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Acolyte, vol 1, issue 3, whole 3, Spring 1943
Page 12
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I have confessed, and I suppose the judge and jury will hang me. I really can't blame them. They would never understand why I killed him. And now I too must pay with my life for meddling in those forbidden realms of nightmare. All of Baldwyn's manuscripts were burned---including the copy of Yergler's evil book---by a special court order. It seems the neighbors heard the screams and the savage music. And now another terror haunts me. Often in my dreams I see a nebulous cloud of utter blackness dropping from the nighted sky to engulf me. And in the center of that nimbus I see a face, a hideous distortion of something that once was human and sane---the face of my friend; pitted and burned, even as the grisly face of Yergler's must have been. ---ooOoo--- THE SNAKE by Duane W. Rimel -oOo- Churning, gurgling, twisting river Filled with secrets yet untold; Winding writhing through deep canyons, Over granite gray and cold. Idling by a wind-town narrow, Sweeping through some cavern black; Taking seaward in its clutches Things that never will come back. Gliding past a brightened meadow, Past a field of waving grain; Moaning endlessly in eddies As if stung by hate or pain. Through a tunnel dim and musty Hewn from stone to help it on; By a rock whose ancient carving Greeted many a primal dawn. Muddy waters passing ever In processing by the sand, Like a march of endless soldiers Moved by nature's great command. Dark and brooding then at nightfall Whisp'ring thoughts no mind can read; Striving to reveal in horror Some remote and nameless deed. But those tales go all unuttered; Those dark mysteries it will hold 'Till that deep and buddy bosom Lingers dry in ages old. Yet its silence voice is calling As it stretches pleading hands; Calling me to cross the border--- Past the rim to other lands. --12--
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I have confessed, and I suppose the judge and jury will hang me. I really can't blame them. They would never understand why I killed him. And now I too must pay with my life for meddling in those forbidden realms of nightmare. All of Baldwyn's manuscripts were burned---including the copy of Yergler's evil book---by a special court order. It seems the neighbors heard the screams and the savage music. And now another terror haunts me. Often in my dreams I see a nebulous cloud of utter blackness dropping from the nighted sky to engulf me. And in the center of that nimbus I see a face, a hideous distortion of something that once was human and sane---the face of my friend; pitted and burned, even as the grisly face of Yergler's must have been. ---ooOoo--- THE SNAKE by Duane W. Rimel -oOo- Churning, gurgling, twisting river Filled with secrets yet untold; Winding writhing through deep canyons, Over granite gray and cold. Idling by a wind-town narrow, Sweeping through some cavern black; Taking seaward in its clutches Things that never will come back. Gliding past a brightened meadow, Past a field of waving grain; Moaning endlessly in eddies As if stung by hate or pain. Through a tunnel dim and musty Hewn from stone to help it on; By a rock whose ancient carving Greeted many a primal dawn. Muddy waters passing ever In processing by the sand, Like a march of endless soldiers Moved by nature's great command. Dark and brooding then at nightfall Whisp'ring thoughts no mind can read; Striving to reveal in horror Some remote and nameless deed. But those tales go all unuttered; Those dark mysteries it will hold 'Till that deep and buddy bosom Lingers dry in ages old. Yet its silence voice is calling As it stretches pleading hands; Calling me to cross the border--- Past the rim to other lands. --12--
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