Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 46 — page 90: what you’re looking at

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

OUTSIDE—LOOKING IN will power—you know, strain- ing my ear drums, and flap- ping. my ears to pick up sounds. The result was that I gave myself a headache all to no purpose. Then amid the rumbling rustle another sound started, no louder, but it had a rhythm to it. I listened to it for a while, then—‘S’welp me,’ I thought. “Church bells!” After that it was easy. All the sounds were there as usual, but muffled, as though a long way off, and with a bit of practice I could isolate a few of them. Church bells, for instance, a motor revving up, and the unmistakable sound of a jet going somewhere in a hurry. Well, I hung around waiting to be picked up for about half an hour before I came to the conclusion that there was to be no collection that day, at least. Then, up the garden path again to see the Doc, although what I expected to happen I don’t quite know. I mean if sparrows couldn’t see me, then it was more than likely doctors couldn’t either. And if I couldn’t hear him, then I don’t suppose he could hear me. However, we could but try. As I reached the back door again who should come tear- 89 ing out but the Doc himself, no less. He was clutching a trowel.and a bundle of young plants wrapped in newspaper. He was moving fast, intent on getting to his destination be- fore the wet newspaper gave way and scattered his plants to the four winds of heaven. He was heading straight for invisible me, so I sidestepped hurriedly. I wasn’t quite quick enough though, and realising we were going to collide, I did a mental grin and thought: ‘“Somebody’s going to get such a shock, soon.” Somebody did, but it wasn’t the Doc. He just walked through me, and carried on down the garden, leaving behind him a nervous wreck that had suddenly realised that it was not only invisible but walk-throughable to boot. This, as Shakespeare puts it, was the unkindest cut of all: Nothing could happen. now, thought I, to make things worse. As usual, I was dead wrong. While I was standing there debating my next move the cook poked her head round the back door, and slung a lump of bread at me. It was a gift for the fat sparrow—the official family dustbin—really, and I just comichooks.com