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Acolyte, vol 1, issue 3, whole 3, Spring 1943
Page 29
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THE SUMMONS by Alan Child -oOo- The dreamer found himself standing against a high fence, looking up. Darkness surrounded him, but the object at which he was looking was illuminated so that he had no difficulty seeing it. It was a stair which ascended into the sky further than the eye could reach. Up it in a never-ending line marched hundreds of people--all types, young and old, some well-dressed and some shabby. It was as if they had been sum-moned without notice by someone, someone so great that they were compelled to obey. The dreamer's heart beat fast. In the same manner in which the people on the stairway seemed compelled to march upward, it seemed that he was compelled to watch. Surely no one had ever before seen such a thing -- at least had never spoken of it afterwards. He cried and clung to the fence behind him. He was young. This spectacle was nothing to fear. This was just...just... His thoughts trailed off as words do when nothing seems to make sense. Now with a bewildred, half-demented look on his face he watched the climbers. Time passed slowly, and the dreamr's heart beat more normally. He found himself becoming able to think more clearly, but he shunned his thoughts, and stared at the grim faces which looked neither to the right nor left but forever podded upward. He could not bear the futile monotny, and began to call to those on the stairs. Each time he grew more desperate; each time he called louder. He heard the dull echo of his own voice but nothing more. No head so much as turned. Finally with all the strength left in his body he gave a last pleading cry and looked despairingly up at the stairway. A girl gave a slight start, turned around, and smiled. It was a pleasant sort of smile, one that brings comfort to the soul, friendly, sympathetic. It was all too short, for in a moment she turned as if remembering herself, and proceeded onward. He tried to call again to her but his throat seemed paralysed. Once more alone with his misery, he continued to stare upward, dully, apathetically. So many of the faces he saw looked vaguely familiar, yet he could place none of them. Then with a start, he noticed a face that stood out from the rest, young, undisillusioned. He studied it more closely. It looked like...merciful God, it was! His most horrifying fear was the truth. The man he saw was himself! This is the type of dream from which one wakes perspiring and troubled--but this dreamer never awoke. ********************************************************* EDITORIALLY SPEAKING. (Cont. from page 2) DUANE RIMEL'S POEM, The Snake is the first of a series dealing with the Snake River; which, rising in southern Idaho, comprises a good bit of the Idaho-Oregon, Idaho-Washington boundaries, and finally empties into the Columbia. Duane has lived within stone's throw of the Snake all his life....... Music From The Stars is an authentic bit of writing in many ways. "Baldwyn" is of course none other than Franklin Lee, of Within the Circle and Golem fame; while "Rambeau" is Rimel himself, and the locale Lee's former home at Asotin, Washington. The moral? Never get acquainted with an author; he'll kill you off sure! -oOo- SUPERSTITIOUS?. written by an English fan, is used in The Acolyte through the courtesy of Harry Warner, Jr. -oOo- YOUR COMMENTS on this fanzine are earnestly invited. The next issue will appear June 15. 'Till then, happy reading. FTL. -- 29 --
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THE SUMMONS by Alan Child -oOo- The dreamer found himself standing against a high fence, looking up. Darkness surrounded him, but the object at which he was looking was illuminated so that he had no difficulty seeing it. It was a stair which ascended into the sky further than the eye could reach. Up it in a never-ending line marched hundreds of people--all types, young and old, some well-dressed and some shabby. It was as if they had been sum-moned without notice by someone, someone so great that they were compelled to obey. The dreamer's heart beat fast. In the same manner in which the people on the stairway seemed compelled to march upward, it seemed that he was compelled to watch. Surely no one had ever before seen such a thing -- at least had never spoken of it afterwards. He cried and clung to the fence behind him. He was young. This spectacle was nothing to fear. This was just...just... His thoughts trailed off as words do when nothing seems to make sense. Now with a bewildred, half-demented look on his face he watched the climbers. Time passed slowly, and the dreamr's heart beat more normally. He found himself becoming able to think more clearly, but he shunned his thoughts, and stared at the grim faces which looked neither to the right nor left but forever podded upward. He could not bear the futile monotny, and began to call to those on the stairs. Each time he grew more desperate; each time he called louder. He heard the dull echo of his own voice but nothing more. No head so much as turned. Finally with all the strength left in his body he gave a last pleading cry and looked despairingly up at the stairway. A girl gave a slight start, turned around, and smiled. It was a pleasant sort of smile, one that brings comfort to the soul, friendly, sympathetic. It was all too short, for in a moment she turned as if remembering herself, and proceeded onward. He tried to call again to her but his throat seemed paralysed. Once more alone with his misery, he continued to stare upward, dully, apathetically. So many of the faces he saw looked vaguely familiar, yet he could place none of them. Then with a start, he noticed a face that stood out from the rest, young, undisillusioned. He studied it more closely. It looked like...merciful God, it was! His most horrifying fear was the truth. The man he saw was himself! This is the type of dream from which one wakes perspiring and troubled--but this dreamer never awoke. ********************************************************* EDITORIALLY SPEAKING. (Cont. from page 2) DUANE RIMEL'S POEM, The Snake is the first of a series dealing with the Snake River; which, rising in southern Idaho, comprises a good bit of the Idaho-Oregon, Idaho-Washington boundaries, and finally empties into the Columbia. Duane has lived within stone's throw of the Snake all his life....... Music From The Stars is an authentic bit of writing in many ways. "Baldwyn" is of course none other than Franklin Lee, of Within the Circle and Golem fame; while "Rambeau" is Rimel himself, and the locale Lee's former home at Asotin, Washington. The moral? Never get acquainted with an author; he'll kill you off sure! -oOo- SUPERSTITIOUS?. written by an English fan, is used in The Acolyte through the courtesy of Harry Warner, Jr. -oOo- YOUR COMMENTS on this fanzine are earnestly invited. The next issue will appear June 15. 'Till then, happy reading. FTL. -- 29 --
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