"There is, sad to say, only too much evidence. But do you believe thatmen have _lost their minds_ from incessant study of the stars?"
"Perhaps some have, I don't know," I returned. "But in the South of thisstate in one of the country's leading observatories, I have a friend whois famous as an astronomer. He is as sane as you or I. If not saner." Itacked the last sentence on with significant emphasis.
The fellow was muttering something into his muffler, and I fancied Icaught the words "danger ..." and "fools ..." We were silent again. Lowdark clouds fled over the roaring sea and the gloom intensified.
Presently, in his clipt speech, the stranger said, "Do you believe thatlife exists on other planets, other stars? Have you ever wondered whatkind of life might inhabit the other stars in this solar system, andthose beyond it?" His eyes were near mine as he spoke, and theybewitched me. There was something in them, something intangible andawful. I sensed that he was questioning me idly, as an outlander mightbe questioned about things with which the asker is familiar, as I mightask a New Yorker, "What do you think of the Golden Gate Bridge?"
"I wouldn't attempt to guess, to describe, for instance, a Martian man,"I said. "Yet I read with interest various guesses by writers offiction." I was striving to maintain a mood of lightness and ease, butinwardly I felt a bitter cold, as one on the rim of a nightmare. Isuddenly realized, with childish fear, that night was falling.
"Writers of fiction! And what if they were to _guess too well_? Whatthen? Is it safe for them to have full rein over their imaginations?Like the star-gazers...." I said nothing, but smiled.
"Perhaps, man, there have been those whose minds were acute beyond mostearthly minds--those who have guessed too closely to truth. Perhaps_those who are Beyond_ are not yet ready to make themselves known toEarthlings? And maybe THEY, are annoyed with the puny publicity theyreceive from imaginative writers.... Ask yourself, _what isimagination_? Are earth-minds capable of conceiving that which is notand has never been; or is this imagination merely a deeper insightinto worlds you know not of, worlds glimpsed dimly in the throes ofdream? And whence come these dreams? Tell me, have you ever awakenedfrom a dream with the sinister feeling that all was not wellinside your mind?--that while you, the real you, were away inLimbo--_someone_--some_thing_ was probing in your mind, invading it andreading it. Might not THEY leave behind them in departure shadowytrailings of _their_ own minds?"
Now I was indeed speechless. For a strange nothing had started myneck-hairs to prickling. Authors who might have guessed too well....Two, no three, writers whose stories had hinted at inconceivable yetinevitable dooms; writers I had known; had recently died, by accident.
"What of old legends? Of the serpent who shall one day devour the sun.That legend dates back to Mu and Atlantis. Who, man, was and is Satan?Christ? And Jehovah? benevolent and all-saving, were but a monstrousjest fostered by THEY to keep man blindly content, and keep him dividedamong himself so that he strove not to unravel the stars?"
"Man, in my foolish youth I studied by candleflame secrets that wouldscorch your very soul. Of women who with their own bare hands havestrangled the children they bore so that the world might not know....Disease and sickness at which physicians throw up their hands inhelpless bafflement. When strong men tear at their limbs and heads andagony--seeking to drive forth alien forces that have netted themselvesinto their bodies. I need scarcely recount them all, each with its ownabominable significance. It is THEM. Who are eternal and nameless, whosend their scouts down to test earth-man. Don't you realize that theyhave watched man creep out of primal slimes, take limbs and shamble, andfinally walk? And that they are waiting, biding their time...." Ishivered with a fear beyond name. I tried to laugh and could not. Then,bold with stark horror, I shouted quite loudly: "How do you know this?Are you one of THEM?" He shook his head violently. "No, no!" I made asto go, feeling an aching horror within me.
"Stay only a moment more, man. I will have pity on you and will not tellyou all. I will not describe _them_. And I will not assay that which,when upon first seeing you here by the sea, _I first intended_...." Ilistened. Not daring to look at him; as in the grip of daemonaic dream.My fingers clutched at the edges of the bench so tightly that I havebeen unable to write with them until now. He concluded thus:
"So you see that I am everywhere a worldless alien. Sometimes thissecret is too great for one mind to contain, and I must talk. I mustfeel the presence of someone human near me, else I shall attempt tocommit suicide and again fail. It is without end--my horror. Have pityon me, man of earth, as I have had pity on you."
It was then that I gripped him by the shoulders and looked with pleadingdesperation into his staring eyes. "Why have you told me? What--" Myvoice broke. My hands fell to my sides. I shuddered.
He understood. Shrieked one word: "PITY!" into my insensible ear, andwas gone.
That was 3 nites ago and each nite since has been hell. I cannotremember how long it was after the STRANGER left that I found myselfable to move, to rise, hobble home, suddenly ancient with knowledge. AndI cannot--WILL NOT--reveal to you all that I heard.
I thot myself insane, but after an examination, a physician pronouncedme that I had been strained mentally. I am competent. But I wonder if heis wrong.
I view the silken stars tonight with loathing. HE sought to master theirinscrutable secret meaning, and
succeeded. He imagined, he dreamed; andhe fed his sleep with potions, so that he might learn where his mindmight be during sleep, and himself probe into the mind that wanderedfrom space into his resting body-shell. I am no scientist, nobio-chemist, so I learned little of his methods. Only that he didsucceed in removing his mind from Earth, and soaring to some remoteworld over and beyond this universe--where THEY dwell. And THEY knew himto be a mind of Earth, he told me. He but hinted of the evil he beheld,so potent with dread that it shattered his mind. And THEY cured him, andsent him back to earth.... "They are waiting!" he shrieked, in hisgrating skeleton of a voice. "They are contemptuous of man and hisfeeble colonies. But they fear that some day, like an overgrown idiotchild, he may do them harm. But before this time--when Man hasprogressed into a ripeness--THEY will descend! Then they will come inhordes to exploit the world as THEY did before!"
Of his return, and his assuming the role of a man, the Alien spokeevasively. It was to be assurred that this talk of his was not somerepulsive caprice; to know that all of it was true, that I gripped himand beheld him. To my everlasting horror, I must know. Little in itself,what I saw, but sufficient to cause me to sink down on the stone benchin a convulsive huddle of fear. Never again in life can I tear thisclutching terror from my soul. Only this: That when I looked into hisstaring eyes in the dimness of murky twilight, and before he understoodand quickly avaunted, I glimpsed with astoundment and repugnance thatbetween the muffling of his coat and black scarf _the INTRUDER wore ameticulously painted metal mask--to hide what I must not see_....
ASPHODEL:
by E. T. PINE
Down where skies are always dark, Where is ever heard the bark Of monstrous ebon hounds of hell, In a dreadful fearsome knell, Never fading, ever bright, With a weird and spectral light, Blooms a flower of ancient days, Shining in a crimson maze; When the black bat shrilly screams Asphodel, you haunt my dreams--
From the lands of distant death Steals the perfume of your breath:
Some night soon the wind will blow Saffron seeds to fall and grow By my casement window, where, Sleeps my loved one, still and fair; Then, the night you are to bloom I shall creep from out my room, From your blossom by the wall Shall I hear her dear voice call: Mournfully the wind will cry, And shadows cover all the sky-- My lips will touch the loved dead When where you nod I lay my head....
MARMOK
by Emil Pataja
Sleep that doth harbour a dream of dread, Whence come the fingers that beckoned and led My dream-stung soul from my canopied bed-- Whither dost take me, ere I am dead? Beyond the skull-grinning mid-March moon Over the phosphorous-lit lagoon Out past the darkest pits of the night, Fast thru the stars in this evil flight; Lead thee me out past the rim of space, Show me that ravenous, pain-black face, Marmok, whose myrmidons ever are questing For souls who wander at nite, unresting. Then shall I know an ultimate bliss Tasting the fury of that cosmic kiss, Whilst my earth-cloak lies limply on the floor To waken and gibber forevermore.
* * * * *
What is the dim monstrosity that shimmers across the stars, what hand isthat to cradle planets, earth and mars. What misshapen gargantuan ofnebulous formed flesh, hurls out its flood of darkness, the systems toenmesh. What is it walks across the universes chanting cosmic choruseswith endless verses--what thing unutterable has visited our Earth longyears ago, and now, tonite, returns, in the shadows lurking glow. Whatancient fear is with me, cold and terrible? Is that the shape of manupon the constellations, blotting out the light--or something gasping inhideous delight, plucking at the planets in insanity, at play, causingsuns to boil like cauldrons, meteors to sing upon their way withmournful voices, lost ghosts upon lonely trails--wailing--wailing. Istonight our rendezvous with the Cosmos Thing, the Colossus bigger thanAndromeda that sits upon the throne of space--or are these fantasiesupon my aged eyes?
HADES