Transcribe
Translate
Comet, v. 1, issue 3, May-June 1940
Page 6
More information
digital collection
archival collection guide
transcription tips
Page 6 THE COMET --HORROR'S CELLAR-- Mentally cursing the fool who would wake me at this time of night, I groped about beneath my bed for a moment, searching for my pair of slippers. Being unsuccessful, I snapped on the light at the head of my bed, and finally discovered them, under the chair where I had deposited them a few hours previously. I put them on, slipped into my night-robe--for it was a rather cool night--and hastened to the hallway of the room which I am pleased to call the "parlor" of my small apartment. Lifting the receiver, in the meantime laying myself odds it would be a wrong number, I spoke into the mouthpiece. I was answered at once by the voice of a man whom I had not seen for years----Sydney Morton! He seemed excited about something--incoherent, even. He was talking fast--so fast it was difficult to understand him, and I broke into his ramblings with an admonition of "Take your time, old man---it can't be that urgent!" He paused for a moment, and I could sense him gathering himself together. When he ban speaking again, it was in low tone of voice, like that of a man who was struggling to keep from hysteria. "Williams," he began, "you've got to help me! God knows what I've started---I don't know what it is---but whatever it is, you must come out here at once! This is urgent---don't you understand?---urgent!! He's dead--but he's crawling around down there!" "Who's dead?" I asked, a little impatiently. I knew Morton of old, and wasn't too surprised at this outburst. He had always been an excitable sort of chap, well meaning, but with a tendency to become overwrought at the least provocation. "Who's dead?" I asked again. "It's he!" he shouted into my ear. "I've killed him--he's crawling around down there--and every night he's coming closer! Closer, I tell you---closer! Tonight---what if he---?" his voice faltered. Somewhere nearby a car backfired. Despite myself, the muscles in the upper part of my arm twitched, jerking the receiver away from my ear for a moment. The line to the bell-box on the wall made funny shadows against the floor from the feeble radiation of the tiny hall-light. Suddenly I became aware that he was again speaking, and ridiculed myself for letting his anxiety unnerve me so. "Listen, Paul," he rasped. "I--I don't know how much more time I may have. You've got to come out here and help me---it's a matter of life and death. Get your car and hurry---you may be too late as it is. It's coming close--very, very close--" "I've got everything written out here. I wrote it out and signed it just before calling you. I wrote it out and signed it just before calling you. If you're late, it'll explain everything. Everything else is in order--" "What the devil are you talking about?" I said. "What will 'explain everything'---what's there to explain? ARe you sure you're in
Saving...
prev
next
Page 6 THE COMET --HORROR'S CELLAR-- Mentally cursing the fool who would wake me at this time of night, I groped about beneath my bed for a moment, searching for my pair of slippers. Being unsuccessful, I snapped on the light at the head of my bed, and finally discovered them, under the chair where I had deposited them a few hours previously. I put them on, slipped into my night-robe--for it was a rather cool night--and hastened to the hallway of the room which I am pleased to call the "parlor" of my small apartment. Lifting the receiver, in the meantime laying myself odds it would be a wrong number, I spoke into the mouthpiece. I was answered at once by the voice of a man whom I had not seen for years----Sydney Morton! He seemed excited about something--incoherent, even. He was talking fast--so fast it was difficult to understand him, and I broke into his ramblings with an admonition of "Take your time, old man---it can't be that urgent!" He paused for a moment, and I could sense him gathering himself together. When he ban speaking again, it was in low tone of voice, like that of a man who was struggling to keep from hysteria. "Williams," he began, "you've got to help me! God knows what I've started---I don't know what it is---but whatever it is, you must come out here at once! This is urgent---don't you understand?---urgent!! He's dead--but he's crawling around down there!" "Who's dead?" I asked, a little impatiently. I knew Morton of old, and wasn't too surprised at this outburst. He had always been an excitable sort of chap, well meaning, but with a tendency to become overwrought at the least provocation. "Who's dead?" I asked again. "It's he!" he shouted into my ear. "I've killed him--he's crawling around down there--and every night he's coming closer! Closer, I tell you---closer! Tonight---what if he---?" his voice faltered. Somewhere nearby a car backfired. Despite myself, the muscles in the upper part of my arm twitched, jerking the receiver away from my ear for a moment. The line to the bell-box on the wall made funny shadows against the floor from the feeble radiation of the tiny hall-light. Suddenly I became aware that he was again speaking, and ridiculed myself for letting his anxiety unnerve me so. "Listen, Paul," he rasped. "I--I don't know how much more time I may have. You've got to come out here and help me---it's a matter of life and death. Get your car and hurry---you may be too late as it is. It's coming close--very, very close--" "I've got everything written out here. I wrote it out and signed it just before calling you. I wrote it out and signed it just before calling you. If you're late, it'll explain everything. Everything else is in order--" "What the devil are you talking about?" I said. "What will 'explain everything'---what's there to explain? ARe you sure you're in
Hevelin Fanzines
sidebar
