A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, December 1949 — page 78: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

: “cee . ax. ‘strange drowsiness was gone; 78 A. MERRITT’S FANTASY climbed. up. steps, interminably, it seemed to me. A few yards from the top of the steps was a long, rambling old stone house. It was dark, and I could see nothing be- yond it but the banks of trees, half-stripped by the autumn of their leaves. We went into the house, were met by servants, wide-pupiled impassive, as those who manned the Brittis. I was taken to my room, and a valet began to unpack my bags. r THE same torpor, I dressed for dinner. The only moment of real con- sciousness I had was when I put my hand up and felt McCann’s holster under my armpit. I have the vaguest recollection of the dinner. I know that de Keradel greeted me with the utmost politeness and hos- pitality. During the dinner, he talked on and on, but what he was talking about I’m damned if I know. Now and then I “was aware acutely of the Demoiselle, her face and big eyes swimming out of the haze that gripped me. And now and then I thought that I must have been drugged— but whether [ had or hadn’t been didn’t seem to matter. There was one thing that I was acutely conscious did matter, how- ' ever—and that was how I answered de Keradel’s questions. But another sense, or another self, unaffected by what had so paralyzed my normal ones, seemed to have taken charge of that, and I had the comfortable feeling that it was doing it most satisfactorily. And. after a while I heard Dahut say: “But, Alain, you are so sleepy. Why, you can hardly keep your eyes open. It must be the sea air.” I replied, solemnly, that it must indeed -be the sea air and apologized for my. dull- ness. I hadia dim perception of the: solicit- ous readiness with which de Keradel ac- cepted the feeble excuses. He, himself, took me to my room. At least, I was hazily aware that he accompanied me to some place where there was a bed. I rid my self of my clothes by sheer habit, dropped into the bed and in an in- stant was sound asleep. ... I sat up in my bed, wide-awake. The the ir- resistible torpor lifted. What had: awak- ened me? I looked at my watch, and: it was.a few minutes after one. The sound z that had awakened me came again—a dis- — tant muffled chanting, as though from: i under earth. As though from far beneath — the old house. E It passed slowly from beneath the hause, | “ rising, approaching; becoming ever — plainer. A weird chanting, archaic; — vaguely familiar. I got up from the bed, 4 and went to the windows. They looked a out upon the ocean. There was no moon 4 but I could see the gray surges breaking — sullenly against the rocky shore. The — chanting grew louder. I did not know — where was the switch to turn on the elec- trics. There had been a flashlight in one of my bags, but these had been unpacked, their contents distributed. I felt around in my coat and found a box of matches. The chanting was dying away, as though those singing were pass- ing far beyond the house. I lighted a match, and saw a switch beside the wall. I pressed it, and without result. I saw my flashlight on a table beside the bed. I clicked the catch, but no ray streamed forth. Suspicion began to take hold of me that these things were linked—the strange sleepiness, the useless flash, the unre- sponsive switch. McCann’s gun! | felt for it. There it was, nestling under my left armpit. I looked at it. The magazine was.full and the extra clips. safe. I went to the door and cautiously turned the key. It. opened into'a wide, old-fashioned. hall at the end of which dimly glimmered.a great. window. The hall was.curiously—uneasy. That is the only word for it. It was filled with whisperings and rustlings—and shadows. I hesitated; then stole to the window and looked out. There was. a bank of trees through whose half-bare branches I could see across a level field. Beyond that level field was another bank of trees. From beyond them came the changing. There was a glow through and over these trees—a gray glow. I stared at i . thinking. of what McCann had said . the light decaying . . . rotten, . ‘Tt was exactly that. I stood Shere, grip- ping the window, looking at the putrescent glow wax and wane... wax and wane. And. now the chanting was like that dead, — luminescence transformed to sound... And then a sharp scream of human — comicbooks.com