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Cosmic Tales, v. 2, issue 1, Summer 1939

Page 15

COSMIC TALES      15

still, was the body of Peter Paine, his own body.
And then, with a great bitterness arising in his soul, Paine knew that he was dead.

******************

For many minutes he stood there, staring blankly at the lifeless body before him. In death he had changed but little; there were the same chubby features, the same bristling moustache, the same button-like nose. But the pallor of the skin rendered the corpse alien - a bizarre thing that was no longer human or of things human.
Sadly he turned away. So this was death? It was quite different from anything he had ever imagined. Long ago, in his childhood, he had been told about the celestial city Heaven - where people went when they died. Or maybe he was being too optimistic. He glanced downwards in distaste.
Peter Paine's philosophy of life was very simple. The Good Book had been his authority and guide, but seemingly the Good Book had lied. Somehow he had always thot of Gabriel as being a hot trumpeter a la Louis Armstrong, and the life and soul of the Holy Choir. But where was Gabriel? Where was St. Peter with the Keys? Where was anybody for that matter.
He felt hurt that his entry into the spirit world should have passed unnoticed. He wanted to do things -- to be recognized. He wanted to be popular, to meet fellow spirits and swap anecdotes and dubious jokes. He wanted...but what was the use of wishing under the circumstances?
It occured to him that, as he was totally invisible and immaterial, other spirits might be so too, in which case he obviously would not be able to sense their presence. The thot was very discouraging, and he felt quite dismal, for he was a person who hated lonliness.
At length he decided to venture abroad, and see the city from the spiritual angle. By passing thru the wall again, he found himself poised over the road, a nervous and uncomfortable little entity hovering in space. Motor cars and buses thundered beneath him, and the sight of the traffic gave him an idea. He would steal a hitch hike.
Very judiciously he selected a large omnibus as his victim, and willed himself inside it. Immediately he was one amid a dozen passengers. A glance at his fellow travellers amused him, for they sat open-mouthed and stupid, staring blankly ahead as tho in a state of catalepsy or advanced decomposition. A certain bewhiskered gent with a completely bald head intrigued him, so he adjusted himself so that he was occupying a position inside the other's mouth, and studied with amusement, the manouevers of the patriarch as he conscientiously nibbled his nails. But he soon vacated his place in the oral cavity, deciding that the nail-biter was badly in need of a bottle of Listerine.
Before leaving the bus, he attempted to see the inside of a very stout gentlemean's abdomen, but was disappointed, for everything was so dark within that he could see nothing.
He left the bus by simple procedure of dropping thru the floor. The huge vehicle roared on, passing over him and away. For a moment Peter Paine remained int he middle of the road, and, before he knew it, a swift truck had gone right thru him. It was a very weird experience, but quite thrilling.
He was now in the middle of the city, and over the road was the museum. He made for it, ignoring the swinging doors, and entered by passing thru the wall in the true ghostly fashion. Inside, gloomily illuminated by the small, high-placed windows, were cases containing...mummies. And sarcophagi.
Paine was fascinated. There

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COSMIC TALES 15 still, was the body of Peter Paine, his own body. And then, with a great bitterness arising in his soul, Paine knew that he was dead. ****************** For many minutes he stood there, staring blankly at the lifeless body before him. In death he had changed but little; there were the same chubby features, the same bristling moustache, the same button-like nose. But the pallor of the skin rendered the corpse alien - a bizarre thing that was no longer human or of things human. Sadly he turned away. So this was death? It was quite different from anything he had ever imagined. Long ago, in his childhood, he had been told about the celestial city Heaven - where people went when they died. Or maybe he was being too optimistic. He glanced downwards in distaste. Peter Paine's philosophy of life was very simple. The Good Book had been his authority and guide, but seemingly the Good Book had lied. Somehow he had always thot of Gabriel as being a hot trumpeter a la Louis Armstrong, and the life and soul of the Holy Choir. But where was Gabriel? Where was St. Peter with the Keys? Where was anybody for that matter. He felt hurt that his entry into the spirit world should have passed unnoticed. He wanted to do things -- to be recognized. He wanted to be popular, to meet fellow spirits and swap anecdotes and dubious jokes. He wanted...but what was the use of wishing under the circumstances? It occured to him that, as he was totally invisible and immaterial, other spirits might be so too, in which case he obviously would not be able to sense their presence. The thot was very discouraging, and he felt quite dismal, for he was a person who hated lonliness. At length he decided to venture abroad, and see the city from the spiritual angle. By passing thru the wall again, he found himself poised over the road, a nervous and uncomfortable little entity hovering in space. Motor cars and buses thundered beneath him, and the sight of the traffic gave him an idea. He would steal a hitch hike. Very judiciously he selected a large omnibus as his victim, and willed himself inside it. Immediately he was one amid a dozen passengers. A glance at his fellow travellers amused him, for they sat open-mouthed and stupid, staring blankly ahead as tho in a state of catalepsy or advanced decomposition. A certain bewhiskered gent with a completely bald head intrigued him, so he adjusted himself so that he was occupying a position inside the other's mouth, and studied with amusement, the manouevers of the patriarch as he conscientiously nibbled his nails. But he soon vacated his place in the oral cavity, deciding that the nail-biter was badly in need of a bottle of Listerine. Before leaving the bus, he attempted to see the inside of a very stout gentlemean's abdomen, but was disappointed, for everything was so dark within that he could see nothing. He left the bus by simple procedure of dropping thru the floor. The huge vehicle roared on, passing over him and away. For a moment Peter Paine remained int he middle of the road, and, before he knew it, a swift truck had gone right thru him. It was a very weird experience, but quite thrilling. He was now in the middle of the city, and over the road was the museum. He made for it, ignoring the swinging doors, and entered by passing thru the wall in the true ghostly fashion. Inside, gloomily illuminated by the small, high-placed windows, were cases containing...mummies. And sarcophagi. Paine was fascinated. There