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Acolyte, v. 1, issue 1, Fall 1942
Page 21
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left, stabbing me through and through like many sharp, cold needles. "THAT was me, sir," mumbled a repellant voice at my side. "Many's the night I come here and see it all over again, in this dusty empty hall..." I said nothing. We walked out to the street. I was cold, with a horribly intense abysmal cold. Then it started. A terrific earth-shattering reverberation enveloped me. Blaring blooms of lightning penetrated the heavy fog. Buildings seemed to crash around my ears. Hails of falling bricks and stone... I screamed aloud in sheet maddened panic. "They're at it again. Those devils up there." old Lena Tuppit shrieked. A warning siren sent ravening fear scuttling down the street. "Come on!" I shouted, groping for the old woman's hand. "I think that's an air raid shelter across..." She was gone. I ran across the street blindly, shouting for her to follow me. Then I pivoted at the sound of her familiar rasping voice raised in cackling laughter behind me. A scorching blaze of light illuminated old Lena Tuppit on the other side of the street. Her black shawl flung high, she stood etched grotesquely against bleeding flame; screaming out to the night; telling it who she was. "I'm Lena Tuppit, that's who I am!" A streaking shell of death struck just behind her. The concussion and searing all-enveloping flame that accompanied it sent me reeling and sobbing down an iron-railed stairway. I pounded frantically on the shut door. It opened, and hands pulled me in. "This a-an air shelter?" I gasped. "No, sir," said a polite Cockney-accented voice. "This 'ere's Duffy Millers', and I'm 'im." A quick double scotch-and-soda did wonders. My hands lost some of their violent nervous shaking. The tavern was minute, cosily warm, and crowded. I felt ridiculously grateful for so much company, grateful also for the cheer of the smoky lights. Duffy Miller led me to a seat in at the bar, and wordlessly proffered me a drink. I asked after Randall Kent, found out he was expected shortly. "Duffy," I asked, "Have you ever heard of old Lena Tuppit? She's lived on this street quite some time." Duffy Miller meditatively stroked his black moustache. "She was a wonderful singer when she was young. Used to sing at that magnificent big Melody Music Hall across the street." Still Duffy vouchsaved nothing, only scratched his nose, and nodded peculiarly. -- 21 --
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left, stabbing me through and through like many sharp, cold needles. "THAT was me, sir," mumbled a repellant voice at my side. "Many's the night I come here and see it all over again, in this dusty empty hall..." I said nothing. We walked out to the street. I was cold, with a horribly intense abysmal cold. Then it started. A terrific earth-shattering reverberation enveloped me. Blaring blooms of lightning penetrated the heavy fog. Buildings seemed to crash around my ears. Hails of falling bricks and stone... I screamed aloud in sheet maddened panic. "They're at it again. Those devils up there." old Lena Tuppit shrieked. A warning siren sent ravening fear scuttling down the street. "Come on!" I shouted, groping for the old woman's hand. "I think that's an air raid shelter across..." She was gone. I ran across the street blindly, shouting for her to follow me. Then I pivoted at the sound of her familiar rasping voice raised in cackling laughter behind me. A scorching blaze of light illuminated old Lena Tuppit on the other side of the street. Her black shawl flung high, she stood etched grotesquely against bleeding flame; screaming out to the night; telling it who she was. "I'm Lena Tuppit, that's who I am!" A streaking shell of death struck just behind her. The concussion and searing all-enveloping flame that accompanied it sent me reeling and sobbing down an iron-railed stairway. I pounded frantically on the shut door. It opened, and hands pulled me in. "This a-an air shelter?" I gasped. "No, sir," said a polite Cockney-accented voice. "This 'ere's Duffy Millers', and I'm 'im." A quick double scotch-and-soda did wonders. My hands lost some of their violent nervous shaking. The tavern was minute, cosily warm, and crowded. I felt ridiculously grateful for so much company, grateful also for the cheer of the smoky lights. Duffy Miller led me to a seat in at the bar, and wordlessly proffered me a drink. I asked after Randall Kent, found out he was expected shortly. "Duffy," I asked, "Have you ever heard of old Lena Tuppit? She's lived on this street quite some time." Duffy Miller meditatively stroked his black moustache. "She was a wonderful singer when she was young. Used to sing at that magnificent big Melody Music Hall across the street." Still Duffy vouchsaved nothing, only scratched his nose, and nodded peculiarly. -- 21 --
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