A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, October 1950 — page 59: what you’re looking at

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

58 A. MERRITT’S FANTASY ominous in the shadow, stood II Vecchio. Dennison started back as though he had seen a specter; as though the Horla itself had risen up before him. “You?” croaked he hoarsely. ‘ You— here?” “Why not?” replied the Italian, a cyn- ical smile upon his bearded lips. “Too long already have I deprived myself of the pleasure of your society. And now— but what is this? Why do you cringe? Why are you pale and shaken, my guest, my friend?” Seized by a sudden, invincible loathing for this man whom he suspected of so much, against whom he could really prove so little, Dennison recoiled still further. Then, racked with terror, impelled by a mad, burning lust to know the truth, once and for all, about this thing, he stag- gered to his feet. Toward I1 Vecchio he reeled, hands outflung, and shaking as with palsy. “Tell me! Tell me!” he wailed. “What will the end of all this be? The end! The end!” “How can I?” smiled II Vecchio grimly. “Tell me!” : “Tell you the end? When this, my dear young guest, is hardly the beginning!” “You mean—” gasped Dennison ; then, brain and body yielding alike to the horror of the thought, he staggered and fell faint- ig on the floor. Il Vecchio, a strange, exultant gleam in his sunken eye, folded his arms and gazed down at the prostrate figure there before him. “The end?” said he. “Ah! if he only knew!” CHAPTER 16 The Promise HE waving of a curtain in the breeze, slow, gentle, soothing, formed the first definite impression .that brought Dennison back to conscious- ness again. Rousing, he peered out through that curtain, out into the dark green eucalyptus hedge and the pale aloes that bounded the path opposite his win- dow. Then he realized that it was morn- ing; that he was lying in his own bed; that many hours must have flown, leaving no trace in consciousness, since the horror and distress of the past night. And now, entirely refreshed again, once more all life and energy, he sat up quickly in bed. He rubbed his eyes to dispel the last clinging traces of sleep. Deeply he fnhaled the fresh, crisp morning air that idled in at the window; and through him the tides of strength re- turned. = ““‘Why—I must have dreamed it all!” his first thought was. But, looking out again, he clearly saw the long, white frock of II Vecchio half-hidden among the olives. “No,” he added, hardly understanding as yet. “No, that can’t be. The doctor’s home again. But—well, I guess Iemust have fainted, what ? Something happened! What was it? They carried me off to bed, that’s evident. Probably the old man gave me some potassium bromid, or some- thing of that sort. I’m certainly here, at any rate; and I’ve had one grand sleep! No matter—everything’s all right!” Vague, as half-forgotten nightmares, now seemed to him the terrors of the night before, down in the doctor’s study. Already obliterated was the anguish of his discovery. And even though he raised his hand and looked at it, found the ring still missing and knew it had in all reality fallen off, he only smiled. “Pshaw!”’ he sneered, ashamed of his last night’s weakness in presence of the patriarch. “‘What of that? There’s noth- ing to be alarmed about, is there? I must have been overcome by the gruesome fascination of the infernal Maupassant yarn. What if I am a trifle .educed in bulk? So much the bette.! So much nearer the perfect standard. It’s a gain, instead of a loss! What else could have been expected? Nothing’s more natural, after all, than that a human body, return- ing from senility to the prime of life, should grow more solid, more compact! “It’s—it must be—only the bagginess of age that’s left me; a sort of taking-in of the slack, so to express it. Reasonable, natural, eminently right and proper. Jove, what a fool 1 was to have raised an outcry, to have kicked up such a row about so simple a detail!” Vastly reassured, he clambered out of nn) (C 6)(0)©) Ss (C(O)