out for 13th Avenue. Number 454 was locked, he found, but the doctor was far too keenly interested in this case to permit such a trifle to deter him. The investigation must go on. He approached the house from the back, climbed the low garden wall, forced open the scullery window with his penknife and prowled about like an experienced burglar. And all unknown to the doctor, Paine anxiously followed him upstairs; watched him as the other discovered the still body on the bed, and stood anxiously by as the doctor examined the corpse thoroughly. Burke was frowning. Obviously he was not satisfied with the condition of the body. Paine watched eagerly as he opened his bag and drew out a tiny rubber-capped phial labeled "Adrenalin--sterile". Then a hypodermic was brought out, cleaned and fitted with an enormously long needle. The doctor prepared the bed for an operation. The corpse was stripped, and the chest rendered aseptic with a solution of alcohol. Without hesitation, the doctor proceeded with the process of reviving the lifeless body. Paine watched in fascination, for it was the first time that he had ever seen an operation; but, as a sudden realization of the fact that it was his own body on the bed overcame him, he turned away, and did not look again. But, he could feel the sharp, adrenalin-filled needle piercingthe flesh of the thorax-- [[underline]]his[[end underline]] thorax--to stab cautiously at the inanimate heart, and inject it in the stimulating fluid. He wondered what his own sensations would be like when his body would re-awaken. but he was not left long in doubt. Without the slightest warning, he was overcome by giddiness. The room swirled sickeningly about him, seemed to grow hazy and blurred, then vanish completely into a vast impenetrable void. And Paine was falling, falling..... **************** The years have passed by, and Peter Paine is passing into the autumn of his life. He works now in an office in the city, a shabby and ink-flecked clerk. People who know him remark upon the dreamy expression which is ever in his eye, and talk knowingly about his air of listlessness and lassitude. They say that he has an inferiority complex. They say that he is an escapist, a good-for-nothing, a failure in life. But they are wrong. The truth of the matter is that Paine yearns for the freedom of an astral existence. The restrictions of the body are an anathema to him, for once he experienced the marvels of a new plane of being, and now--his days are spent in futile longing for the teturn of that experience. But it never comes, and his only consolation is his memory. Finis _______________________________________________ ONE CAN NEVER KNOW (con't from page 35) You have taken a chance and lost!" Her soft, cool laugh tinkled like tiny silver bells from a distance, and then faded slowly away. For a moment, the place was enveloped in a shimmering haze as her body melted away into the atmosphere. And the wrinkled, wretch- (con't on page 13)
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