Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 71 — page 108: what you’re looking at

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

WISHFUL THINKING — put him under the machine and let his subconscious work off all its frustrations and conflicts in the harmless world of dreams. Let a man kill his father and marry his mother, a daughter kill her mother and marry her father and so get rid of the Cdipus and _ Electra complexes with their attendant feelings of guilt and shame. Let natural hate vanish in vicarious murder, let thwarted desires have free rein, let the whole twisted mess of insanity and aberra- tion free itself by satiating itself in the world of dreams. For when anything is per- mitted frustration cannot endure. It was the dream for which Carl had died. Hammond sat at his desk and looked at the two men before him as if he still couldn’t believe what he saw. Mark Engles, impatient and tired, glanced at Stanley, then back at the director. ““Have you sent for them?” “Yes.” Hammond reached 107 out to an intercom, pressed a switch, spoke into the ‘machine. “‘Have Evans and Conway arrived yet?” “Just arrived, sir.’ The voice echoed from the speaker. “Shall I send them in?” ‘“Immediately.”” Hammond switched off and stared at the two men as they entered the office. He made introductions, his shrewd eyes not missing John’s sudden pallor or Sam’s instinctive tension. They sat down, fumbling for cigarettes to cover their nervousness, keyed and tense as they stared at the officers. “T’ll make this brief,’ said Mark. “Yesterday, a dead man was found on the city — dump. We now know who he was, Carl Mayhew, a resident doctor to this hospital.” “Carl, dead?” Hammond glanced at Sam and John. “How?” “He was tortured to death,” said Mark evenly. “He was savagely murdered, stripped, dressed in cheap, give-away clothing and then buried in stinking rubbish. Someone, COMME DOOKS.COMN