DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Acolyte, vol 1, issue 3, whole 3, Spring 1943

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Acolyte, vol 1, issue 3, whole 3, Spring 1943

Page 17

no odor of brimstone, and no memento of his visit except the equipment Graham himself had set up. 
Graham went to bed, a little uncertain of his sanity.
***********
The next day passed as did most of Graham's days. After classes, he wandered about the city uncertainly until dark. Then he returned to his apartment to await the promised thrill. He was vaguely disturbed by the last words of the devil. Since Graham had no logical reason for expecting excitement at any particular time, he was worried about the "least expect it" proviso. 
Midnight came and passed, and Graham sat in his arm chair, waiting. Nothing happened. 
When he next glanced at his watch, it was one thirty in the morning. The twenty-four hours had, apparently, passed. Nothing of interest had occurred. It had been a hallucination, then?
Possibly not. Graham was fairly certain that the devil had made his promise and left at a few minutes after one the preceding morning. But his watch might possibly have been slow. He waited until its hands crawled to two. 
Nothing.
Methodically, he reached for the telephone, and dialed for the correct time. "Two six A.M.," came the mechanical voice. He strode over to the radio, snapped it on, and waiting for one of the all-night programs to interrupt itself with a station break. It did, within a few minutes. After the call letters, the announcer laconically mentioned the fact that it was two fifteen, A/M/
More than twenty five hours. Either he had not had the experience after all, or the word of a minion from the nether regions was not reliable. 
Graham went into his bedroom, opened the top bureau drawer, and found his automatic. Unhurriedly he snapped off the safety catch, and put the muzzle to his temple. This had been inevitable for some time, he realized as he pulled the trigger.
In the split second before death, the moment when the guillotined heads were said to have the power to grimace, Graham found time to realize something. The demon had promised the change when least expected, and within twenty-four hours. Possibly he hadn't really meant the "twenty-four hours" part of it, and after twenty-four hours, Graham had least expected it!
But this suicide wasn't much of a change. It was just...
*************
The transition came without warning, suddenly. The floor that had been blurredly rushing up toward Graham as he fell, merged into a boiling pit. Flames immediately shot up to as far as his chin. 
He could hardly see his little demon, among the multitude of others already busily working on him.
"Does this satisfy you?" The devil waved his pitchfork for emphasis. "It had better, because Hell goes on forever!"

ADVERTISEMENT:
M.  F.  S.  B U L L E T I N:
Would you like to see a weekly news-magazine - regularly appearing, with interesting write-ups of the latest fan news?
Then try a copy of the MFS Bulletin; only 2 for 5c.
John L. Gergen
221 Melbourne Ave., S.E.
Minneapolis, Minnesota

-- 17 --

Saving...

no odor of brimstone, and no memento of his visit except the equipment Graham himself had set up. Graham went to bed, a little uncertain of his sanity. *********** The next day passed as did most of Graham's days. After classes, he wandered about the city uncertainly until dark. Then he returned to his apartment to await the promised thrill. He was vaguely disturbed by the last words of the devil. Since Graham had no logical reason for expecting excitement at any particular time, he was worried about the "least expect it" proviso. Midnight came and passed, and Graham sat in his arm chair, waiting. Nothing happened. When he next glanced at his watch, it was one thirty in the morning. The twenty-four hours had, apparently, passed. Nothing of interest had occurred. It had been a hallucination, then? Possibly not. Graham was fairly certain that the devil had made his promise and left at a few minutes after one the preceding morning. But his watch might possibly have been slow. He waited until its hands crawled to two. Nothing. Methodically, he reached for the telephone, and dialed for the correct time. "Two six A.M.," came the mechanical voice. He strode over to the radio, snapped it on, and waiting for one of the all-night programs to interrupt itself with a station break. It did, within a few minutes. After the call letters, the announcer laconically mentioned the fact that it was two fifteen, A/M/ More than twenty five hours. Either he had not had the experience after all, or the word of a minion from the nether regions was not reliable. Graham went into his bedroom, opened the top bureau drawer, and found his automatic. Unhurriedly he snapped off the safety catch, and put the muzzle to his temple. This had been inevitable for some time, he realized as he pulled the trigger. In the split second before death, the moment when the guillotined heads were said to have the power to grimace, Graham found time to realize something. The demon had promised the change when least expected, and within twenty-four hours. Possibly he hadn't really meant the "twenty-four hours" part of it, and after twenty-four hours, Graham had least expected it! But this suicide wasn't much of a change. It was just... ************* The transition came without warning, suddenly. The floor that had been blurredly rushing up toward Graham as he fell, merged into a boiling pit. Flames immediately shot up to as far as his chin. He could hardly see his little demon, among the multitude of others already busily working on him. "Does this satisfy you?" The devil waved his pitchfork for emphasis. "It had better, because Hell goes on forever!" ADVERTISEMENT: M. F. S. B U L L E T I N: Would you like to see a weekly news-magazine - regularly appearing, with interesting write-ups of the latest fan news? Then try a copy of the MFS Bulletin; only 2 for 5c. John L. Gergen 221 Melbourne Ave., S.E. Minneapolis, Minnesota -- 17 --