Transcribe
Translate
Fantasy Fan, v. 2, issue 6, whole no. 18, February 1935
Page 95
More information
digital collection
archival collection guide
transcription tips
February, 1935, THE FANTASY FAN 95 there was no sight of the old lady. Connors was both perplexed and irritated. After a moment's indecision he stepped across to number 17 and rang the bell. His summons was answered by a pleasant looking young woman. "Pardon me," said Connors, "I am afraid I don't know your name, but are you expecting your mother today?" "My mother," replied the woman with a gasp, "why -- why, what do you mean?" "A nice old lady in Huntsville this morning asked me to drive her to 17 Portland street to visit her daughter whom she hadn't seen for five years. I brought her into town but when I stopped at the corner there to inquire the way I found she was no longer in the car. So I came here to ask if she had already arrived." "What did she look like?" "A sweet old lady, short and slender, snow white hair, pale thin cheeks, wearing an old fashioned taffeta dress with yellowed lace and a jet necklace. Is this your mother?" "Yes, that is my mother but she died in Huntsville five years ago today." The End Gleanings (continued from page 84) of mummified cats walking again and striking in the dark, vampire-like; of hypnotic spells and influences; of developments so utterly mystifying and gripping, the reader cannot put the book down after once opening it. And Bram Stoker's novels are not the abbreviated two-hundred page book so much in evidence today; they are voluminous; though not, I might mention, as "infinite" as "Anthony Adverse." Here is something -- not strictly fantasy, but certainly of interest to all who make fantasy a hobby--which I have deemed worthy of passing on: about twenty years ago there lived in Honolulu, int he much-sung Hawaiian Islands, a man, W. D. Westervelt by name, who spent all his spare time in the collecting of legends and myths about volcanoes. Perhaps the best result of his efforts was a little book called "Legends of Hawaiian Volcanoes," small but crammed to the fly-leaves with fascinating historical, scientific, and mythological data. Others had the titles of "Legends of Ghosts and Ghost-Gods," "Legends of Old Honolulu," "Legends of Maui," etc. No, not true fantasy, but they read like first-rate weird stories. Incidentally, this is a field for stories practically untouched; tales built around Hawaiian and other old native legends have been scarce. Once, in those dear dead days when I first awakened to call of fantasy, I was seized with some strange outbreak of energy; and typed two copies of Edmond Hamilton's first tale, "The Monster God of Mamurth." The copies are still on had. Not faultless typing, but readable. If anyone has not read this great little story by Hamilton, i'll gladly send a copy to the first two fans writing me.
Saving...
prev
next
February, 1935, THE FANTASY FAN 95 there was no sight of the old lady. Connors was both perplexed and irritated. After a moment's indecision he stepped across to number 17 and rang the bell. His summons was answered by a pleasant looking young woman. "Pardon me," said Connors, "I am afraid I don't know your name, but are you expecting your mother today?" "My mother," replied the woman with a gasp, "why -- why, what do you mean?" "A nice old lady in Huntsville this morning asked me to drive her to 17 Portland street to visit her daughter whom she hadn't seen for five years. I brought her into town but when I stopped at the corner there to inquire the way I found she was no longer in the car. So I came here to ask if she had already arrived." "What did she look like?" "A sweet old lady, short and slender, snow white hair, pale thin cheeks, wearing an old fashioned taffeta dress with yellowed lace and a jet necklace. Is this your mother?" "Yes, that is my mother but she died in Huntsville five years ago today." The End Gleanings (continued from page 84) of mummified cats walking again and striking in the dark, vampire-like; of hypnotic spells and influences; of developments so utterly mystifying and gripping, the reader cannot put the book down after once opening it. And Bram Stoker's novels are not the abbreviated two-hundred page book so much in evidence today; they are voluminous; though not, I might mention, as "infinite" as "Anthony Adverse." Here is something -- not strictly fantasy, but certainly of interest to all who make fantasy a hobby--which I have deemed worthy of passing on: about twenty years ago there lived in Honolulu, int he much-sung Hawaiian Islands, a man, W. D. Westervelt by name, who spent all his spare time in the collecting of legends and myths about volcanoes. Perhaps the best result of his efforts was a little book called "Legends of Hawaiian Volcanoes," small but crammed to the fly-leaves with fascinating historical, scientific, and mythological data. Others had the titles of "Legends of Ghosts and Ghost-Gods," "Legends of Old Honolulu," "Legends of Maui," etc. No, not true fantasy, but they read like first-rate weird stories. Incidentally, this is a field for stories practically untouched; tales built around Hawaiian and other old native legends have been scarce. Once, in those dear dead days when I first awakened to call of fantasy, I was seized with some strange outbreak of energy; and typed two copies of Edmond Hamilton's first tale, "The Monster God of Mamurth." The copies are still on had. Not faultless typing, but readable. If anyone has not read this great little story by Hamilton, i'll gladly send a copy to the first two fans writing me.
Hevelin Fanzines
sidebar
