Pulp Fiction, 1949 · page 55 of 133
Avon Fantasy Reader No. 10 — page 55: what you’re looking at
A restored page from Pulp Fiction, 1949. Page through the whole issue in the reader above.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
he Statement of Kandobph Carter Felling ghost stories in dark and lonely places is an honored tradition. As a vule such tales, recited from memory, are not the type that make for litera- tuve—they are terse, grim, and usually described as true occurrences. The works of the " greats” of modern faniasy--save perbaps for Ambrose Bierce —are not easily adapted to such recitation; they ave too complex or too eso- teric, But bere is an H. P. Lovecraft tale that lends itself to recitation. Not word for word, but the plot idea is one to be worked into a midnight tale. Your editor has related it several times-—usually on deseried yural yoads— wiih marked effect. ams’ REPEAT to you gentlemen, that your inquisition is fruitless. Detain me here for ever if you will; confine or execute me if you must have a victim to propitiate the illusion you call justice; but I can say no more than I have said alxeady. Everything that I can remember, I have told with perfect candor. Nothing has been distorted or concealed, and if anything remains vague, it is only because of the dark cloud which has come over my mind—that cloud and the nebulous nature of the horrors which brought it upon me. Again I say, I do not know what has become of Harley Warren, though 1 think—-almost hope—that he is in peaceful oblivion, if there be anywhere so blessed a thing. It is true that I have for five years been his closest friend, and a partial sharer of his terrible researches into the unknown. I will not deny, though my memory is uncertain and indistinct, that this witness of yours may have seen us together as he says, on the Gainsville pike, walking toward Big Cypress Swamp, at half past eleven on that awful night. That we bore electric lanterns, spades, and a curious coil of wite with attached instruments, I will even affirm; for these things all played a part in the single hideous scene which remains burned into my shaken recollection. But of what followed, and of the reason I was found alone and dazed on the edge of the swamp next morning, I must insist that I know nothing save what I have told you over and over again. You say to me that there is nothing in the 33 Comicbooks.com