The House of the Nightmare and Another Weird Story | Podcast - Nightshade Diary

Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Do you feel a shiver up your spine from fear. Yes,
it's another story from the Night's Shade Diary. You know
what that means. Check under the bed and make sure
no one or nothing is there. Is the closet door
securely shut. Then leave your disbelief behind, amp up your
imagination and hang on tight for another ride into terror

(00:22):
and mystery. And like all good horror stories, just imagine
it's a dark and stormy night, and remember screaming like
a little girl is permitted. The House of the Nightmare
by Edward Lucas White. I first caught sight of the

(00:44):
house from the brow of the mountain, as I cleared
the woods and looked across the broad valley several hundred
feet below me to the low sun sinking toward the
far blue hills. From that momentary viewpoint, I an exaggerated
sense of looking almost vertically down. I seemed to be
hanging over the checkerboard of roads and fields dotted with

(01:04):
farm buildings, and felt the familiar deception that I could
almost throw a stone upon the house. I barely glimpsed
its late roof. What caught my eyes was the bit
of road in front of it between the mass of
dark green shade trees about the house and the orchard opposite.
Perfectly straight. It was bordered by an even row trees,

(01:27):
though which I made out a cinder side path and
a low stone wall. Conspicuous on the orchard side between
two of the flanking trees was a wide object, which
I took to be a tall stone, a vertical splinter
of one of the tilted limestone reefs with which the
fields of the region are scarred. The road itself I
saw plain as a boxwood ruler on a green baized table.

(01:51):
It gave me a pleasurable anticipation of a chance for
a burst of speed. I've been painfully traversing closely forested
some mountainous hills now a farmhouse, had I passed only
wretched cabins by the road, more than twenty miles, of
which I had found very bad and hindering. Now, when
I was not many miles from my expected stopping place,

(02:13):
I looked forward to better going, and to that straight
level bit. In particular, as I sped cautiously down the
sharp beginning of the long descent, the trees engulfed me again,
and all the side of the valley I dipped into
a hollow rose on the crest of the next hill,
and began seeing the house once more nearer and not

(02:33):
so far below. The tall stone caught my eyes with
a shock of surprise. Had I now thought it was
opposite the house next to the orchard? Clearly it was
on the left hand side of the road toward the house.
My Self questioning lasted only the moment as I passed
the crest. Then the outlook was cut off again, but

(02:54):
I found myself gazing ahead, watching for the next chance.
At the same view. At the end of the second hill,
I only saw the bit of road obliquely and could
not be sure. But as at first the tall stone
seemed on the right of the road, at the top
of the third and last hill, I looked down the

(03:14):
stretch of road under the over arching trees, almost as
one would look through a tube. There was a line
of whiteness, which I took for the tall stone. It
was on the right. I dipped into the last hollow.
As I mounted the farther slope, I kept my eyes
on the top of the road ahead of me. When
my line of sights surmounted the rise, I marked the

(03:37):
tall stone on my right hand among the serried maples.
I leaned over, first on one side, then on the
other to inspect my tires. Then I threw the lever.
As I flew forward, I looked ahead. There was the
tall stone on the left of the road. I was
really scared. In almost days. I meant to stop dead,

(03:58):
take a good look at the stone, and make up
my mind beyond peradventure, whether it was on the right
or the left. If not, indeed, in the middle of
the road. In my bewilderment, I put on the high speed.
The machine leaped forward. Everything I'd touched went wrong. I
steered wildly, slew to the left, and crashed into a
big maple. When I came to my senses, I was

(04:22):
flat on my back in the dry ditch. Last rays
of the sun sent shafts of golden green light through
the makeup polpose overhead. My first thought was an odd
mixture of appreciation of the beauties of nature and disapproval
of my own conduct in touring without a companion, A
fat I regretted more than once. Then my mind cleared

(04:43):
and I sat up. I felt myself from the head down.
I was not bleeding, no bones were broken, and all
much shaken, I had suffered no serious bruises. Then I
saw the boy. He was standing at the edge of
the cinder path near the ditch. He was stocky and

(05:03):
solidly built, barefoot, with his trousers rolled up to his knees,
wore a sort of butternut shirt open at the throat,
and was coatless and hatless. He was tow headed with
a shock of tousled hair, was much freckled, and had
a hideous hard lit He shifted from one foot to
the other, twiddled his toes, and said nothing whatever, though

(05:26):
he stared at me intently. I scrambled to my feet
and proceeded to survey the wreck. It seemed distressingly complete.
It had not blown up, nor even caught fire, but
otherwise the ruin appeared hopelessly thorough. Everything I examined seemed
worse smashed than the rest. My two hampers alone, by

(05:47):
one of these cynical jokes of chance had escaped. Both
had pitched clear of the wreckage, and one hurt. Not
even a bottle broken. During my investigations. The boy's faded
eyes fallen me continuously, but he uttered no word. When
I had convinced myself of my helplessness. I straightened up
and addressed him. How far is it to a blacksmith's shop?

(06:10):
Eight mile? He answered, He had a distressing case of
cloth palate and was scarcely intelligible. Can you drive me there?
I inquired. Nary team on the place, replied, nary horse
neary cow. How far to the next house, I continued,
Six mile, he responded. I glanced at the sky. The
sun had already set. I looked at my watch. It

(06:32):
was going seven thirty six. May I sleep in your
house tonight? I asked. You can't come in if you
want to, he said, and sleep if you can. How
saw messy Mo's been dead three year and dad's away.
Nothing to eat but buck wheat flour and rusty bacon.
I've plenty to eat, I answered, picking up a hamper.

(06:53):
Just take that hamper, will you. You ain't come in
if you're a mind too, he said, But you got
to carry your own stuff. He did not speak gruffly
or rudely, but appeared mildly, stating an inoffensive fact. All right,
I said, picking up the other hamper. Lead the way.
The yard in front of the house was dark under
a dozen or more immense athless trees. Below the many

(07:17):
smaller trees had grown up, and beneath these a dank
underwood of tall, rank suckers. Out of the deep, shaggy,
matted grass, what had once been apparently a carriage drive
left a narrow curved track, disused and grass grown leading
to the house. Even here were some shoots of the anthelas,
and there was unpleasant with the vile smell of the

(07:40):
roots and suckers, and the insistent odor of their flowers.
The house was of gray stone, with green shutters faded
almost as gray as the house. Along its front was
a verandah, not much raised from the ground, and with
no ball straight or railing on it were several hackory
splint rockers. There were eight shuttered windows towards the porch.

(08:00):
In midway of them a wide door with small violet
panes on either side of it, and a fan light above.
Open a door, I said to the boy, open it yourself.
He replied, not unpleasantly nor disagreeably, but in such a
tone that one could not take suggestion. As a matter
of course. I put down the two hampers and tried

(08:22):
a door. It was launched, but not locked and opened
with a rusty grind of its hinges, on which it
sagged crazily, scraping the floor as it turned. The passage
smelt moldy and damp. There were several doors on either side.
The boy pointed to the first on the right. You
can have that room, he said. I opened the door.

(08:43):
What with a dusk, the interlacing trees outside, the piazza roof,
and the close shutters, I could make out little better.
Get a lamp, I said to the boy. Narry lamp,
he declared, cheerfully, nary candle. Mostly, I got a bed
Before dark. I returned to the remains of my conveyance.
All four of my lamps were merely scrap metal and

(09:04):
splintered glass. My lantern was smashed flat. I always, however,
carried candles in my valise. This I found split and crush,
but still holding together. I carried it to the porch,
opened it and took out three candles. Entering the room,
where I found the boy standing just where I had
left him, I lit the candle. The walls were whitewashed,

(09:25):
the floor bare. There was a mildewed, chilly smell, but
the bed looked freshly made up and clean, although it
felt clammy with a few drops of its own grease.
I stuck the candle on the corner of a mean,
rickety little bureau. There was nothing else in the room
save two rush bottom chairs and a small table. I
went out on the porch, bright in my valise and
put it on the bed. I raised the sash of

(09:47):
each window and pushed open the shutters. Then I asked
the boy, who had not moved or spoken, to show
me the way to the kitchen. He led me straight
through the hall to the back of the house. The
kitchen was large and had no firn save some pine chairs,
a pine bench, and a pine table. I stuck two
candles on opposite corners of the table. There was no

(10:08):
stove or range in the kitchen, only a big hearth,
the ashes on which smelt and looked a month old.
The wood in the woodshed was dry enough, but even
it had a celery stale smell. The axe and hatchet
were both rusty and dull, but usable, and I quickly
made a big fire my amazement for the mid June
evening was hot and still. The boy a rye smile

(10:31):
on his ugly face, almost leaned over the flame, hands
and arms spread out, and fairly roasted himself. Are you cold,
I inquired, I'm all as cold, he replied, hugging the
fire closer than ever, till I thought he must scorch.
I left him toasting himself while I went in search
of water. I discovered the pump, which was in a

(10:53):
working order and not dry on the valves. But I
had a furious struggle to fill the two leaky pails
I had found. When I put water to boil, I
fetched my hampers from the porch. I brushed the table
and set out my meal, cold fowl, cold ham, white
and brown bread, olives, jam, and cake. When the can
of soup was hot and the coffee I made, drew

(11:15):
up two cheers to the table and invited the boy
join me. I ain't hungry, he said, I've had supper.
He was a new sort of boy to me. All
the boys I knew were hearty eaters and always ready.
I felt hungry myself, but somehow, when I came to eat,
I had little appetite and hardly relished the food. I
soon made an end of my meal, covering the fire,

(11:38):
blew out the candles and returned to the porch, where
I dropped into one of the hickory rockers to smoke.
The boy followed me silently and seated himself on the
porch floor, leaning against the pillar, his feet on the
grass outside. What do you do, I asked, when your
father's away? Just slow for Ronnie said, just fool around.

(11:58):
How far off our your nearest neighbors? I asked, don't know?
Neighbors never come here? He stated, say they are feared
of the ghosts. I was not at all startled. The
plays had all those aspects which lead to a house
being called haunted. I was struck by his odd matter
of fact of speaking. It was as if he had
said they were afraid of a cross dog. Do you

(12:21):
ever see any ghosts around here? I continued, Never see him?
He answered, as if I had mentioned tramps or portridges.
Never hear them, sort of feel them around sometimes. Are
you afraid of them? I asked, Nope, he declared, I
ain't scared no ghosts. I'm scared of nightmares. Ever. Have nightmares?

(12:43):
Very seldom? I replied, I do, He returned, all of
us have the same nightmare. Big sow, big, it's a
steer trying to eat me up, wake up so scared
I could run to never no words to run to,
Go to sleep and have it again, wake up worse
scared than ever. Dad says, it's a buckwheat cakes in summer.

(13:06):
You must have teased a sow sometime, I said, yep,
He answered, tease the big sow once, holding up one
of her pigs by the hind feet, teased heir too long,
fell in the pen and got bit up. Some we
hadn't teased her. Have that nightmare three times a week,
sometimes worse than being burnt out, worse, and ghosts say,

(13:29):
I sort of feel ghosts around now. He was not
trying to frighten me. He was as simply stating an
opinion as if he had spoken of bats of mosquitoes.
I made no reply and found myself listening involuntarily. My
pipe went out. I did not really want another, but
felt disinclined for bad as yet and was comfortable where
I was, while the smell of the athless blossom was

(13:51):
very disagreeable. I filled my pipe again, lit it, and
then as I puffed somehow doesed off. For a moment.
I woke with a sensation of some like fabric trailed
across my face. The boy's position was unchanged. Did you
do that? I asked, sharply, ain't done? And every thing
he rejoined. What was it? It was like a piece

(14:12):
of mosquito netting rushed over my face. That ain't netting,
he asserted. That's a veil. That's one of the ghosts.
Some blow on you, some touch you with your long,
cold fingers. That one with a veil she drags across
her face. Well, mostly I think it's maw. He spoke,

(14:32):
with an assailable conviction of the child in we are seven.
I found no words to reply, and rose to go
to bed. Good night, I said, good night. Here I go,
I'll set out here spell yet. I lit a match,
found the candle I had stuck in the corner of
the shabby little bureau, and undressed. The bed had a
comfortable huskmasterress, and I was soon asleep. I had the

(14:54):
sensation of having slept some time when I had a nightmare,
the very nightmare the boy had described. A huge sow,
big as a dray horse, was reared up on her
fore legs over the footboard of the bed, trying to
scramble over to me. She grunted and puffed, and I
felt I was on the food she craved. I knew

(15:14):
the dream that it was only a dream, and strove
to wake up. Then the gigantic dream beast floundered over
the footboard, fell across my shims, and I awoke. I
was in darkness, as absolute as if I were sealed
in a jet vault. Yet to shudder. The nightmare instantly subsided,
my nerves quieted, I realized where I was and felt

(15:36):
not the least panic. I turned over and was asleep again,
almost at once. Then I had a real nightmare, not
recognizable as a dream, but appallingly real, an unutterable agony
of reasonless horror. There was a thing in the room,
not a sow nor any other nameable creature, but a thing.

(15:59):
It was as big as an elephant, filled the room
to the ceiling with shaped like a wild boar, seated
on its haunches, with its fore legs ray stiffly in
front of it had a hot, slumbering red mouth full
of big tusks, and its jaws worked hungrily. It shuffled
and hunched itself forward inch by inch till its vast
fore legs straddled the bed. The bed crushed up like

(16:23):
wet blotting paper, and I felt the weight of the
thing on my feet, on my legs, on my body,
on my chest. It was hungry, and I was what
it was hungry for, and it meant to begin on
my face. Its dripping mouth was nearer and nearer. Then
the dream helplessness that made me unable to call or

(16:43):
move suddenly gave way, and I yelled and awoke. This
time my terror was positive and not to be shaken off.
It was near dawn. I could describe dimly the cracked,
dirty window panes. I got up, lit the stump of
my can and two fresh ones, dressed hastily strapped my
ruined valise and put it on the porch against the

(17:05):
wall near the door. Then I called the boy. I
realized quite suddenly that I had not told him my
name or asked his I shouted hello a few times,
but won no answer. I had had enough of that house.
I was still permeated with the panic of the nightmare.
I desisted from shouting, made no search, but with two candles,

(17:26):
went out to the kitchen. I took a swallow of
cold coffee and munched a biscuit as I hustled my
belongings into my hampers, then leaving a silver dollar on
the table, I carried the hampers out on the porch
and dumped them by my valise. It was now light
enough to see the walk, and I went out to
the road. Already the knight who had rusted much of

(17:48):
the wreck, making it look more helpless than before. It
was our entirely undisturbed. There was not so much as
a wheel track or a hoof print on the road.
The tall white stone, uncertain about which had caused my disaster,
stood like a sentinel opposite where I had upset. I
set out to find the blacksmith's shop. Before I had

(18:09):
gone far, the sun rose clear from the horizon and
almost at once scorching. As I footed it along, I
grew very much heated, and it seemed more like ten
miles than six before I reached the first house. It
was a new frame house, neatly painted and close to
the road, with a whitewash fence along its garden front.

(18:29):
I was about to open the gate when a big
black dog with a curly tail bounded out of the bushes.
He did not bark, but stood inside the gate, wagging
his tail and regarding me with a friendly eye. Yet
I hesitated with my hand on the latch and considered
the dog might not be as friendly as he looked,
And the sight of him made me realize that, except
for the boy, I'd seen no creature about the house

(18:52):
where I had spent the night, No dog or cat,
not even a toad or bird. While I was ruminating
upon this, man came from behind me the house. Will
your dog bite? I asked, nah? He answered, he don't fit.
Come in. I told him I had an accident to
my automobile and asked if he could drive me to
the blacksmith's shop and back to my wreckage cirtain. He said,

(19:14):
happy to help you. I'll hud chip before shortly where'd
you smash in front of that gray house about six
miles back? I answered, that big stone built house. He
queried the same, I assented. Did you go past here?
He inquired, astonished I didn't hear you. No, I said,

(19:35):
I came from the other direction. Why, he meditated, you
must have smashed about sun up. Did you come over
the mountains in the dark, No, I replied, I came
over them yesterday evening, I smashed up about sunset sundown.
He exclaimed, we're in thunder. You've been all night. I
slept in the house where I broke down, And that

(19:58):
their big stone built house in the trees. He demanded, yes,
I agreed, why? He quavered excitedly, that their house is haunted.
They say, if you have to drive past that after dark,
you can't tell which side of the road the big
white stone is on. I couldn't tell even before sunset.
I said there, He exclaimed, look at that now, And

(20:21):
you sleep in that house? Did you sleep? Honest? I
slept pretty well, I said, except for a nightmare. I
slept all night. Well, he commented. I wouldn't go in
that their house for a farm, nor sleep in it
for my salvation. And you slept? How in thunder did
you get in? The boy took me, and I said,

(20:43):
what sort of boy? He queried, his eyes fixed on
me with a queer countryfied look of absorbed interest, A
thick set, freckled faced boy with a hair lip. I said,
talk like his mouth was full of mush. He demanded, yes,
I said that case of cloff palette. Well, he exclaimed,
I never did believe in ghosts, and I never did

(21:04):
half believed that house was haunted. But I know it now,
and you slept. I didn't see any ghosts, I retorted, irritably.
Here you've seen a ghost for shore. He rejoined solemnly.
That day Hairlips Boy been dead six months. The Elemental
by Frank bell Knap. Long Wheeler thought it was a coincidence.

(21:28):
At first, Ebony Lady was losing steadily in the sunlight.
She was falling back to fourth place, passing radio crooner
in reverse, and galloping steadily in the wrong direction over
the nut brown track, or so it seemed to the
grandstand and the cheering crowds beyond the finish line. Actually,
Ebony Lady's retrogressive spurt was an optical illusion, with no

(21:51):
mist in her nostrils. The fastest, wet weather, cold, and
all the blue grass was emulating a telegraph pole glimpsed
from an express train. Then came the coincidence. Ebony Lady
stopped passing horses and reverse and recaptured the lead again.
She retook the lead in less than five seconds, spurting

(22:11):
past three horses like a jet of liquid petroleum. Wheeler
rubbed his eyes had he turned and also ran into
a winter with one little thought. For several hours now
he had been aware of a strange new power in himself.
Just by concentrating, he could push people aside when he
walked in a crowd, when he needed elbow room, he

(22:32):
could clear a path for himself. But Emony Lady was
thundering over the turf a quarter of a mile away,
and in his mind there was no awareness of strain.
He was merely thinking, I want that horse to go faster,
I want that horse to win. Push, push, a little
purposeful thought moving about in his mind. Someone was tugging

(22:53):
at his sleeve. Well for crying out loud, look at
that horse go. He did not like to be touched.
He scowled resentfully and withdrew his gaze from the track.
Standing beside him was a bald headed, stout man in
a checkered suit, his heavy jewled face studded with sweat,
his eyes jiggling in his head. Nothing can stop her, now,

(23:15):
look at her go, we arasp It's barely possible that
I can't stop her. Mister the fat man net go
of Wheeler's arm and edged nervously away around the paddock
rail screw loose, he muttered. Wheeler brushed his sleeve as
though a contamination had descended upon it, and returned his

(23:36):
gaze to the track. Emy Lady was bearing down on
the finish line with flying hoofs, her long neck outthrust,
her jockey bent double in an ecstasy of anticipation. Wheeler
did not want Ebony Lady to lose. He desperately needed
the five dollars he had placed an Ebony Lady to win.
But well, he had to find out it was vital

(23:59):
to his piece of mine. Could he slow up Ebony
Lady with a thought? Was the new power as tremendous
as he feared? He thought, I want that horse to
go slower. I want that horse to fall back like
jets of liquid petroleum. Three horses, including Radio Crooner, spurted
past Ebony Lady. The man in the checker soup grasped.

(24:22):
He swung about and stared at Wheeler with startled eyes.
Wheeler said, tremulously, I did it? You see something about
The fat man repelled Wheeler, but he was horribly shaken.
He had to discuss it with someone. The fat man said,
you did what slowed Ebony Lady? You expect me to
swallow that Wheeler's lips were white. I'm not trying to

(24:46):
convince you, he said, I'm simply stating a fact. A fact. Huh,
jeered the other. Then suppose you put that wet horse
back in the lead again. It ought to be easy
on a dry track waitherside well, he said, Watch Ebony Lady.
He allowed the thought to form, I want that horse
to win. Push, push, A little purposeful thought directed across

(25:10):
the turf to where bright hopes for thundering. Ebony Lady
seemed to leave the ground as she came abreast of
radio crooner and thundered into high again. Now she was third,
now second, now length off the leader. Now she was
passing the leader to furlongs from the finish line. The
people in the grandstand were shouting themselves horse like some

(25:32):
demonic hippogriff. Ebony Lady flashed past the judges, dand wrenching
a blair from the loudspeaker. Ebony Lady, it is ladies
and gentlemen. Ebony Lady wins the derby. The fat man
with visibly stunned. It's uncanny, he muttered, either or not.
I don't understand it. Myself, he said. The fat man

(25:53):
thrust his face forward, a rapacious light gleaming behind his pupils.
Could you do it again? He ventured? Do you mean
at another race anytime? We learn? Nodded. I'm sure that
I could, he said. The fat man edged closer. Where
are you had it for? Buddy? He just said, got
to collect ten dollars from bookie. The fat Man took

(26:16):
out a mammoth roll of bills and peeled off one
chicken fee. He said, take this and come with me.
I'm staking you to a drink. Wheeler hesitated, thought I
don't want liquor, but I could order a glass of
milk and get him to taste it. The fat Man
was tugging at his sleeve. Come on, buddy, one little

(26:38):
drink won't hurt you. Five minutes later, they were seated
at the circular counter of a trackside softer in concession
outside in the sunlight. The crowd was slowly dispersing, streaming north,
south and west over the dapple turf Wheeler was holding
a glass of milk, his thin fingers coiled tightly about whiteness.

(26:58):
His companion was attached to a whiskey and soda. He
was scowling at Wheeler. Milk, he said contemptuously. Wheeler said,
it's against the law to serve liquor at the track.
Mister Sheet, this concession is violating the law. Call me, ted,
said the fat man. Look, Harry, why can't you relax
and be human? We could help each other. I have

(27:20):
plenty of what it takes to cash in on a
sure thing. Wheeler said, I'll admit its temptation. I've been
out of work for two months. I've stood in breadlines,
bunked in flop houses. Suddenly, he shivered. He was forgetting
about the milk. He raised a glass to his lips
and sipped at it fearfully. A look of horror came
into his face. She said, well, what do you say? Tremulously,

(27:44):
Wheeler sat down the glass and pushed it toward his companion.
I wish you just taste that milk, he said. She'd grimaced.
Why the house should I I don't like milk. It
strangles me. Just taste it, please, insisted Wheeler. All right.
She'd raised the glass and took a reluctant sip. Instantly,

(28:07):
he set the beverage down with such violence that the
counter shook soury, exclaimed, Sour's a rancid herring. All the
color drained from Wheeler's face. Then it's true, he groaned.
I haven't been imagining it. What are you talking about?
Every time it tastes milk, it turns sour, said Wheeler.

(28:30):
She'd growled impatiently. So what you got acidosis or something?
It happens all the time. No, it doesn't, insisted Wheeler.
You see, I know something about acid diaths. I used
to work in a pathological testing laboratory. You can't turn
milk sour simply by tasting it. I mean, if you

(28:52):
had a rheumatic or gouty diathesis, which is a very
acid condition, you could gargle with milk and it wouldn't
turn sour. She was becoming exasperated. You can speed up
the horses, he growled. And you're worrying about a little
thing like that, goady dyed teasers. Bah. Suddenly Wheeler sees

(29:12):
the companion's glass and drained it at a gulp. Hey
wait a minute, protested shed. You'd have to do that.
I'll order you a man's drink. Make it a double
Scotch and soda, said Wheeler. The high brown beverage did
things to Wheeler. His despair re seated in a wave
of moral indignation. Searched up, and he began to see

(29:35):
his companion in a less favorable light. He leaned forward
across the table. You mean it's a gold mine, he inquired,
A regular gold mine. Sure, I'll pick the horse and
you'll speed him up. We'll be living off the fat,
my lad, Wheeler said, you're distinctly slimy sheet. I don't

(29:57):
like you. What's that? I don't like your fat smirking face.
Sheed's face turned scarlet. He ceased to smirk. He leaped
to his feet and stood laring at Wheeler. I've a
good mind to sock you, he said. The thought from
quickly pushed him fast and far. Sheath screamed. Something lifted

(30:19):
him up, twisted him around. He went sailing erratically across
the little softering concession, his body rotating about the knees.
There was a splintering of glass out through the window
of the concession. Speech spun. He sailed over the paddock
rail and crashed to the turf on his face. Weather smiled,
rose and laid four quarters beside his drained whiskey and soda.

(30:43):
Now that was distinctly worth while, he said. Swiftly. He
slipped from the concession and mingled with a dispersing crowd.
People brushed against him. He laughed and sent them lightly spinning.
The human throng divided as he walked. Being a man
of kindly instincts, he did not use his power. There
was no animosity in his mind. It simply amused him

(31:04):
to watch people spin away from him and whirl about
like leaves in a dry wind. He felt like an
Israelite walking through the red Sea. He kept on walking,
ignoring startled and resentful glances. He lifted a woman six
feet in the air and sent her sailing like a
feather across the track. She landed thirty feet away, screaming hysterically.

(31:26):
A crowd converged about her. Wheeler pushed the entire congregation
of appalled men, women and children fifty feet along the track. Instantly,
he reproached himself, that was shameful, I shouldn't have done that,
And contrition, he took to levitating his own body. He
rose into the air and sailed lightly over the turf,

(31:48):
and little aerial spurts progressed above the heads of the
dispersing throng. Once he descended on the shoulders of a
fat man, who tottered and yelled sorry. He apologized and
rose into the air again. He was thinking, I have
always wanted to fly. Now I am truly flying. He
flapped his arms as though they were wings. I should

(32:09):
like to soar, he thought. Instantly he rose high into
the air. He rose two thousand feet and soared like
a condor, high above the grand stand. Far below him,
he saw little specks dispersing here and there. The specks
coaluced into wiggling, dark clumps with agitated peripheries. People in terror,
dozens of tiny people flocking together under the stress of

(32:32):
a shared horror. He rose higher, flew more audaciously. Presently
he was winging his way towards the east. Flap flap flop.
Beneath him stretched the fields of blue grass. He saw cowls,
that pasture, winding country lanes, brooks glimmering in the sunlight.
He saw a meadow start with white flowered asphodels. He thought,

(32:55):
I must remain calm. I must not allow myself to
become excited. Kentucky was a beautiful state. Now, he was
flying high above an old southern mansion. He saw people
moving about in the vicinity of the great house, sleekily
groomed horses galloping on a private bridle path, plantation workers
toiling in the bright noonday glare. He passed swiftly eastward,

(33:19):
soaring over the Black Mountains into Virginia, winging his way
across the Blue Ridge and the coastal plain. He thought,
this is more exhilarating than traveling in box cars, and
swoop low to observe a yellow crowned night heron, which
was rising from the somber cypress thung dismal swamp and

(33:39):
weighing its way towards the bright waters of Chesapeake Bay.
He followed the heron in a kind of trance, and
the depths of his mind terror churned, but it did
not flow into his consciousness, except occasionally in little eddies.
He had moments of sudden, terrible doubt, of perplexity and fright,
But so entrance was by his gift of flight that

(34:02):
he shivered and rapture, and ignored the dark misgivings which
occasionally assailed him. Flop flop, flop. He was flying now
above Pokemoke's Sound, the coast of Virginia, glimmering blue, lying
far to the west. The heron had vanished, and he
was alone under the sun. He had been flying steadily

(34:22):
for hours, but he was not fatigue, or was he
It was barely possible that he was getting a little tired.
He had to keep epitying to himself, I am flying effortlessly. Now,
I am as buoyant as a feather. The sense of
buoyancy receded a little when he ceased to concentrate, and
then he found himself descending towards the bright, gleaming waters

(34:42):
of the Sound. The waters were reddening when fatigue crept
unmistakably upon him. Flying became an effort, but resolutely he
kept flapping his arms and assuring himself that he was
lighter than air. He was flying low above big and
little islands when his buoyancy ebbed, disastered stiously, his legs
became leaden inert. Horror engulfed him as he stared downward.

(35:05):
He had ceased to mount, and the level expanse of
water beneath him was ascending like a rising floor for
a thousand feet. He fell like a plummet, flailing the
air with his arms. He was almost level with the
waves when something seemed to burst in his chest. He
spun about and zoomed erradically, spurting eastward over a little
island and whirling about hind in the air. The little

(35:27):
island was barely forty feet in diameter, a pinnacle of
jagged rocks, emerging precariously from the wine dark sea. Early
gigging like a mayflower, Wheeler descended toward it. He swirled
over menacing spire of granite, and came jaringly to rest
on a sloping ledge where barnacles clustered. For an instant

(35:48):
he stood swaying above the sea, his eyes wide with terror.
Something like a cloud was settling down beside him. He
felt for an instant like a jellyfish on stilts. Then
his legs took to water, and he sank down on
the spray lashed granite. The cloud became denser, coalescing into
an upright cone that shimmered with a pale luminescence. Wheeler
groaned and raised himself in his hands. A voice said,

(36:12):
you are less intelligent than an idiot child. All the
blood seeped from Wheeler's face, leaving it ashen swirling beside him.
On the sprayed, wrenched rock was a conical mass of spray.
Its summit rainbow hued to iridescent orbs, gleamed in its
tenuous bulk. The blood red disc of the sun was
slipping below the rim of the bay, but there was

(36:33):
still sufficient illumination to mingle the shadows of Wheeler and
the Cone. The shadow of the Cone was wolfishly devouring
the shadow of Wheeler, consuming its human outlines with evident relish.
Wheeler's flush congealed. He started to back away across the rock,
but directly he moved, the Cone swirled closer. Be careful,

(36:53):
you fool, it warned that rock is slippery. The Cone's
voice was resonant but expressionless. It bumped against Wheeler and
swiftly rebounded. Its rainbow hued bulk glistened in the spray.
Wheeler's teeth per chattering. What what are you, he moaned?
The Cone said an elemental, of course, elemental. I have

(37:14):
no intention of harming you. I'm as much to blame
as you are for this this calamity. But how did
you get here? You brought me here, replied the cone,
when you exhausted my energies. I couldn't sustain you any longer.
You mean you came with me? Of course, I've been
inhabiting your body for several days. It was an experiment

(37:36):
which I now regret. You've been inhabiting my I took
possession of your body temporarily. You know what an elemental is,
don't you? Wheeler hesitated for an instant. I I think
I do. He said. Finally, a nature spirit, a spirit
of earth, air, fire, or water, that is substantially correct,

(37:56):
said the cone. I am glad you did not say
a four of nature. I am not a force in
a scientific sense. I am a true spirit, a true spirit. Yes,
I am as real as an elf. For Goblin, your
scientists deny that spirits exist right under their noses. We
inhabit the bodies of idiot children. We raise tables into

(38:18):
the air, break crockery, send objects spinning, and they deny
that we exist. You mean you're a poltergeist, exclaimed Wheeler
is jaw gaping. You may call me that if you wish.
Each age has a different name for us. The Greeks
preferred to think of as simply as nature spirits who
could curdle milk, ride the night wind, set mysterious fire,

(38:40):
and wreck ships at sea. Wheeler stammered, But why why
did you pick on me? It was sheer madness, said
the elemental. But well, you are a new frontier. No
elemental has ever dared to inhabit an adult mortal before children. Yes, idiot,
children where imbecole. Rages are of preduration and do not

(39:02):
exhaust us. But adult mortals have minds of their own.
You mean you are subject to the whims of my
mind in a sense. Yes, when you think of something
you want to do, I am compelled to assist you.
Helping you at the racetrack was tiring, But this flight
has drainked me completely. It was your presence within me

(39:23):
that made me reckless, said Wheeler. I wanted to fly
because I was sure that I could. I know, said
the elemental. We are caught in a vicious circle. I
give you ideas and a sense of power, and you
exhausted me. So long as I am bound to you,
I am compelled to satisfy the demands of your will.
But you could leave me, couldn't you. No. I can

(39:46):
pour out of you and move objects at a distance,
or I can move about close to you, as I
am doing now, but I cannot leave you. Have you
ever watched the caterpillar spin or a cocoon? It draws the threads,
continuously tired about itself until it is completely in prison.
But you are outside your prison now, protested Wheeler. Merely

(40:08):
as a pernumberle projection, explained the elemental, My matrix is
still inhabiting your body. We elementals are beings of a
complex structure. If you could see me as I really am,
you would understand. The black shadows of night were closing
in as swiftly now. There was little rubescent glints on
the dark water, but the sun had vanished from view.

(40:31):
Far out in the bay, a gull wheeled and dipped.
Yelemental seemed to be shivering. I am exhausted ill it said,
I wish it were morning. Wheeler stared at it in
sudden apprehension. You mean you can't levit tape me in
the darkness. We won't be able to fly back, The
elemental said, you fool? Did you have to fly out

(40:54):
over the sea. I intended to return, said Wheeler. I
didn't know your power would fail me. Well it has failed,
said the elemental. I am close to death. Wheeler, pale.
You mean you can die? Of course, elementals are not immortal.
When our energies expire, we burst into flames, we die
and burst of glory. Good God, exclaimed the Wheeler. The

(41:18):
elemental drew close to him, pounced against him, and ascended
into the air. It flew a swift circle about the
little island and descended in a shower of sparks. Wheeler
cried out in horror. He recoiled backward and nearly toppled
into the sea. The elemental squirled toward him across the rock. Careful,
you fool, I was just testing my strength. Wheeler pulled

(41:41):
himself to safety again, his shoes dripping brine, sharp barnacles
toward his clothes. As he dragged himself to the summit
of the rock. He sat with his feet dangling a
yard above the water, staring at the elemental with resentful eyes.
Did you have to frighten me like that? I am sorry,
apologized elemental. When my death distress you so much, If

(42:02):
you die, I'll freeze to death, muttered Wheeler. I'll starve,
I'll die of thirst. We're on one of the little
rock islands south of Cape Charles. No ships passed this
way at all I see, said the Elemental coldly, a
purely selfish reaction. Weither groaned and fumbled in his pocket
for a cigarette. Why did this have to happen to me?

(42:23):
He muttered. He was lighting a cigarette when the Elemental
swirled toward him like a devouring entity. It tore the
match from his fingers and whirled it about in the air.
The flames spurted in all directions. It rayed through the
Elemental from base to summit, bathing it in unearthly refulgence. Ah,
that is good, murmured the spirit as the glow subsided.

(42:45):
I feel better now with a gasp. You mean you
can draw energy from a flame, from light, you fool. Tomorrow,
when the sun rises, I shall suck in the energy
and be strong again. The sun is a source of
all my strength. A great wave of relief surged up
in Wheeler. He fumbled for another match, lit it, held

(43:06):
it up instantly. It was snatched from his fingers. For
fifteen minutes, he fed the Elemental matches. He had one
match left when he said, can I smoke? Now? Go ahead?
Said the Elemental. Wheeler felt better as soon as the
soothing smoke entered his lungs. He inhaled deeply, sighed, and
assumed a more comfortable position on the rock. I suppose
we shall be here until morning, he said, with resignation.

(43:29):
He did not see the wave coming. It rose up
behind him, crashed against the rock, and wrenched him with
spray from head to foot. The spray was ice cold,
and so was a little red eel that plopped against
the neck and slithered down under his collar. Behind. Wheeler
began cursing softly in the semi darkness, his fingers clutching
in the spear a charred cylinder that dripped the Elemental. Said,

(43:52):
I must be fairly strong even now, if I can
raise a wave. The night passed wretchedly for Wheeler. The
cold crept into his bones and filled his throat with phlegm.
He dozed and woke in fitful starts. Once he awoke
suddenly and saw the Amnal bobbing about in the sea.
Once he sat standing amid shadows with its back to
a cloud. The moon was veiled and mist but the

(44:15):
luminosity which poured from the eternally vigilant cone bathed the
little island in a spectral radiance. Toward morning, Wheeler fell
into heavy sleep. He slept dreamlessly at first, but when
light touched his elids, he began to stir and dream
about the sun. He dreamed that he was flying about
the solar disk, his body revolving like a planet, his

(44:37):
arms flapping in the dawn. Beside him raised the planet Mercury,
its orbit coinciding with his own. Within him surged boundless power,
a sense of kingship, with a great orb of life.
Now he was passing little Mercury in his flight above
the sun. He awoke with a start. The air about
him was bright and cold. It was a grayish brightness.

(44:57):
The island and the sea were enshrouded, and a bright,
grayish fog, A fog It swirled above the water, and
rising little eddies flowed mistily about the rock upon which
he lay. He was aware of wailing, a hideous sobbing
immediately beneath him. I am dying, Oh, I am dying.
The Sun has failed me. The silver gray passenger seaplane

(45:21):
was winging its way over Chesapeake Bay. The pilot was
gazing downward at the long, bright coastline of a mighty
peninsula that reached out with eager arms into the sea.
He was passing directly over group of little islands when
he saw the light, A sudden, blinding flare that lit
up the sea beneath him and ascended to the sky,
brightening the clouds. A terrific flare in daylight. Amidst a

(45:44):
dispersing flog. His hands trembled on the controls. He turned
to the assistant pilot beside him, issued swift commands, we
must descend immediately. That was an emergency flare. A plane
is down. Perhaps beside him, a grim boy nodded, yes,
I understand came from one of thosettle islands, didn't it.
The plane descended in a slow arc above Chesapeake Bay.

(46:05):
I descended competently, for its pilots were Mineola trained experts
who knew how to approach the sea with foresight. In
a region wore islands clustered thickly. Swiftly downward, the plane
swooped a great behemoth of the skyways that trembled not
at all as its silvery bulk descended above the fog
wreathed water. The fog still clung tenuously to the still

(46:28):
water and ghost like filaments nebulously the little rock island
loomed out of the bay, seeming to increase in height
as a plain swooped level with the waves and scudded
to rest in a swirl of foam. You're sure that
was the island, said the pilot, who at first sight
of the flare, he stared across the filmy water, squinting
through filtering sunlight at a jagged pinnacle of rock. I'm positive,

(46:52):
said the grim boy. There's some one on it too,
Shall we hail him? Wait a minute, said the other,
We're drifting closer. The plane was within fifty feet of
the liland when the castawake came distinctly into view. The
two pilots stared incredulously. The grim boy was wearing spectacles.
Swiftly he took them off, wiped them, and put them

(47:12):
on again. Good God, he'd claimed, How do you suppose
that got there? Clinging tenaciously to the rocks was a
frail little man in shabby clothes, a crushed derby adhering
to a skull, His shoes and trouser legs flaked with
crystals of snow white salt red. Sunlight was pouring revealingly
on his upturned face, Clawing at the corners of his

(47:34):
mouth and filling his eye cavities with a lambent radiance.
His face in the thin, dispersing fog resembled a skull
suspended above a lake of brimstone, with the lurid vapors
of Haiti swirling up above it. Getting that fail half
frozen little man off the rock and into the passenger
cabin was a task as complicated as it was hazardous.

(47:54):
But the Maniola trained pilots were equal to the emergency,
and once inside the cabin, the little man was no
longer problem. The passengers took over. They fussed over him
and graciously endeavored to make him as comfortable as possible.
There was something about him that appealed to the maternal
instinct of the women passengers, but the men were kind
to him too. They screened them from you while they

(48:16):
helped him into dry clothes, offering him underwear and outer
garments which were warm and expensive. One stout man opened
a suitcase and presented him with a hand tailed shirt.
Another made him a gift at neatly pressed trousers. They
helped him down a yellow angora, a golf sweater, and
a tweed sportcoat. But despite everything they could do for him.
His face kept straining against the light. He stood, shivering

(48:40):
and gazing out the cabin window at the sea, as
though here looking at a picture under glass, a picture
that terrified in appalled them. He stood rigid in his
expensive but ill fitting clothes, beads a sweat on his
thin face, to which a two days growth of beard
gave something of an esthetic cast. You'd better sit down,
said a tall, elderly woman in a tailor made suit,

(49:01):
whose severity of manner was redeemed by kindly eyes. Better
sit down there by the window in the sun. You've
been through a terrible ordeal, my poor man. Wheeler passed
a hand over his brow. He shuddered convulsively. Thank you,
He murmured. It was awful feeling it die. It seemed
to wrench at me. The passengers were all staring at
him in concern. One of the pilots shook his head

(49:23):
sadly and made a rot of emotion with his forefinger
close to his temple. The little man said, suddenly, but
the dazzle saved me, didn't it. The dazzle brought you down.
It died in a burst of glory, didn't it. Yes,
said the stout man to humor. I guess it did
twelve hours in a thick fog without sunlight, and towards

(49:46):
the end I could feel it dying. Suddenly sat up
straight in his chair. Could I Could I have a
glass of milk? He asked? Why? Of course, said the pilot.
The milk was cold, and there was little bubbles at
the edge of the glass, which is an ordinary glass
of milk. But his Wheeler held that he was shaken
to the depths of his being. His first and most
powerful feeling was that he was about to free himself

(50:08):
of a hideous dread. He was about to prove to
himself that he was no longer possessed. But he also
had a feeling of loss and desolation. He was about
to sound the knell of something almost godlike, the gift
of flight, the power to move and shake. Slowly, he
raised the glass slowly he drank, whilst the pilot smiling
not at him. Feel better now, Wheeler did not reply.

(50:31):
He sat staring up at the pilot in consternation, his
lips tremulous, his eyes wide with horror. I can't taste
his milk at all, he gasped. It has absolutely no taste.
It doesn't even feel cool on my tongue. A tall
man with a grizzled van Dyke arose from his seat
near the island, crossed to wither his chair shock. Anaestetia

(50:52):
explained patiently, it lasts for hours sometimes. Then he perceived
how a turb wheeler was and smiled reassuredly. Nothing to
get alarmed about. By this time tomorrow you'll be fit
as a fiddle, able to move mountains, my lad, able
to move mountains. There is such a thing as expecting
too much of a man wheeler. Pale groaned, dropped the

(51:13):
glass and slid from the chair, and a dead faint

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