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Acolyte, v. 2, issue 1, whole no. 5, Fall 1943
Page 19
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The sound was a voice. A blurred and mumbled voice that seemed to chant, and the chant was a thing obscene and alien for all its vagueness---of that much I was sure. Quite still I stood and listened, and still the sound came, faintly from far away down that passage toward the ravine. It seemed jubilant and joyous; now uttering paeans of praise, now again descending to a garbled undertone of obscene implications that made my flesh crawl, despite that I could distinguish none of the words. I knew, as I stood there listening to that loathesome ritual, that there were things I should piece together--something to do with Lyle Wilson--but somehow I couldn't remember any more; my thoughts were becoming jumbled and uncertain. Not daring to use the flashlight, I moved warily forward a few more paces. "Bruce!" I called softly, and listened. Then a bit louder: "Bruce! Can you hear me? You must be in here!" Then -- oh god! -- then I heard a sound that was not the chanting, a sound much closer, just ahead of me. I stopped and listened and didn't breathe. Something a few yards away was moving toward me in the darkness. "Bruce, is that you?" I called again. And suddenly I knew those were not footsteps nor anything resembling footsteps, nor anything I had ever heard before. I used never to have nightmares. I never used to feel an awful fear of an enclosed room. I never used to wake in the middle of the night with a dread of a monstrous unclean thing coming toward me out of the dark, so that I must fumble frantically for the lightcord, and lie sweating afterwards, and fear to sleep again. I wish I had never clicked on my flashlight, there in that passage behind the tomb. Something stopped there, half revealed at the end of my pale beam of light. i know only that it wasn't human. I fired the gun and I didn't miss. There were only three bullets left, and I remember hearing every one of them hit with a soggy, sucking sound like pebbles throw into thick mud. It could not have been more than ten seconds, but it was ten eternities. I suddenly knew that it did not far the light, but was only momentarily confused. And then -- it came just a little nearer into the beam of light and stood fully revealed. I didn't hear myself scream, but I know I must have, for my throat was raw afterward. I felt my mind slipping slowly away into a chaos of vertiginous horror. I knew it was I that moved, and I must have screamed again. Yes, it was I who moved steadily, slowly closer; and I could not help myself! I knew I must move closer still, until..... Until what, I never knew; for at that moment, strangely, I seemed touched with a surging wave of coolness that beat down my rising panic. It no longer seemed I that moved; it was another part of me---a part that had been eons ago, that was trying now to go back to the soft, safe warmth of the primordial. It was the kind of ecstatic feeling I'd had as a child when I squeezed thick black mud between my hands ---but this was magnified a thousand-fold, cozy and dreamy and logical. And there was something wrong, vaguely disturbing. There was another I, unimportant and far away somewhere, but persistently imploring . . . imploring me not to succumb, not to go back . . . to remember. Remember what? That tiny faraway me was so pitifully amusing, as it tried with a feeble sort of intensity to burst the surrounding comfortable darkness. It was trying to tell me...something to do with... A dream? Was that it? Seemingly eons ago I remembered a dream a friend had told me....of something irresistably drawing....an affinity.... How swiftly did comprehension flee back to me then, through a newly rising panic, as I remembered! How quickly I was back in that passage again as the ancient part of me and the present part of me merged with a frantic rush, and I saw...... Then it was that I screamed, for the third and final time, an articulate scream: "Bruce! ........" I was very near now to that thing that was drawing me, and I saw it quite clearly---but with that last articulate scream, something about me abruptly shivered, wavered, and I felt a sudden surge of power. I could feel something trying to help me tear my mind away; something softly, subtly, urgently aiding me; something whispering, "Do not come! Do not move! Go back! Now! Quickly!" And that urging was the greatest horror of all, for I knew Bruce was there... -- 19 --
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The sound was a voice. A blurred and mumbled voice that seemed to chant, and the chant was a thing obscene and alien for all its vagueness---of that much I was sure. Quite still I stood and listened, and still the sound came, faintly from far away down that passage toward the ravine. It seemed jubilant and joyous; now uttering paeans of praise, now again descending to a garbled undertone of obscene implications that made my flesh crawl, despite that I could distinguish none of the words. I knew, as I stood there listening to that loathesome ritual, that there were things I should piece together--something to do with Lyle Wilson--but somehow I couldn't remember any more; my thoughts were becoming jumbled and uncertain. Not daring to use the flashlight, I moved warily forward a few more paces. "Bruce!" I called softly, and listened. Then a bit louder: "Bruce! Can you hear me? You must be in here!" Then -- oh god! -- then I heard a sound that was not the chanting, a sound much closer, just ahead of me. I stopped and listened and didn't breathe. Something a few yards away was moving toward me in the darkness. "Bruce, is that you?" I called again. And suddenly I knew those were not footsteps nor anything resembling footsteps, nor anything I had ever heard before. I used never to have nightmares. I never used to feel an awful fear of an enclosed room. I never used to wake in the middle of the night with a dread of a monstrous unclean thing coming toward me out of the dark, so that I must fumble frantically for the lightcord, and lie sweating afterwards, and fear to sleep again. I wish I had never clicked on my flashlight, there in that passage behind the tomb. Something stopped there, half revealed at the end of my pale beam of light. i know only that it wasn't human. I fired the gun and I didn't miss. There were only three bullets left, and I remember hearing every one of them hit with a soggy, sucking sound like pebbles throw into thick mud. It could not have been more than ten seconds, but it was ten eternities. I suddenly knew that it did not far the light, but was only momentarily confused. And then -- it came just a little nearer into the beam of light and stood fully revealed. I didn't hear myself scream, but I know I must have, for my throat was raw afterward. I felt my mind slipping slowly away into a chaos of vertiginous horror. I knew it was I that moved, and I must have screamed again. Yes, it was I who moved steadily, slowly closer; and I could not help myself! I knew I must move closer still, until..... Until what, I never knew; for at that moment, strangely, I seemed touched with a surging wave of coolness that beat down my rising panic. It no longer seemed I that moved; it was another part of me---a part that had been eons ago, that was trying now to go back to the soft, safe warmth of the primordial. It was the kind of ecstatic feeling I'd had as a child when I squeezed thick black mud between my hands ---but this was magnified a thousand-fold, cozy and dreamy and logical. And there was something wrong, vaguely disturbing. There was another I, unimportant and far away somewhere, but persistently imploring . . . imploring me not to succumb, not to go back . . . to remember. Remember what? That tiny faraway me was so pitifully amusing, as it tried with a feeble sort of intensity to burst the surrounding comfortable darkness. It was trying to tell me...something to do with... A dream? Was that it? Seemingly eons ago I remembered a dream a friend had told me....of something irresistably drawing....an affinity.... How swiftly did comprehension flee back to me then, through a newly rising panic, as I remembered! How quickly I was back in that passage again as the ancient part of me and the present part of me merged with a frantic rush, and I saw...... Then it was that I screamed, for the third and final time, an articulate scream: "Bruce! ........" I was very near now to that thing that was drawing me, and I saw it quite clearly---but with that last articulate scream, something about me abruptly shivered, wavered, and I felt a sudden surge of power. I could feel something trying to help me tear my mind away; something softly, subtly, urgently aiding me; something whispering, "Do not come! Do not move! Go back! Now! Quickly!" And that urging was the greatest horror of all, for I knew Bruce was there... -- 19 --
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