DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Review, v. 1, issue 1, whole no. 1, January 2, 1938

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Review, v. 1, issue 1, whole no. 1, January 2, 1938

Page 2

a man had suddenly loomed up in the beam of her auto's headlights. Before she could reach the brake, he had sunk under the plunging wheels.
As best she could she had
lifted him into her car and
started for the nearest hospital. But life swiftly ebbed and the stranger was dead. Fearing that her husband wouldn't understand, she had rolled the lifeless form into the river.
From that time forth, Ella's
life on earth had been truly a
hell. The stranger's white, dead face haunted her ceaselessly. And one night, while Arthur was working late, He had come to the house.
''You murdered me!" the specter accused, and Ella knew that her fate was sealed.
*******
The rest of the story was 
known to everyone, so Mrs. Thompson rose and left the gaping editor. They found her body the next day ... drowned in the still, deep river. The phantom under Traffic Bridge was avenged.

"THE MASKED FIGURE AT MARDI GRAS"

David, young personal secretary of Anthony Leland, had just returned with a costume under his arm; and was conversing in low tones with Williams, the valet, when their employer emerged from his bedchamber. Leland was the worst sort of man a servant could ever have the misfortune to work for. He was, every one knew, hard to find likable under any circumstances; but to his employees he was a veritable
tyrant. Even now he gazed at
the valet and secretary with
frank suspicion.
"Been talking about me again,
haven't you? Do you two know
what happened to servants in 
this city of New Orleans in the 
old days? No? Well, when they
displeased their masters they
were flogged at the public whipping post!"
He paused in his sadistic reverie and fingered the costume David had just procured for him.
"I forbid both of you to leave the apartment today. As for
myself, I intend to walk along
Canal Street in this red devil
outfit and mingle with the festive crowds of Mardi Gras, For once no one will know I am Anthony Leland."
*****
But one did recognize his
despite his grotesque makeup—a woman garbed in the style of long ago. Her laughing voice invited; and Leland, not yet quite devoid of romance, followed. They entered a fine old carriage drawn by black horses and speedily drove away.
So Anthony Leland came to the ancient mansion on Royal Street, He descended from the coach and stood gazing in awe at its well-preserved splendor. Turning, he was startled to note that the coach had driven off. No slightest sound had reached his ears.
Leland had no time to ponder
this mystery for the call of his
feminine companion urged him to enter the house. Inside he was struck by the sheer age of every thing. The place looked like a museum: He remarked about this to his hostess.
"Oh yes! Why, it seems only
a short time ago that I entertained Monsieur Lafayette."
Anthony Leland, twentieth
century financier, stared as
though he disbelieved his own ears and the woman's sanity. But once more he had little time in which to think logically, far down from the mansion's upper regions drifted a series of most shocking screams and moans. He

Saving...

a man had suddenly loomed up in the beam of her auto's headlights. Before she could reach the brake, he had sunk under the plunging wheels. As best she could she had lifted him into her car and started for the nearest hospital. But life swiftly ebbed and the stranger was dead. Fearing that her husband wouldn't understand, she had rolled the lifeless form into the river. From that time forth, Ella's life on earth had been truly a hell. The stranger's white, dead face haunted her ceaselessly. And one night, while Arthur was working late, He had come to the house. ''You murdered me!" the specter accused, and Ella knew that her fate was sealed. ******* The rest of the story was known to everyone, so Mrs. Thompson rose and left the gaping editor. They found her body the next day ... drowned in the still, deep river. The phantom under Traffic Bridge was avenged. "THE MASKED FIGURE AT MARDI GRAS" David, young personal secretary of Anthony Leland, had just returned with a costume under his arm; and was conversing in low tones with Williams, the valet, when their employer emerged from his bedchamber. Leland was the worst sort of man a servant could ever have the misfortune to work for. He was, every one knew, hard to find likable under any circumstances; but to his employees he was a veritable tyrant. Even now he gazed at the valet and secretary with frank suspicion. "Been talking about me again, haven't you? Do you two know what happened to servants in this city of New Orleans in the old days? No? Well, when they displeased their masters they were flogged at the public whipping post!" He paused in his sadistic reverie and fingered the costume David had just procured for him. "I forbid both of you to leave the apartment today. As for myself, I intend to walk along Canal Street in this red devil outfit and mingle with the festive crowds of Mardi Gras, For once no one will know I am Anthony Leland." ***** But one did recognize his despite his grotesque makeup—a woman garbed in the style of long ago. Her laughing voice invited; and Leland, not yet quite devoid of romance, followed. They entered a fine old carriage drawn by black horses and speedily drove away. So Anthony Leland came to the ancient mansion on Royal Street, He descended from the coach and stood gazing in awe at its well-preserved splendor. Turning, he was startled to note that the coach had driven off. No slightest sound had reached his ears. Leland had no time to ponder this mystery for the call of his feminine companion urged him to enter the house. Inside he was struck by the sheer age of every thing. The place looked like a museum: He remarked about this to his hostess. "Oh yes! Why, it seems only a short time ago that I entertained Monsieur Lafayette." Anthony Leland, twentieth century financier, stared as though he disbelieved his own ears and the woman's sanity. But once more he had little time in which to think logically, far down from the mansion's upper regions drifted a series of most shocking screams and moans. He