Avon Fantasy Reader No. 14 — page 124: what you’re looking at

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

my eyes for many nights, I was wholly unprepared for its sudden appearance and malignant activity. I have said the shadow was purplish against black. Now that it had taken form, as the furniture and Old Morris himself had taken form, I observed that this purplish coloration was actual. It was a glistening, humantike, almost metallic-appearing thing, certainly ten fect high, completely covered with great, tridescent fish-scales, each perhaps four square inches in area, which shimmered as it leaped across the room. I saw it for only a matter of a second or two. I saw it clutch surely and with a deadly maliynity, the hunched body of Old Morris, from behind, just, you will remember, as the old man was about to climb into his bed. The dreadin! thing turned him about as a wasp turns a fly, in great, flail-like, glistening arms, and never, to the day of my death, do I ever expect to be tree of the look on Old Morris’ face—a look of a lost soul who knows that there is no hope tor him in this world or the next,— as the great, squat, rounded head, a head preciscly like that of Mrs. Heiden- klang’s litle fishjumbee, descended, revealing to my horrified sight one glimpse of a huge, scythelike parrot-beak which it used, with a nodding mo- tton of the ugly head, to plunge into its writhing victim’s breast, with a tearing motion like the barracuda when it attacks and tears... . I fainted then, for that was the last of the fearful picture which I can re- member. , T awakened a little after one o’clock, in a dark and empty room, peopled by no ghosts, and with my own, more commonplace, mahogany furniture thinly outlined in the faint light of the new moon which was shining cleanly in a starry sky. The fresh night-wind stirred the netting of my bed. I rose, shakily, and went and leaned out of the window, and lit and puffed rapidly at a cigarette, which perhaps did something to settle my jangling nerves, The next morning, with a feeling of loathing which has gradually worn itself out in the course of the months which have now elapsed since my dread. iul experience, I took up my drawing again, and added as well as I could the tearivl scene I had witnessed. The completed picture was a horror, crude as is my work in this direction. | wanted to destroy it, but I did not, and I laid it away under some unused clothing in one of the large drawers of my bed- room wardrobe, Three days later, just after Christmas, I observed Mr. Despard’s car driving chrough the streets, the driver being alone. I stopped the boy and asked him where Mr. Despard was at the moment. ‘Phe driver told me Mr. Despard was having breakiast,—the West Indian midday meal,—with Mr. Bonesteel at that gentleman’s house on the Prince’s Cross Street. I thanked him and went home. TF took out the drawing, folded it, and placed it in the inside breast pocket of my coat, and started for Bonesteel’s house. ~ Larrived fifteen minutes or so before the breakfast hour, and was pleasantly received by my old friend and his guest. Mr. Bonesteel pressed me to join them at breakfast, but I declined. Mr. Bonesteel brought in a swizzle, compounded of his very old rum, and sfiter partaking of this in ceremonious fashion, I engaged the attention of both gentemen. 122 comicbooks.com