DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Fan, issue 2, July 1945

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Fan, issue 2, July 1945

Page 19

She came forward slowly, very slowly through the lurid purplish grass as though not wishing to break the spell .... as though she knew that we, or at least Maxton, were watching. Beside me I felt Maxton take a tense step toward the Fire.

Now she had come much closer and was still advancing. And now for the first time I really heard her music as her arm swept across the strings in a final, purposeful crescendo. Compelling, Maxton had said. Compelling, indeed, and something else now. Menacing. I felt a sudden awful fear. I felt that I was entering a dream in which I knew there lurked a patient, impending evil. I knew that evil was there now -- waiting in the waist-high grass behind the maiden!

But the crowning horror of all was the sudden realization that the maiden herself was part of the horror . . . and that we had not yet seen her face!

HER MUSIC approached the end, on a low, sustained note. I struggled to get back to my familiar room and sanity at all costs! Somehow I felt Maxton, there, striving desperately too -- but I knew with the feeling of an awful doom that he was enmeshed far deeper than I, and he could never come back. This thing was directed at him.

And then beside the maiden I saw the tall grass rustle in an unfelt breeze. I saw something . . . an awful furry shape, red jowled, with strange tentacular limbs, rise up as though it had been impatiently awaiting this moment. A[ppa]rently it was some pet of hers, for it stood there beside her and looked in our direction. Still she played, approaching the last swift notes. She swayed a little forward as though peering. 

It was then we saw her face.

It was faintly furred and aquiline. Her eyes were red and purposeful beneath evilly arched eyebrows. Her nostrils were thin and distended as though with devilish staisfaction [i.e. satisfaction?] as she felt victory within her grasp. The lips were cruel in a tight-pressed slash but quirked at the corners as though at any moment she would burst into a chortle of glee. It was a demoniac face. A female face out of hell.

But that was not the real horror. The horror was when Maxton began screaming. I saw him then, or part of him . . . seemingly behind the flames, being swiftly drawn into that other world by the last mad strains of that devil's violin. A strange and terrible transformation was taking place. His body became furry! Then slowly shapeless. His limbs were disapperaing [sic] into vague, wavering appendages.

I tried to scream too but I could not. I had no voice. Not even to pray. I tried to rub the horror out of my eyes. Things were beginning to blur. There seemed to be three figures there now -- still the girl, and her beast, and something else nearer and half hidden by flame, something that was still partly Phillip Maxton. It was hiw [i.e. his?] eyes I

Saving...

She came forward slowly, very slowly through the lurid purplish grass as though not wishing to break the spell .... as though she knew that we, or at least Maxton, were watching. Beside me I felt Maxton take a tense step toward the Fire. Now she had come much closer and was still advancing. And now for the first time I really heard her music as her arm swept across the strings in a final, purposeful crescendo. Compelling, Maxton had said. Compelling, indeed, and something else now. Menacing. I felt a sudden awful fear. I felt that I was entering a dream in which I knew there lurked a patient, impending evil. I knew that evil was there now -- waiting in the waist-high grass behind the maiden! But the crowning horror of all was the sudden realization that the maiden herself was part of the horror . . . and that we had not yet seen her face! HER MUSIC approached the end, on a low, sustained note. I struggled to get back to my familiar room and sanity at all costs! Somehow I felt Maxton, there, striving desperately too -- but I knew with the feeling of an awful doom that he was enmeshed far deeper than I, and he could never come back. This thing was directed at him. And then beside the maiden I saw the tall grass rustle in an unfelt breeze. I saw something . . . an awful furry shape, red jowled, with strange tentacular limbs, rise up as though it had been impatiently awaiting this moment. A[ppa]rently it was some pet of hers, for it stood there beside her and looked in our direction. Still she played, approaching the last swift notes. She swayed a little forward as though peering. It was then we saw her face. It was faintly furred and aquiline. Her eyes were red and purposeful beneath evilly arched eyebrows. Her nostrils were thin and distended as though with devilish staisfaction [i.e. satisfaction?] as she felt victory within her grasp. The lips were cruel in a tight-pressed slash but quirked at the corners as though at any moment she would burst into a chortle of glee. It was a demoniac face. A female face out of hell. But that was not the real horror. The horror was when Maxton began screaming. I saw him then, or part of him . . . seemingly behind the flames, being swiftly drawn into that other world by the last mad strains of that devil's violin. A strange and terrible transformation was taking place. His body became furry! Then slowly shapeless. His limbs were disapperaing [sic] into vague, wavering appendages. I tried to scream too but I could not. I had no voice. Not even to pray. I tried to rub the horror out of my eyes. Things were beginning to blur. There seemed to be three figures there now -- still the girl, and her beast, and something else nearer and half hidden by flame, something that was still partly Phillip Maxton. It was hiw [i.e. his?] eyes I