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Fantasite, v. 2, issue 5, whole 11, May-June 1943
Page 20
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FOLLOWING AN awful darkness, the great orb i the sky moved upward and grew brighter, and I can see well enough to write.... Weak from hunger, but must keep writing . . . writing, or I fear I shall go utterly mad. A train of hideous revelation has marched before me since I wrote last. Master, I am losing faith in You . . . how blasphemous that sounds! But you have deserted me in the time of need--I am doomed to starve in this empty pit. The ceiling is over fifteen feet high. I cannot get out, unless.... The strange red-haired being came to life suddenly not long after the eery white light crept into this chamber. It sat up and looked at me, rubbed its eyes as if to clear them of a bad dream. Then the creature got to its feet, unsteadily, and came toward me. Those green eyes stared in the oddest manner. And Master, it spoke to me! That is an awful atrocity, but I am telling the truth. Guttural English, but intelligible. The creature asked my name. Imagine such ignorance! But I suppose orientals do not know such things. The whole world has heard of Charles Bonner, the mastermind. Few men know the tremendous secrets I possess. I replied, and the creature laughed--laughed in my face! And Master, I loath mockery. I leaped to my feet and slapped the thing across the mouth. It fell, still laughing hysterically. It lay there shuddering with mirth, its life ebbing. It is weak; so am I, but stronger than that miserable wreck of tissue. I repeat, Master, this creature lay there and laughed and uttered the most terrible blasphemy. I cannot believe what I heard. Always you have told me the Truth. Why should I have listened to that monster from the outside? But I did. It said (Heaven forbid!) that I was the laughing stock of the age . . . the standing joke. It said that I was supposed to be immortal. Of course,
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FOLLOWING AN awful darkness, the great orb i the sky moved upward and grew brighter, and I can see well enough to write.... Weak from hunger, but must keep writing . . . writing, or I fear I shall go utterly mad. A train of hideous revelation has marched before me since I wrote last. Master, I am losing faith in You . . . how blasphemous that sounds! But you have deserted me in the time of need--I am doomed to starve in this empty pit. The ceiling is over fifteen feet high. I cannot get out, unless.... The strange red-haired being came to life suddenly not long after the eery white light crept into this chamber. It sat up and looked at me, rubbed its eyes as if to clear them of a bad dream. Then the creature got to its feet, unsteadily, and came toward me. Those green eyes stared in the oddest manner. And Master, it spoke to me! That is an awful atrocity, but I am telling the truth. Guttural English, but intelligible. The creature asked my name. Imagine such ignorance! But I suppose orientals do not know such things. The whole world has heard of Charles Bonner, the mastermind. Few men know the tremendous secrets I possess. I replied, and the creature laughed--laughed in my face! And Master, I loath mockery. I leaped to my feet and slapped the thing across the mouth. It fell, still laughing hysterically. It lay there shuddering with mirth, its life ebbing. It is weak; so am I, but stronger than that miserable wreck of tissue. I repeat, Master, this creature lay there and laughed and uttered the most terrible blasphemy. I cannot believe what I heard. Always you have told me the Truth. Why should I have listened to that monster from the outside? But I did. It said (Heaven forbid!) that I was the laughing stock of the age . . . the standing joke. It said that I was supposed to be immortal. Of course,
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