Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 41 — page 124: what you’re looking at

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

KIDS’ GAME Twelve-year-old Philip White slid awkwardly down the gravel embankment and touched his foot on the steel rail, to find it in the deepening shadows. He shot a quick glance to his right down the dark track, his pale face catch- ing the mournful light from a street crossing far above. No, there wouldn’t be a train from that direction until 9.05, when the night freight left for Shelbina. He stepped up on the rail, waved his arms for balance, then began walking. He fought down an impulse to look back toward his house before it finally disappeared from view behind the thick, dry brush along the tracks. Gradually he lengthened the periods before he lost balance and had to step down onto. the rough wooden ties. He took satisfaction in this; walking the rail kept the gravel out of his shoes and would fill the long walk with ‘ something of challenge. For a while he allowed himself to imagine that the rail was a thin cable between two tall buildings, and that instantaneous death awaited a single mis-step. But the fantasy was rather childish, and dwelling on it with any degree of attention made his steps nervous and slow. He became aware of house lights filtering through the brush to either side of the tracks. His own house would be lit up by now. Tonight was family night, a pleasant little tradition his mother and father insisted upon. : His six-year-old brother would probably be building a house of cards and even the little baby would still be up. Normally they would be ask- ing him to play a Bach prelude or perhaps a group song on the spinet. | But he must miss family night. Too bad he had not been able to think up a better ex- cuse. The homework one was not good—maybe they did not even believe it entirely. He partially lost his balance on the rail. Striving to use one foot to regain it he caught his shoe in the cuff of his jeans. He stumbled off the rail, pitch- ing forward toward a shadowy clump of bushes. Somehow he did not go down, however. 123 connicloooks.conn