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Acolyte, v. 2, issue 1, whole no. 5, Fall 1943
Page 12
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Bruce had preceded me. He had eaten hastily and said he was going down the road to see Lyle Wilson. She pronounced the name distastefully, and i could see that she didn't like the old man. I didn't blame her. I waived breakfast, my only concern being to get out of this morbid town as soon as possible. I was doomed to disappointment, however. Upon reaching Lyle Wilson's store, I saw that Bruce and the old man had been talking in what appeared to be a mutual earnestness, if not eagerness. I came up in time to hear the latter say: "I'm sartinly glad yew intend ter stick araound a mite. Ain't many outside uns hankers ter do thet. I've heerd more nor one o' 'em calc'late as haow the sunshine, an' the land, an' all araound here be sorty unhealthy like..." He stopped a moment when I came up; then went on with renewed eagerness, as if he didn't often have such an audience. "An' leave me tell ye suthin', young sirs -- they may be right. Thur be sartin things I could tell abaout the cause o' it, tew---things sech as ye'd never b'lieve. But mark ye this: they be more in this waorld nor m eets the eye, an' they be other things asides them as walks on top th' graound...."He looked from one to the other of us, grinning, and I moved back a pace to avoid his obnoxious breath. But Bruce, to my surprise, said, "You mean things such as...." And he pronounced a word that I wouldn't even attempt. Lyle Wilson's eyes popped out in amazement. He looked at Bruce with a sudden startled suspicion. "I read about it," Bruce hurried to explain, "in a book called Monstres and Their Kynde." He regarded the old man carefully, to see the effect his words would have. The effect was one of relief. "Oh, thet book. It aren't much. Belonged to old Hans Zickler--Eb Corey's grandfather--he thet built the haouse. But d'ye know, I got a better book than that..." He chuckled in a way that sent a cold chill up my spine. He paused and peered at Bruce as though waiting for him to exhibit some curiosity, but Bruce wisely did not. "Ill tell ye anyway. I got old Zick's diary. Eb Corey, he used ter hev it, but real suddint one day he told me as he war goin' ter burn it. I reckon as haow he had been readin' inter it. I asked Eb fere it, an' I guess he war more'n glad ter give me it as payment fer some things he war owin'. Said he didn't keer what become o' it, ceptin' as he wouldn't have it in his haouse no longer." Now I could see Bruce's curiosity surge up, and his voice bordered almost on excitement. "You say you still have this diary?" "Yep. Reckon I be the only person thet's ever seed inter it, ceptin' Eb Corey hisself, and I dun't think he read much o' it. He thought 'twar only the old man's crazy ravin's." Wilson's voice became confidential. "D'ye know, I'm kinda glad you fellers drapped by. Folk here-abaout wun't lissen ter me. Acause they be scairt to, that's what; they be scairt o' what I could tell 'em abaout ol' Zickler an' -- an' sartin things I seed 'im do. Things thet -- thet warn't jest right. But sometimes when I gits ter ponderin', an' rememb'rin', an' readin' in the diary agin, thur comes a kinda hankerin' like; an' I wanta try, so's I kin know them things too, like ol' Zick did. An' sometimes the hankerin' gits too strong like..." He stopped suddenly, as though afraid he would go too far, and a wild light died slowly out of his eyes. "O' course," he went on more calmly, "I war jest a young un then, when I spied on ol' Zick, but I remembers right enough. An' even ef the land dew be gittin' better every year, an' things araound here ain't so bad as they used ter be, they's still suthin' abaout an' active oncet in a while. Look't the young Munroe boy, he as they claim wandered off an' fell daown in the ravine. But I knows a heap better. Ef he fell daown the ravine whyn't they ever find the body?" He moved his stool closer to Bruce, leered at him and repeated almost defiantly: "Eh? Whyn't they ever find the body?" The old man chuckled delightedly at the sensation he had made. I was becoming considerably annoyed at all this crazy gibberish. I told Bruce I was going back to the house. He nodded absently. As I left, he hunched forward, listening intently as Lyle Wilson started on another wild trend. At noon Bruce showed up for lunch, seemingly preoccupied and puzzled about something. I wondered what further stories he had succeeded in getting out of Lyle Wilson. I suddenly remembered, too, something I had intended to ask Bruce, but had -- 12 --
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Bruce had preceded me. He had eaten hastily and said he was going down the road to see Lyle Wilson. She pronounced the name distastefully, and i could see that she didn't like the old man. I didn't blame her. I waived breakfast, my only concern being to get out of this morbid town as soon as possible. I was doomed to disappointment, however. Upon reaching Lyle Wilson's store, I saw that Bruce and the old man had been talking in what appeared to be a mutual earnestness, if not eagerness. I came up in time to hear the latter say: "I'm sartinly glad yew intend ter stick araound a mite. Ain't many outside uns hankers ter do thet. I've heerd more nor one o' 'em calc'late as haow the sunshine, an' the land, an' all araound here be sorty unhealthy like..." He stopped a moment when I came up; then went on with renewed eagerness, as if he didn't often have such an audience. "An' leave me tell ye suthin', young sirs -- they may be right. Thur be sartin things I could tell abaout the cause o' it, tew---things sech as ye'd never b'lieve. But mark ye this: they be more in this waorld nor m eets the eye, an' they be other things asides them as walks on top th' graound...."He looked from one to the other of us, grinning, and I moved back a pace to avoid his obnoxious breath. But Bruce, to my surprise, said, "You mean things such as...." And he pronounced a word that I wouldn't even attempt. Lyle Wilson's eyes popped out in amazement. He looked at Bruce with a sudden startled suspicion. "I read about it," Bruce hurried to explain, "in a book called Monstres and Their Kynde." He regarded the old man carefully, to see the effect his words would have. The effect was one of relief. "Oh, thet book. It aren't much. Belonged to old Hans Zickler--Eb Corey's grandfather--he thet built the haouse. But d'ye know, I got a better book than that..." He chuckled in a way that sent a cold chill up my spine. He paused and peered at Bruce as though waiting for him to exhibit some curiosity, but Bruce wisely did not. "Ill tell ye anyway. I got old Zick's diary. Eb Corey, he used ter hev it, but real suddint one day he told me as he war goin' ter burn it. I reckon as haow he had been readin' inter it. I asked Eb fere it, an' I guess he war more'n glad ter give me it as payment fer some things he war owin'. Said he didn't keer what become o' it, ceptin' as he wouldn't have it in his haouse no longer." Now I could see Bruce's curiosity surge up, and his voice bordered almost on excitement. "You say you still have this diary?" "Yep. Reckon I be the only person thet's ever seed inter it, ceptin' Eb Corey hisself, and I dun't think he read much o' it. He thought 'twar only the old man's crazy ravin's." Wilson's voice became confidential. "D'ye know, I'm kinda glad you fellers drapped by. Folk here-abaout wun't lissen ter me. Acause they be scairt to, that's what; they be scairt o' what I could tell 'em abaout ol' Zickler an' -- an' sartin things I seed 'im do. Things thet -- thet warn't jest right. But sometimes when I gits ter ponderin', an' rememb'rin', an' readin' in the diary agin, thur comes a kinda hankerin' like; an' I wanta try, so's I kin know them things too, like ol' Zick did. An' sometimes the hankerin' gits too strong like..." He stopped suddenly, as though afraid he would go too far, and a wild light died slowly out of his eyes. "O' course," he went on more calmly, "I war jest a young un then, when I spied on ol' Zick, but I remembers right enough. An' even ef the land dew be gittin' better every year, an' things araound here ain't so bad as they used ter be, they's still suthin' abaout an' active oncet in a while. Look't the young Munroe boy, he as they claim wandered off an' fell daown in the ravine. But I knows a heap better. Ef he fell daown the ravine whyn't they ever find the body?" He moved his stool closer to Bruce, leered at him and repeated almost defiantly: "Eh? Whyn't they ever find the body?" The old man chuckled delightedly at the sensation he had made. I was becoming considerably annoyed at all this crazy gibberish. I told Bruce I was going back to the house. He nodded absently. As I left, he hunched forward, listening intently as Lyle Wilson started on another wild trend. At noon Bruce showed up for lunch, seemingly preoccupied and puzzled about something. I wondered what further stories he had succeeded in getting out of Lyle Wilson. I suddenly remembered, too, something I had intended to ask Bruce, but had -- 12 --
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