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Acolyte, vol 1, issue 3, whole 3, Spring 1943
Page 9
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He said the preliminary work would require solitude for a week, at least. That would give him sufficient time to decipher the sinister formulae in the ancient book, and to make adjustments on his Lunachord upstairs. he was a master technician, and had found on his instrument tonal combinations that baffled fellow musicians. Milt Hearth, of radio fame, has done the same thing on a Hammond Organ, which the Lunachord closely resembles. Since a Lunachord's tones are actually electrical impulses, controlled by fifteen dials on the intricate panel above the two keyboards, and capable of imitating anything from a bass horn to a piccolo, the variations are endless. Baldwyn estimated that there were roughly over a million tonal possibilities, although many would possess no distinction. I wondered at first how he had planned to invent such outre music on a mere piano; but here, ready-made, was the solution---a scientific achievement awaiting exploration. Walking homeward beneath a pale half-moon, my enthusiasm waned. He had not mentioned precisely what he intended to summon with his alarming music. Yergler himself was singularly vague on that point, or else Sheffield had deleted sections of the hideous text---an entirely logical premise. Indeed, what earthly music---i.e., musical tones audible to the human ear---could call from the gulf something totally unearthly? My better judgement revolted. Baldwyn was lighting dangerous fires, but the very limits of man's knowledge regarding space, time and infinity would keep him from getting his fingers burned. Still, Yergler had done it; or something just as bad, and I recalled Sheffield's preface, which gave a guarded account of the alchemist's mysterious death in the madhouse. During a severe thunderstorm there was heard outside and above his room a hideous cacophony, seeming to come from the very heavens. There had been a broken shutter, a wild scream; and Yergler had been found slumped in a corner of the room in an attitude of extreme terror, dead eyes bulging upward, his face and body pitted with holes that resembled burns but were not. However, I knew that many early historians had possessed the grievous fault of gross exaggeration and verbal distortion. I could scarcely wait for the ensuing week to pass, realizing that Baldwyn was alone in that upstairs room, browsing in a blasphemous book from the past and composing weird music on his devils' machine. But at last Saturday came, and I approached his door about one o'clock in the afternoon, because I knew he hadn't seen the sun rise for years. Encouraged by seeing a finger of smoke twist from the leaning chimney, I opened the sagging wooden gate, crossed the shadow of the maple and knocked on the door. Presently it opened, and I was shocked at the change in my friend's face. He had aged five years; new lines creased his pale brow. His greeting was mechanical. We sat in the parlor and talked while he lit one cigarette after another. When I asked him if he'd had any sleep or solid food, he refused to answer. Baldwyn did his own light housekeeping, and unless watched, never ate enough to keep more than half alive. I told him he looked terrible, but he passed it off with a wave of his hand. What hellish thing had made him a gaunt image of his former self? I remonstrated; I demanded that he leave that sinister music and get some rest. He wouldn't listen. I began to become afraid of what he'd discovered, for it was evident he had met with success of a sort. His very manner said so. Without further conversation, he remarked that he'd be busy all afternoon, and told me to return at ten-thirty that evening. I inquired about the experiment, but it was of no use. I left, promising to come back at the appointed hour. When I rapped on his door again I had in my pocket a '38 revol- -- 9 --
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He said the preliminary work would require solitude for a week, at least. That would give him sufficient time to decipher the sinister formulae in the ancient book, and to make adjustments on his Lunachord upstairs. he was a master technician, and had found on his instrument tonal combinations that baffled fellow musicians. Milt Hearth, of radio fame, has done the same thing on a Hammond Organ, which the Lunachord closely resembles. Since a Lunachord's tones are actually electrical impulses, controlled by fifteen dials on the intricate panel above the two keyboards, and capable of imitating anything from a bass horn to a piccolo, the variations are endless. Baldwyn estimated that there were roughly over a million tonal possibilities, although many would possess no distinction. I wondered at first how he had planned to invent such outre music on a mere piano; but here, ready-made, was the solution---a scientific achievement awaiting exploration. Walking homeward beneath a pale half-moon, my enthusiasm waned. He had not mentioned precisely what he intended to summon with his alarming music. Yergler himself was singularly vague on that point, or else Sheffield had deleted sections of the hideous text---an entirely logical premise. Indeed, what earthly music---i.e., musical tones audible to the human ear---could call from the gulf something totally unearthly? My better judgement revolted. Baldwyn was lighting dangerous fires, but the very limits of man's knowledge regarding space, time and infinity would keep him from getting his fingers burned. Still, Yergler had done it; or something just as bad, and I recalled Sheffield's preface, which gave a guarded account of the alchemist's mysterious death in the madhouse. During a severe thunderstorm there was heard outside and above his room a hideous cacophony, seeming to come from the very heavens. There had been a broken shutter, a wild scream; and Yergler had been found slumped in a corner of the room in an attitude of extreme terror, dead eyes bulging upward, his face and body pitted with holes that resembled burns but were not. However, I knew that many early historians had possessed the grievous fault of gross exaggeration and verbal distortion. I could scarcely wait for the ensuing week to pass, realizing that Baldwyn was alone in that upstairs room, browsing in a blasphemous book from the past and composing weird music on his devils' machine. But at last Saturday came, and I approached his door about one o'clock in the afternoon, because I knew he hadn't seen the sun rise for years. Encouraged by seeing a finger of smoke twist from the leaning chimney, I opened the sagging wooden gate, crossed the shadow of the maple and knocked on the door. Presently it opened, and I was shocked at the change in my friend's face. He had aged five years; new lines creased his pale brow. His greeting was mechanical. We sat in the parlor and talked while he lit one cigarette after another. When I asked him if he'd had any sleep or solid food, he refused to answer. Baldwyn did his own light housekeeping, and unless watched, never ate enough to keep more than half alive. I told him he looked terrible, but he passed it off with a wave of his hand. What hellish thing had made him a gaunt image of his former self? I remonstrated; I demanded that he leave that sinister music and get some rest. He wouldn't listen. I began to become afraid of what he'd discovered, for it was evident he had met with success of a sort. His very manner said so. Without further conversation, he remarked that he'd be busy all afternoon, and told me to return at ten-thirty that evening. I inquired about the experiment, but it was of no use. I left, promising to come back at the appointed hour. When I rapped on his door again I had in my pocket a '38 revol- -- 9 --
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