Avon Fantasy Reader No. 8 — page 87: what you’re looking at

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

e - THE OTHER WING. 83 long ago. Though he had never, to the best of his knowledge, entered it be- fore, he knew with intimacy its every detail. And thus the surprise -he felt was mild and far from disconcerting. “I’m here again!” was the kind ef thought he had. It was how he got here that caused the faint surprise, apparently. He no longer swaggered, however, but walked carefully, and half on tiptoe, holding the ivory handle of the cane with a kind of affectionate respect. And as he advanced, the light closed softly up behind him, obliterating the way by which he had come. But this he did | not know, Bee he did not look behind him. He only looked in front, where . the conriane stretched its silvery length towards the great chamber where he | knew the cane must be surrendered. The person who had preceded him down this ancient corridor, passing through the green baize door just before he reached it, this person, his father’s father, now stood in that great chamber, waiting to receive his own. Tim knew it as surely as he knew he breathed. At | the far end he even made out the larger patch of silvery light which marked its gaping doorway. There was another thing he knew as well—that this corridor be ioe along between rooms with fast-closed doors, was the Nightmare Corridor; often and often he had traversed it; each room was occupied. “This is the: Nightmare Passage,” he whispered to himself, “but I know the Ruler—it doesn’t matter. None of them can get out or do anything.” He heard them, none the less, inside, as he passed by; he heard them scratching to get out. The feeling of security made him reckless; he took unnecessary risks; he brushed the panels as he passed. And the love of keen sensation for its own sake, the desire to feel “an awful thrill,” tempted him once so sharply that he raised his stick and poked a fast-shut door with it! Fle was not prepared for the result, but he gained the sensation and the. thrill. For the door opened with instant swiftness half an inch, a hand - emerged, caught the stick and tried to draw it in. Tim sprang back as if he had been struck. He pulled at the ivory handle with all his strength, but his strength was less than nothing. He tried to shout, but his voice was gone. A terror of the moon came over him, for he was unable to loosen his hold of the handle; his fingers had become a part of it. An appalling weakness turned him helpless. He was dragged inch by inch towards the fearful door. The end of the stick was already through the narrow crack. He could not see the hand that pulled, but he knew it was terrific. He understood now why the world — was strange, why horses galloped furiously, and why trains whistled as they. raced through stations. All the comedy and terror of nightmare gripped his heart with pincers made of ice. The disproportion was abominable. The final collapse rushed over him when, without a sign of warning, the door slammed _ Silently, and between the jamb and the wall the cane was crushed as flat as if it were a bulrush. So irresistible was the force behind the door that the solid stick just went flat as a stalk of a bulrush. book Ss: ‘com