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Fantasy Fan, v. 1, issue 4, December 1933
Page 60
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60 THE FANTASY FAN December, 1933 As Williams stood waiting for the trusty to unlock the dooh of his cell, his eyes met those of Lawrie, the man in the next cell. Between the two had grown up an active dislike, the more threatening because unspoken. At least, so far. It remained for Claffin, across the way, to bring the thing out into the open. They were all discussing an expected arrival. Said Claffin, "I guess this new bird is plenty tough. He murdered his wife and two kids. That's even worse than 'cowboy' there." Lawrie cut in sneeringly. "I don't agree with you. He didn't carve 'em up afterwards like Williams did. Nobody in their right mind could do a thing like that. I couldn't, and neither could any of the rest of you fellows," he charged. No one answered. The others knew of the enmity between the two, and a strained silence filled the place. Then at last, Williams spoke, his voice hoarse, fairly quivering with rage. "All right, Lawrie, you've said plenty. I'll remember it. And don't forget this; you'll be next! You'll be next!" he repeated, harshly. Lawrie laughed, mockingly. The guard coming down the hall put a stop to further conversation for the time being. But now the quarrel between the two was out in the open, and through the following days and weeks, Lawrie seemed possessed of some imp of perversity and taunted and gibed at Williams continuously. Much of the time, the 'cowboy murderer' lay on his back on the cot and stared sullenly at the ceiling, only turning at times to throw Lawrie a venomous glance. AT times, Lawrie grew ashamed for taunting a doomed man, but something inside of him, stronger than he, urged him on implacably. Once in a while, he shuddered at the looks given him by the other, and silently he blessed the bars that kept them apart. Then came William's last morning. The prison chaplain came to administer the last rites, but fled before the storm of curses that met him. After his departure, a long silence fell that lasted till they came for him. Even Lawrie was silent and sat soberly watching. As they brought him out, and he passed Lawrie, he stopped and looked in. His eyes, filled with immeasurable hatred, met those of Laurie. On his face was a malignant sneer. "Remember, you're next," he said slowly, and passed on down the corridor. Lawrie watched his retreating form till it passed from sight. Claffin called across in a hoarse whisper. "What do you make of this; Williams asked them to bury him with his spurs on. Funny, isn't it?" Lawrie did not answer for the reason that at the word 'spurs,' a queerly premonitory chill passed over him. Uneasily, he recalled the other's parting word and the cold, evil hatred of the other's glance. He tried to shake off the cold, chilly feeling that was settling over him, but without success. There seemed to be an indefinable change in the atmosphere, a sense of something horrible about to happen. They all felt it, in a lesser degree. The gray day dragged along, and the conversation lagged. By common consent, they all avoided glancing at the empty cell. It seemed to potent a reminder of the thing that waited for them all. Dusk settled down and shadows began to fill the corners. And then Lawrie
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60 THE FANTASY FAN December, 1933 As Williams stood waiting for the trusty to unlock the dooh of his cell, his eyes met those of Lawrie, the man in the next cell. Between the two had grown up an active dislike, the more threatening because unspoken. At least, so far. It remained for Claffin, across the way, to bring the thing out into the open. They were all discussing an expected arrival. Said Claffin, "I guess this new bird is plenty tough. He murdered his wife and two kids. That's even worse than 'cowboy' there." Lawrie cut in sneeringly. "I don't agree with you. He didn't carve 'em up afterwards like Williams did. Nobody in their right mind could do a thing like that. I couldn't, and neither could any of the rest of you fellows," he charged. No one answered. The others knew of the enmity between the two, and a strained silence filled the place. Then at last, Williams spoke, his voice hoarse, fairly quivering with rage. "All right, Lawrie, you've said plenty. I'll remember it. And don't forget this; you'll be next! You'll be next!" he repeated, harshly. Lawrie laughed, mockingly. The guard coming down the hall put a stop to further conversation for the time being. But now the quarrel between the two was out in the open, and through the following days and weeks, Lawrie seemed possessed of some imp of perversity and taunted and gibed at Williams continuously. Much of the time, the 'cowboy murderer' lay on his back on the cot and stared sullenly at the ceiling, only turning at times to throw Lawrie a venomous glance. AT times, Lawrie grew ashamed for taunting a doomed man, but something inside of him, stronger than he, urged him on implacably. Once in a while, he shuddered at the looks given him by the other, and silently he blessed the bars that kept them apart. Then came William's last morning. The prison chaplain came to administer the last rites, but fled before the storm of curses that met him. After his departure, a long silence fell that lasted till they came for him. Even Lawrie was silent and sat soberly watching. As they brought him out, and he passed Lawrie, he stopped and looked in. His eyes, filled with immeasurable hatred, met those of Laurie. On his face was a malignant sneer. "Remember, you're next," he said slowly, and passed on down the corridor. Lawrie watched his retreating form till it passed from sight. Claffin called across in a hoarse whisper. "What do you make of this; Williams asked them to bury him with his spurs on. Funny, isn't it?" Lawrie did not answer for the reason that at the word 'spurs,' a queerly premonitory chill passed over him. Uneasily, he recalled the other's parting word and the cold, evil hatred of the other's glance. He tried to shake off the cold, chilly feeling that was settling over him, but without success. There seemed to be an indefinable change in the atmosphere, a sense of something horrible about to happen. They all felt it, in a lesser degree. The gray day dragged along, and the conversation lagged. By common consent, they all avoided glancing at the empty cell. It seemed to potent a reminder of the thing that waited for them all. Dusk settled down and shadows began to fill the corners. And then Lawrie
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