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Science Fiction Collector, v. 3, issue 5, September-October 1937
Page 9
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[handwritten] Science Fiction Collector Page 9 [typewritten] dreams she came to me again -- she of the fair, untainted beauty, she of the always present terror. And she kissed me -- kissed me tenderly with unearthly sweetness. I knew that I loved her, that I must free her from her imprisoning picture, or what-ever was amiss -- if it took my life, my sanity, my soul, I must right it. I clung to her in celestial happiness. Then, she drew away from me, as though sensing what I was thinking. "You must not -- you must not try to better my lot. You must flee this house. I once knew the outer world -- knew it through tears of laughter -- through tears of joy, and know what I can no longer have. Yet you must not help me--it would only mean your death, beloved. You -- you found me too late. He has trapped me in this wilderness of pictures -- they are like many rooms to me, and some object which bridges two pictures forms a door to me. I have wandered from picture to picture for years, and never yet have I found the picture in which I was first placed. He took me into the basement -- down a flight to long, long stairs. He would kill you if you found me -- he is not as human as he seems and could easily overcome you. I implore you, my dearest, go away." Then she was gone. I awoke and dressed hurriedly and stole stealthily from my room. I knew the way to the basement and went there silently. I soon found the stairway that lead to the depths she had described. I opened the door at the end of the corridor, and after one look at the designs that writhed on the Stygian walls, I confined my attention solely to the square shutter that hang against the wall. Realizing its sinister significance, I headed for it immediately. My heart was beating wildly, my throat was dry. Heavenly longing was in me for the girl........... The shutter was securely fastened, locked in many places, but my insane resentment for it and the fiend that had put it there prevailed before I knew it, and by itself the sheet of steel swung slowly towards me. Creeking eerily on its hinges it swing ... wider ... wider ... Behind it a spine-tingling trumpeting seemed to blare hollowly in a far wider space than any atmosphere of earth, as if in evil anticipation. I jerked away; but my body was too shocked to follow my mind's shrieked, praying, demanding, pleading to run up that long, long, flight. "No! No!" I groaned with the sick horror of the ages, "God, it is YOU! not Abraham Arthur, who is --" The walls flung around the echoes: "I-I loved you so that life would be aimless without you -- you monster -- you thing that is neither female nor male, but is both or eithereor anything -- so take me! Take --- " and gloated over them and kept repeating them from one to the other. [handwritten] Collectors by Jack Speer T The real excuse for philately's popularity is not to be found in the excuses put up by its devotees, that one learns so much from it, or (or the case of the more sordid) that its a lucrative occupation. The real reason is found in the innate urge to save, to collect, to classify, and then to gloat. Stamps can be classified several different ways -- by value, date of issue, mechanical makeup -- and, by something of an accident. Although there probably is a fascination in it, it has become the hobby. Probably, by a similar accident, word collecting might become just as popular. Words, too, can be classified many differ-
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[handwritten] Science Fiction Collector Page 9 [typewritten] dreams she came to me again -- she of the fair, untainted beauty, she of the always present terror. And she kissed me -- kissed me tenderly with unearthly sweetness. I knew that I loved her, that I must free her from her imprisoning picture, or what-ever was amiss -- if it took my life, my sanity, my soul, I must right it. I clung to her in celestial happiness. Then, she drew away from me, as though sensing what I was thinking. "You must not -- you must not try to better my lot. You must flee this house. I once knew the outer world -- knew it through tears of laughter -- through tears of joy, and know what I can no longer have. Yet you must not help me--it would only mean your death, beloved. You -- you found me too late. He has trapped me in this wilderness of pictures -- they are like many rooms to me, and some object which bridges two pictures forms a door to me. I have wandered from picture to picture for years, and never yet have I found the picture in which I was first placed. He took me into the basement -- down a flight to long, long stairs. He would kill you if you found me -- he is not as human as he seems and could easily overcome you. I implore you, my dearest, go away." Then she was gone. I awoke and dressed hurriedly and stole stealthily from my room. I knew the way to the basement and went there silently. I soon found the stairway that lead to the depths she had described. I opened the door at the end of the corridor, and after one look at the designs that writhed on the Stygian walls, I confined my attention solely to the square shutter that hang against the wall. Realizing its sinister significance, I headed for it immediately. My heart was beating wildly, my throat was dry. Heavenly longing was in me for the girl........... The shutter was securely fastened, locked in many places, but my insane resentment for it and the fiend that had put it there prevailed before I knew it, and by itself the sheet of steel swung slowly towards me. Creeking eerily on its hinges it swing ... wider ... wider ... Behind it a spine-tingling trumpeting seemed to blare hollowly in a far wider space than any atmosphere of earth, as if in evil anticipation. I jerked away; but my body was too shocked to follow my mind's shrieked, praying, demanding, pleading to run up that long, long, flight. "No! No!" I groaned with the sick horror of the ages, "God, it is YOU! not Abraham Arthur, who is --" The walls flung around the echoes: "I-I loved you so that life would be aimless without you -- you monster -- you thing that is neither female nor male, but is both or eithereor anything -- so take me! Take --- " and gloated over them and kept repeating them from one to the other. [handwritten] Collectors by Jack Speer T The real excuse for philately's popularity is not to be found in the excuses put up by its devotees, that one learns so much from it, or (or the case of the more sordid) that its a lucrative occupation. The real reason is found in the innate urge to save, to collect, to classify, and then to gloat. Stamps can be classified several different ways -- by value, date of issue, mechanical makeup -- and, by something of an accident. Although there probably is a fascination in it, it has become the hobby. Probably, by a similar accident, word collecting might become just as popular. Words, too, can be classified many differ-
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