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Comet, v. 1, issue 3, May-June 1940
Page 8
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PAGE 8 THE COMET --HORROR'S CELLAR-- so from any ordinary person's experience. Take your own case---have you ever heard a noise over a 'phone that seemed anything more than a [[underline]]plop[[end underline]] or [[underline]]thud[[end underline]] in the background, like a small heavy object falling hear at hand, no matter how loud you know it to be? But it was different then. The crash almost split my head asunder, it seemed. I now know that the mouthpiece of Morton's 'phone was at the time lying on the floor and the boards undoubtedly carried the vibration exceptionally well. And when you consider what made the crash--- Yet it was the scream a tenth of a second later that was the worst. It still haunts me in every waking hour, and often in the middle of my sleep I wake sweating at every pore, still hearing that terrible, Hell-spawned cry, ending in a sort of thraty gurgle. A thousand thoughts flashed through my brain. The reason for this came clearly to me---at least I thought so at the time. Morton had killed himself. His nerves, strained by something to the snapping point, had given way, and he had dashed to get a gun. He had probably blown out his brains, with the muzzel of the lethal weapon close to the telephone. That accounted gor the first crash--and his scream was explainable--his last agony. Still, I could not be certain---and I hesitated to call the authorities immediately. The final thud would have been him falling to the floor--still, what was the signifigance of those last words of his? Surely there must have been something else--something odd, something that was completely out of the ordinary. Morton's last wish, furthermore, had been that I should not go out there. For one moment I was almost decided to replace the receiver on the hook, go back to bed, and forget the whole thing. I was sure there had been a tradgedy, and there was little reason for me to become involved in it. But even as I thought that, I knew I could not bring myself to do so--Morton had first wished me to go to his place, and that I would do--alone. Half an hour later, my old Chevvie was creaking along the dark and rough road out to Morton's place. The night seemed actually to hold some strange, alien menace in it; it beat down from all sides, seemed to close in upon me. Once I tried to lighten my spirit by humming a fragment of some tune--but at the third or fourth bar that awful last shriek of Morton's came back to me, and I caught my breath, shuddering. It seemed like a voice from the grave, beating in on me from all sides--that last, horror filling, terror-ridden cry of anguish, torn loose from his very being by some wild horror. Suddenly checking my thoughts, I found myself almost past the little lane which turned off the larger road and led up to the old house. In another moment I had reached it, swung the car to the friendly light cast by my headlamps the night appeared darker than before, even, and I felt once more that sense of menace in the air-- that brooding horror.
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PAGE 8 THE COMET --HORROR'S CELLAR-- so from any ordinary person's experience. Take your own case---have you ever heard a noise over a 'phone that seemed anything more than a [[underline]]plop[[end underline]] or [[underline]]thud[[end underline]] in the background, like a small heavy object falling hear at hand, no matter how loud you know it to be? But it was different then. The crash almost split my head asunder, it seemed. I now know that the mouthpiece of Morton's 'phone was at the time lying on the floor and the boards undoubtedly carried the vibration exceptionally well. And when you consider what made the crash--- Yet it was the scream a tenth of a second later that was the worst. It still haunts me in every waking hour, and often in the middle of my sleep I wake sweating at every pore, still hearing that terrible, Hell-spawned cry, ending in a sort of thraty gurgle. A thousand thoughts flashed through my brain. The reason for this came clearly to me---at least I thought so at the time. Morton had killed himself. His nerves, strained by something to the snapping point, had given way, and he had dashed to get a gun. He had probably blown out his brains, with the muzzel of the lethal weapon close to the telephone. That accounted gor the first crash--and his scream was explainable--his last agony. Still, I could not be certain---and I hesitated to call the authorities immediately. The final thud would have been him falling to the floor--still, what was the signifigance of those last words of his? Surely there must have been something else--something odd, something that was completely out of the ordinary. Morton's last wish, furthermore, had been that I should not go out there. For one moment I was almost decided to replace the receiver on the hook, go back to bed, and forget the whole thing. I was sure there had been a tradgedy, and there was little reason for me to become involved in it. But even as I thought that, I knew I could not bring myself to do so--Morton had first wished me to go to his place, and that I would do--alone. Half an hour later, my old Chevvie was creaking along the dark and rough road out to Morton's place. The night seemed actually to hold some strange, alien menace in it; it beat down from all sides, seemed to close in upon me. Once I tried to lighten my spirit by humming a fragment of some tune--but at the third or fourth bar that awful last shriek of Morton's came back to me, and I caught my breath, shuddering. It seemed like a voice from the grave, beating in on me from all sides--that last, horror filling, terror-ridden cry of anguish, torn loose from his very being by some wild horror. Suddenly checking my thoughts, I found myself almost past the little lane which turned off the larger road and led up to the old house. In another moment I had reached it, swung the car to the friendly light cast by my headlamps the night appeared darker than before, even, and I felt once more that sense of menace in the air-- that brooding horror.
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