DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Acolyte, v. 2, issue 1, whole no. 5, Fall 1943

Transcribe
Translate

Acolyte, v. 2, issue 1, whole no. 5, Fall 1943

Page 15

any of these circumstances consecutively; as Lyle read to me he kept skipping about in the diary haphazardly, looking up every once in a while to see what impression it made.
"There was one place where Zickler hinted at being dissatisfied and restless and wanting to learn more, but to do that he would have to look up a certain passage in the Necronomicon. He mentioned saving his money so he could take a trip over to Arkham, to look into the copy of the Necronomicon it is rumored they have hidden away in the Miskatonic University there. But evidently he never did make the trip. At least, there's no mention of it, and Lyle tells me that Zick never left Vecra. Died a natural death here, though he was mumbling bizarre things on his death-bed."

We walked on to the south field, where we found Eb Corey busily plowing. He stopped for a while and watch Bruce poking around in the ground at various spots.
"I'll bet you  never saw any soil like that before," Eb said grimly as Bruce straightened up with a sample.
"You'd win that be tall right. Look at this stuff, will you?" And Bruce handed a clod to me. It was the most peculiar looking soil I had ever seen---a queer grayish color, almost powdery, though it wasn't dry. More like slightly damp ashes. It seemed tainted somehow, and evil---even felt tainted to the touch, not like fresh clean eath should. I dropped it, repressing a shudder, and wiped my fingers clean.
Bruce looked at Eb in amazement. "Do you meant o say that things grow in this?"
"Oh, sure. "Taint near so bad down on this end as it is closer to the house."
"Closer to the old graveyard, you mean?"
Eb looked at Bruce, then shrugged. "Well, same thing. Not as bad as it was in my grandfather's day, either. Only thing is, stuff don't quite get to normal size somehow; and often as not, I raise some things that are mighty -- well, queer, distorted like. But it all seems eatable enough."
"I wonder what your grandfather thought about this land. He must have had some idea bout it..."
Eb shrugged again. "No telling what grandfather Zickler thought, especially in his last years. He was half crazy then, everybody knew that. All I can say is, he was drove to it--or drove hisself to it. I remember him saying once that the land didn't belong to us nohow. And the way he said it, he didn't mean just this little piece of land---he meant all the land everywhere, I guess. It gave me the creeps the way he used to talk. Said something about we was here just temporary, like, and someday They would wake and claim the land that was rightfully theirs. He used to mention They sort of reverent like."
There was an awakened light of interest in Bruce's eyes as he tried to press this point. "He didn't say how or when this was to happen? He didn't mention certain names, such as--Lloigor? Or B'Moth? Or Ftakhar?"
But Eb didn't seem to remember. Old Zickler had spoken too many queer words. Bruce put a sample of that evil soil in an envelope, and before we left he asked one more question, "Eb, do you remember Lyle Wilson taking a trip to Arkham fairly recently? Maybe he said something about visiting the Miskatonic University library...?"
"Nope," Eb shook his head. Then he seemed to remember something. "Maybe you mean that time a little more than a year ago; Wilson made the trip then, was gone two or three days, but he never breathed a word to anybody where he'd been."
"Thanks." Bruce seemed deeply immersed in thought. Corey resumed his plowing, and Bruce and I cut across a field toward the ravine. It was quite steep where we reached it, full of small threes and scrub brushes. In the direction of the house, however, a quarter of a mile away, it shallowed into a little gully that ended by the edge of the old graveyard. Bruce looked intently down into the ravine for a moment, then turned away.
"What did you mean by those names you asked Corey?" I said, as we walked back to the house. "And what do they mean? Lord knows I won't attempt to pronounce them the way you did!" And I laughed.
Bruce didn't laugh.
"What do they mean?" he repeated. His voice was different than I had ever heard it. "I had come almost to believe that they meant nothing, that they were only names. But now--my god, I'm beginning to believe again. Do there really exist em-
-- 15 --

Saving...

any of these circumstances consecutively; as Lyle read to me he kept skipping about in the diary haphazardly, looking up every once in a while to see what impression it made. "There was one place where Zickler hinted at being dissatisfied and restless and wanting to learn more, but to do that he would have to look up a certain passage in the Necronomicon. He mentioned saving his money so he could take a trip over to Arkham, to look into the copy of the Necronomicon it is rumored they have hidden away in the Miskatonic University there. But evidently he never did make the trip. At least, there's no mention of it, and Lyle tells me that Zick never left Vecra. Died a natural death here, though he was mumbling bizarre things on his death-bed." We walked on to the south field, where we found Eb Corey busily plowing. He stopped for a while and watch Bruce poking around in the ground at various spots. "I'll bet you never saw any soil like that before," Eb said grimly as Bruce straightened up with a sample. "You'd win that be tall right. Look at this stuff, will you?" And Bruce handed a clod to me. It was the most peculiar looking soil I had ever seen---a queer grayish color, almost powdery, though it wasn't dry. More like slightly damp ashes. It seemed tainted somehow, and evil---even felt tainted to the touch, not like fresh clean eath should. I dropped it, repressing a shudder, and wiped my fingers clean. Bruce looked at Eb in amazement. "Do you meant o say that things grow in this?" "Oh, sure. "Taint near so bad down on this end as it is closer to the house." "Closer to the old graveyard, you mean?" Eb looked at Bruce, then shrugged. "Well, same thing. Not as bad as it was in my grandfather's day, either. Only thing is, stuff don't quite get to normal size somehow; and often as not, I raise some things that are mighty -- well, queer, distorted like. But it all seems eatable enough." "I wonder what your grandfather thought about this land. He must have had some idea bout it..." Eb shrugged again. "No telling what grandfather Zickler thought, especially in his last years. He was half crazy then, everybody knew that. All I can say is, he was drove to it--or drove hisself to it. I remember him saying once that the land didn't belong to us nohow. And the way he said it, he didn't mean just this little piece of land---he meant all the land everywhere, I guess. It gave me the creeps the way he used to talk. Said something about we was here just temporary, like, and someday They would wake and claim the land that was rightfully theirs. He used to mention They sort of reverent like." There was an awakened light of interest in Bruce's eyes as he tried to press this point. "He didn't say how or when this was to happen? He didn't mention certain names, such as--Lloigor? Or B'Moth? Or Ftakhar?" But Eb didn't seem to remember. Old Zickler had spoken too many queer words. Bruce put a sample of that evil soil in an envelope, and before we left he asked one more question, "Eb, do you remember Lyle Wilson taking a trip to Arkham fairly recently? Maybe he said something about visiting the Miskatonic University library...?" "Nope," Eb shook his head. Then he seemed to remember something. "Maybe you mean that time a little more than a year ago; Wilson made the trip then, was gone two or three days, but he never breathed a word to anybody where he'd been." "Thanks." Bruce seemed deeply immersed in thought. Corey resumed his plowing, and Bruce and I cut across a field toward the ravine. It was quite steep where we reached it, full of small threes and scrub brushes. In the direction of the house, however, a quarter of a mile away, it shallowed into a little gully that ended by the edge of the old graveyard. Bruce looked intently down into the ravine for a moment, then turned away. "What did you mean by those names you asked Corey?" I said, as we walked back to the house. "And what do they mean? Lord knows I won't attempt to pronounce them the way you did!" And I laughed. Bruce didn't laugh. "What do they mean?" he repeated. His voice was different than I had ever heard it. "I had come almost to believe that they meant nothing, that they were only names. But now--my god, I'm beginning to believe again. Do there really exist em- -- 15 --