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Acolyte, v. 2, issue 1, whole no. 5, Fall 1943
Page 14
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That's the longest speech I ever heard Eb Corey make, and it seemed definite enough. Bruce apparently thought so too, for he said, "I think I'll come out there a little later this afternoon and take a look at your soil." "Wish you would, Mr. Tarleton, wish you would. You'll find me down on the south end." I had listened to all this in silence, but something was bothering me, almost haunting me. I couldn't get it out of my mind. Bruce's dream. I arose from the table and left them there, still talking; and went upstairs, wondering just what it was about that dream that bothered me. The path across the old graveyard... the ancient tomb... something drawing him on... On a sudden impulse I entered the room where Bruce had slept. A faded green blind was still drawn over the single window. I raised that blind. Even before I looked, I knew. Then I looked and saw. The scene swept across my brain like a dash of icy water. As I stood there momentarily paralyzed, I felt the first hint of the cosmic horror that was soon to engulf both Bruce and myself, and come near to blasting my mind. There was the narrow dirt road, to the left. There was the rusty wire fence. The broke gap. There was the grass-tangled path, and the fallen tombstones in the ancient graveyard just behind this house. And there was the cracked cement tomb, just as Bruce had described it from his dream, only a short distance away from this window.... A few hours later, as we walked across the fields, I told Bruce what I had discovered---the graveyard behind the house, and the exact parallel to his dream. He wasn't surprised, said he'd seen it too. "I suppose you're beginning to think that what I experienced wasn't a dream at all -- that I actually walked down that pat toward the tomb. Well, you're wrong. It was nothing but a dream; I know I never left my room..."He seemed for a moment about to tell me more, then changed his mind. But I was, by now, very curious; not with the avidity of a student of the ancient lores such as Bruce displayed, but with a certain skepticism. "Did Lyle Wilson tell you any more stories? What about that diary--I know you were dying to see it?" "I saw it--but not enough of it. He brought it out and read me certain parts. Remember his saying he had a certain hankerin' sometimes? Well, I told him I often had a sort of hankerin' too. Then he brought out the diary." "A hankerin' for what, i heaven's name?" "I don't know--but I'm afraid it isn't in heaven's name. Whatever he was talking about. That's what I wanted to find out." "And did you?" "Very little. I got too curious, I guess, and Lyle got suspicious. Still, he read me quite a few passages from that diary of Hans Zickler's, and I'm beginning to piece things together. Remember Corey saying his grandfather built this house, and added the back wing later? Well, that's right. maybe you noticed the wing brings that room pretty close to the dge of the graveyard?" "What about the diary?" I insisted. "Well, I learned this much. Old Zickler used to sit at the window of that upstairs back room, int he late evenings, and mumble a kind of gibberish. That window's easily visible from the road; neighbors passing by soon got the idea that Zickler was crazy. Lyle Wilson says that he was just a young man then, but he remembers seeing old Zick sitting there--could hear him, too--and he was certainly a wild sight. Well...it seems that there was something in that tomb, and Zickler was talking about it! "Then there came places in the diary where Zickler suggested that it had answered him---but in a strange way. Not audibly, but mentally. A sort of unearthly telepathy, I guess. Old Zick couldn't explain it quite right. All I can gather is that it was teaching Zickler something, and that occasionally it thanked him for something. I'd certainly like to read more in that part of the diary, but old Lyle is too shrewd. "Along about that time, a lot of livestock was disappearing. And a few children. It seems that Zickler had them all carefully recorded, but it's hard to place -- 14 --
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That's the longest speech I ever heard Eb Corey make, and it seemed definite enough. Bruce apparently thought so too, for he said, "I think I'll come out there a little later this afternoon and take a look at your soil." "Wish you would, Mr. Tarleton, wish you would. You'll find me down on the south end." I had listened to all this in silence, but something was bothering me, almost haunting me. I couldn't get it out of my mind. Bruce's dream. I arose from the table and left them there, still talking; and went upstairs, wondering just what it was about that dream that bothered me. The path across the old graveyard... the ancient tomb... something drawing him on... On a sudden impulse I entered the room where Bruce had slept. A faded green blind was still drawn over the single window. I raised that blind. Even before I looked, I knew. Then I looked and saw. The scene swept across my brain like a dash of icy water. As I stood there momentarily paralyzed, I felt the first hint of the cosmic horror that was soon to engulf both Bruce and myself, and come near to blasting my mind. There was the narrow dirt road, to the left. There was the rusty wire fence. The broke gap. There was the grass-tangled path, and the fallen tombstones in the ancient graveyard just behind this house. And there was the cracked cement tomb, just as Bruce had described it from his dream, only a short distance away from this window.... A few hours later, as we walked across the fields, I told Bruce what I had discovered---the graveyard behind the house, and the exact parallel to his dream. He wasn't surprised, said he'd seen it too. "I suppose you're beginning to think that what I experienced wasn't a dream at all -- that I actually walked down that pat toward the tomb. Well, you're wrong. It was nothing but a dream; I know I never left my room..."He seemed for a moment about to tell me more, then changed his mind. But I was, by now, very curious; not with the avidity of a student of the ancient lores such as Bruce displayed, but with a certain skepticism. "Did Lyle Wilson tell you any more stories? What about that diary--I know you were dying to see it?" "I saw it--but not enough of it. He brought it out and read me certain parts. Remember his saying he had a certain hankerin' sometimes? Well, I told him I often had a sort of hankerin' too. Then he brought out the diary." "A hankerin' for what, i heaven's name?" "I don't know--but I'm afraid it isn't in heaven's name. Whatever he was talking about. That's what I wanted to find out." "And did you?" "Very little. I got too curious, I guess, and Lyle got suspicious. Still, he read me quite a few passages from that diary of Hans Zickler's, and I'm beginning to piece things together. Remember Corey saying his grandfather built this house, and added the back wing later? Well, that's right. maybe you noticed the wing brings that room pretty close to the dge of the graveyard?" "What about the diary?" I insisted. "Well, I learned this much. Old Zickler used to sit at the window of that upstairs back room, int he late evenings, and mumble a kind of gibberish. That window's easily visible from the road; neighbors passing by soon got the idea that Zickler was crazy. Lyle Wilson says that he was just a young man then, but he remembers seeing old Zick sitting there--could hear him, too--and he was certainly a wild sight. Well...it seems that there was something in that tomb, and Zickler was talking about it! "Then there came places in the diary where Zickler suggested that it had answered him---but in a strange way. Not audibly, but mentally. A sort of unearthly telepathy, I guess. Old Zick couldn't explain it quite right. All I can gather is that it was teaching Zickler something, and that occasionally it thanked him for something. I'd certainly like to read more in that part of the diary, but old Lyle is too shrewd. "Along about that time, a lot of livestock was disappearing. And a few children. It seems that Zickler had them all carefully recorded, but it's hard to place -- 14 --
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