Chapter C: L. Moore has had some of her own illustrations accepted by Weird

Tales.

A. Merritt calls his "The Metal Monster" his "best and worst" story.

The youthful Robert Bloch of Milwaukee has sold his first story to Weird Tales. It is titled "The Secret of the Tomb."

On his way North from Florida, H. P. Lovecraft stopt in Washington, D. C. and "did several things I had never done before" ... His "The Rats in the Walls" was first submitted to Argosy but was rejected as being too horrible.... His "The Shunned House" is to be bound and issued by R. H. Barlow. The edition consists of about 225 copies and will appear some time in the fall.

Two of H. P. Lovecraft's "Fungi from Yuggoth" ("Mirage" and "The Elder Pharos") have been set to music by Harold S. Farness of the Los Angles Inst. of Musical Education.

A. Merritt is an authority on folklore and mythology and has made a study of ancient sorcery and witchcraft, past and modern.

Forrest J. Ackerman often wonders what _would_ happen to him if an earthquake came and splattered up the room where his collection is situated.

* * * * *

PROSE PASTELS

by Clark Ashton Smith

_IV. The Lotus and the Moon_

I stood with my beloved by the lotus pool, when the moon was round as the great ivory breast of a Titaness, and the flowers were full-blown and pale upon the water.

And I said to my beloved: "I would that thou shouldst love me well tonight: for never again shall there be a night like this, with the meeting of thee and me by this pool with flowers blown but not overblown."

But she demurred, and was perverse and loved me not as I would that she should love me.

And after several nights we stood again by the lotus pool, when the moon was hollow as an aging breast, and the petals of the flowers had fallen apart on the water.

And now my beloved was fain to love me well, and all was well between us. But in my heart I mourned for that other night, when the moon was round as the great ivory breast of a Titaness, and the flowers were full-blown and pale upon the water.

* * * * *

DREAMS of YITH

DUANE W. RIMEL

VI

Amid dim hills that poison mosses blast,
Far from the lands and seas of our clean earth,
Dread nightmare shadows dance--obscenely cast
By twisted talons of archaean birth
On rows of slimy pillars stretching past
A daemon-fane that echoes with mad mirth.
And in that realm sane eyes may never see--
For black light streams from skies of ebony.

VII

On those queer mountains which hold back the horde
That lie in waiting in their mouldy graves,
Who groan and mumble to a hidden lord
Still waiting for the time-worn key that saves;
There dwells a watcher who can ill afford
To let invaders by those hoary caves.
But some day then may dreamers find the way
That leads down elfin-painted paths of gray.

VIII

And past those unclean spires that ever lean
Above the windings of unpeopled streets;
And far beyond the walls and silver screen
That veils the secrets of those dim retreats,
A scarlet pathway leads that some have seen
In wildest visions that no mortal greets.
And down that dimming path in fearful flight
Queer beings squirm and hasten in the night.

IX

High in the ebon skies on scaly wings
Dread batlike beasts soar past those towers gray
To peer in greedy longing at the things
Which sprawl in every twisted passageway.
And when their gruesome flight a shadow brings
The dwellers lift dim eyes above the clay.
But lidded bulbs close heavily once more;
They wait-for Sotho to unlatch the door!

X

Now, through the veil of troubled visions deep
Is draped to blind me to the secret ways
Leading through blackness to the realm of sleep
That haunts me all my jumbled nights and days,
I feel the dim path that will let me keep
That rendezvous in Yith where Sotho plays.
At last I see a glowing turret shine,
And I am coming, for the key is mine!

* * * * *

VOICES OF THE NIGHT

by Robert E. Howard

1 - The Voices Waken Memory

The blind black shadows reach inhuman arms
To draw me into darkness once again;
The brooding night wind hints of nameless harms,
And down the shadowed hill a vague refrain
Bears half-remembered ghosts to haunt my soul,
Like far-off neighing of the nightmare's foal.

But let me fix my phantom-shadowed eyes
Hard on the stars--pale points of silver light--
Here is the borderland-here reason lies--
There, visions, gryphons, Nothing, and the Night.
Down, down, red specters, down, and rack me not!
Out, wolves of hell! Oh God, my pulses thrum;
The night grows fierce and blind and red and hot,
And nearer still a grim insistent drum.

I will not look into the shadows--No!
The stars shall grip and hold my frantic gaze--
But even in the stars black visions grow,
And dragons writhe with iron eyes ablaze.
Oh Gods that raised my blindness with your curse,
And let me see the horrid shapes behind
All outward veils that cloak the universe,
The loathsome demon-spells that bind and blind,
Since even the stars are noisome, foul and fell,
Let me glut deep with memory dreams of Hell.

* * * * *

THE INTELLECTUAL SHOCKER

by H. Koenig

Collecting weird and fantastic stories is a fascinating pursuit. Locating first editions of some of our well-known authors affords considerable thrill, but the real kick comes when one discovers a comparatively little-known author of weird stories or re-discovers an old and forgotten one. I experienced such a thrill when I first came across one of the books written by a young Englishman named Charles Williams, and I didn't rest content until I had obtained all five of his novels. Williams appears to be practically unknown over here and a few lines regarding him and his books may prove of interest to other readers and collectors.

Sooner or later, the inveterate reader of weird fiction becomes surfeited with stories of one pattern and falls into a rut. A year or so ago one of the magazines devoted to books recommended to readers who found themselves in such a predicament a sure cure--_the intellectual shocker_. It is the type of story the average fiction reader will overlook and even the habitual reader of weird and fantasy stories is apt to ignore it.

Bulwer-Lytton's "Zononi" and "Phra, the Phoenician" have long been out of date. Rider Haqgard is not being read by the present generation and yet his immortal "She" is the pure type of the intellectual horror tale. All weird fans have read Merritt's "Burn Witch, Burn" but how many read "The Moon Pool" when it was first published? Guy Endore's "The Werewolf of Paris" received plenty of publicity but his "The Man from Limbo," a good example of the intellectual shocker, slipped by practically unnoticed.

Charles Williams is one of the modern writers of the intellectual horror story. Born in England in 1886, Williams was educated at St. Albans and University College, London. He is an authority on Shakespearean literature, poetry, etc. and has written a fairly long list of books, most of them dealing with poetical subjects. In 1930, however, he wrote his first novel, "War in Heaven," and it proved to be one of the finest high-brow horror stories written in recent years. It concerns a struggle for the "Graal," a battle between the forces of good and evil. It has all the elements of a real mystery story combined with the horror and thrill of the supernatural and the occult.

To date, Mr. Williams has written five books of this type:

"War in Heaven" (1930)
"Many Dimensions" (1931)
"Greater Trumps" (1932)
"Place of the Lion" (1932)
"Shadows of Ecstasy" (1933)

The average fiction reader would probably be bewildered by Williams, but most of his plots are original and his ideas unusual and somewhat startling. He has the happy faculty of being able to combine the occult adventures with present-day people and scenes and, as one reviewer stated, "he succeeds in making the improbable likely and the impossible credible." To the readers who want their intellect stirred as well as their emotions, I highly recommend some of the books listed above. Try "War in Heaven" first, followed by the "Place of the Lion." They will prove to be a welcome relief from the stereotyped and often tiresome stories now appearing in the pulp magazines.

* * * * *

NOTES ON BOB OLSEN

by Forest J. Ackerman

So successfully received was his "Ant With a Human Soul," Bob Olsen has written and had published by Amazing Stories another ant story "Peril Among the Drivers." He has another, but dissimilar type of "Antale"--to coin a word to describe his series--in preparation. In this story, no unusual or grotesque Giants appear, but the ordinary-sized insects band together to overthrow mankind; a possibility not to improbable, Bob believes.

In connection with ants, Bob was recently invited to speak on them at the Adventurer's Club, an organization of internationally famous men, such well-known figures as "Skipper" Dixon, author of the recent Liberty serial, "Marriage Drums," being members. Previously, at informal gatherings, Bob has given impromptu talks on ants, rockets, interplanetary flight, and--of course--the fourth dimension. (Bob, incidentally, was a mathematics teacher for ten years.)

"Of the three subjects, however," Bob observed, "the audience always seemed most interested in the life of the ants: how they maintain slaves, cultivate gardens, domesticate insects, have bootleggers, fight wars, and play games. Though an ant never built an automobile or invented a radio, the insect is still a far more brilliant creature than generally considered to be. In some ways, considering their handicaps, the ant almost surpasses Man in accomplishments. Next to Man, they rate highest in intelligence. The termites and then the bees follow...."

In addition to his literary work, Bob Olsen is the Advertising Manager of a Los Angeles real estate concern. One day, during the noon hour, Bob had an idea for a new murder mystery. In the process of cerebrating the details of the plot, he gazed out of the window with a far-away expression on his face. Unperceived by him, the secretary of the corporation approached and sat down at the desk at Bob's elbow. He waited awhile for the Advertising Manager to recognize him, but Bob seemed star-gazing, dead to the world.

Finally the official said, "what are you thinking about, Bob?"

Startled by this unexpected voice right in his ear, Bob jumped up and yelled, "MURDER!"

Then it was the boss' turn to jump--whereupon Bob explained that he had been concocting an ingenious scheme for committing homicide, which he expected to use in one of his "Master of Mystery" stories.

Again, some years back when Bob was in the midst of "The Four Dimensional Rolle-Press," "Four Dimensional Surgery," "Four Dimensional Robberies," etc., Dr. Miles J. Breuer sent Amazing Stories a dimensional tale--shall we say fourth dimension narrative?--because he "didn't like the way Bob Olsen wrote them." Strangely enough, at the same time Bob submitted his "Super-Perfect Bride." The two author's stories appeared in the same issue of Amazing, the math teacher showing the doctor how to write a medical tale, and the doctor demonstrating to the teacher of mathematics how a dimension story should be handled!

Bob's "Fourth Dimension Auto-Parker" is something amusing in the way of applying the 4-D. It may be said to equal or surpass his best-remembered yarn, "The Educated Pill."

* * * * *

BEINGS FROM BEYOND

(A True Experience)

by Kenneth B. Pritchard

I have often wondered whether spirits of the dead really walk the world.

Edison, upon nearing his end, said, "It is very beautiful over there!" Many have pondered those words, and sermons have been preached as to their meaning.

I am not a sufferer of hallucinations, though you may think so, but I feel that it is only by having a true knowledge of things that are known to have taken place and studying them that we can ever rise to a higher plane of existence.

What does the eye see? Does it ever perceive things beyond the familiar vibrations consisting of our everyday normal life? I believe that in some cases a man's eye does see more than normally. Perhaps it is some outside influence that aids it, or stirs it into action. How it occurs, I cannot say. I have never seen anything really distinctly alarming along these lines. But I have had occasion to view things in an indistinct form for a period of approximately five years. During the past few years, I have seen nothing of these things.

However, during those five years, when I was alone in the house, I would sit on the bed and study my school books. Sometimes nothing would happen. Then, again, I would glance up from the pages of the book in hand and be startled to see a white figure going by! Not always did I have to be absorbed in a book; sometimes a shape would be in front of me when I passed from one room to another. Several times there were more than one. And once or twice there were veritable groups or crowds of such shapes milling about and going hither and thither. Some would go through the regular doorways, and others would walk right through the walls. Many times they came within a foot of me, but never appeared distinct.

I'm glad this happened mostly during the day or when a light was burning. It gave me the creeps more than once. I'd like to know if they were spirits, or beings living on another plane.

* * * * *

NEW YORK DESTROYED AGAIN!

by Bob Tucker

Once more New York City is destroyed! For decades, this has been the delight of science fiction authors. You must either destroy or attack New York before you can become a famous science fiction writer.

The first account of the destruction of New York is given in "The End of New York" by Park Benjamin, published around 1890.

Of recent times, Ray Cummings has probably destroyed it more often than anyone else. He takes a crack at it (and a good one, too!) in his "White Invaders" (Dec, 1931 Astounding).

In the following issue, Arthur J. Burks sets his ape loose in it ("Man-ape the Mighty"), and in February, Cummings is back again with "Wandl, the Invader," which brings the enemy right into the big city.