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Phantagraph, v. 8, issue 3, whole 32, August 1940
Page 5
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The Phantagraph Aug '40 Page 3 ****************************************************** STUFF by WYLIE Quite suddenly I found myself in a dark, narrow alley, with absolutely no memory of my arrival there. High walls pressed monstrously in upon me, crushing me, and I cowered in sheer animal terror in a stinking, garbage-strewn corner. The darkness was like a live thing, like the dry, enfolding wings of a bat -- hemming me in, menacing ... I ran. The clop-clop of my heels bounded from wall to wall and back again along the narrow velvet-shrouded passage, like a stone rolling down a cobbled hill. I tripped over something soft and yielding. Gravel bit into my splayed palms as I fell and I welcomed the sting of the abrasions. The thing at my feet stirred sluggishly, and if I could have screamed at that moment, I would have done so -- but my throat was dry, choked with masses of cotton. Something touched my ankle, slithered horribly up over my leg ... my body .. my writhing face. "Here, ol' boy ..." All the terror oozed from me in one big gush at the slurred sounds of that careless, friendly voice. Like a frightened puppy I crawled closer to the man, whimpering my eagerness to be comforted and soothed. "Lord, you _are_ scared, an' no mistake", the gentle voice slurred. "But did you have to kick me? Got a bit potted, an' jus' came in here to recover a bit. In case I'm wonderin', 'ol boy, wot scared you? D.T.'s? Get 'em m'self, occasionally. Nothin' to be frightened of; take an aspirin an they go 'way in a lovely puff of green smoke. No harm done. Ever'body happy. Who _are_ you, anyway? **********************************************************
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The Phantagraph Aug '40 Page 3 ****************************************************** STUFF by WYLIE Quite suddenly I found myself in a dark, narrow alley, with absolutely no memory of my arrival there. High walls pressed monstrously in upon me, crushing me, and I cowered in sheer animal terror in a stinking, garbage-strewn corner. The darkness was like a live thing, like the dry, enfolding wings of a bat -- hemming me in, menacing ... I ran. The clop-clop of my heels bounded from wall to wall and back again along the narrow velvet-shrouded passage, like a stone rolling down a cobbled hill. I tripped over something soft and yielding. Gravel bit into my splayed palms as I fell and I welcomed the sting of the abrasions. The thing at my feet stirred sluggishly, and if I could have screamed at that moment, I would have done so -- but my throat was dry, choked with masses of cotton. Something touched my ankle, slithered horribly up over my leg ... my body .. my writhing face. "Here, ol' boy ..." All the terror oozed from me in one big gush at the slurred sounds of that careless, friendly voice. Like a frightened puppy I crawled closer to the man, whimpering my eagerness to be comforted and soothed. "Lord, you _are_ scared, an' no mistake", the gentle voice slurred. "But did you have to kick me? Got a bit potted, an' jus' came in here to recover a bit. In case I'm wonderin', 'ol boy, wot scared you? D.T.'s? Get 'em m'self, occasionally. Nothin' to be frightened of; take an aspirin an they go 'way in a lovely puff of green smoke. No harm done. Ever'body happy. Who _are_ you, anyway? **********************************************************
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