by Various
The boats immediately pulled away toward Hiney's Slough.
At first there was nothing to be seen except the bottoms of twooverturned boats, one of which was Blum's, the other Birkett's. Thensomeone saw the body of Ender over against one bank, apparently justwashing up from deep water. Quite near it, partly submerged, theyfound the bodies of Hank Blum and Fred Birkett.
Blum was dead, but he had not been drowned. He had been strangled. Forwhen the horrified searchers pulled him out of the water, they foundFred Birkett's dead fingers sunk deep in the flesh of Blum's neck.
Birkett had found his twelfth corpse.
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CLUB NEWS
Mr. Glasser informs us that he will have more news about the FantasyFans' Fraternity for our February issue. If you are a science fictionfan, why don't you become a member? There is no charge. Simply write to
Allen Glasser 1610 University Avenue Bronx, New York
and he will tell you all about it.
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Subscribe to TFF today to insure yourself of a monthly copy. Only alimited number are printed.
CONGLAMITORIAL
Third in the series.... Most peculiar titles: "Appendix and theSpectacles," "The Captured Cross-Section," and "The Gostak andthe Doshes;" all by Breuer.... Extremities: "Absolute Zero" and"The Heat Wave".... There is plenty of adventure in fantasy fiction.There's the Adventure in Time--In Futurity--On Eros--Of the Pipe--InAnethesia--and the Atomic.... When will we have atomic power? Will wehave to wait until "After 5,000 Years," "After 12,000 Years," "After1,000,000 Years," or until "After Armageddon"?... The entire storyof "Beyond the Star Curtain" by Garth Bentley took place upon theearth.... _Wanted_: information from our Long Island readers leadingto the discovery of the "Vanishing Wood" in which Tom Jenkinsdisappeared in October, 1931 (Chronicled in "In 20,000 A.D." bySchachner and Zagat in the September, 1930 Wonder).... People maylaugh at fantasy fiction--but we know of at least _two_ motionpicture stars that owe their world-wide success to it, and you canthink of many others.... Of all the interplanetary stories everwritten, "Interplanetary Bridges," by Ludwig Anton, is the only one tohave the word in its title....
* * * * *
Science and Knowledge, And strong youth and power-- Science, the creed of a nation! New customs for old, New ways, a new mold-- The tale of the New Generation!
--Virginia Kidd
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Tell your friends about TFF
INFORMATION
We have received several requests (and we mean _several_) for alist of the stories written by Edgar Rice Burroughs. Following wepresent a list of his works compiled from the list in the January,1933 issue of the _Science Fiction Digest_, through the courtesyof Julius Schwartz.
A Princess of Mars The Gods of Mars The Warlord of Mars Thuvia, Maid of Mars The Chessmen of Mars The Mastermind of Mars A Fighting Man of Mars At the Earth's Core Pellucidar Tanar of Pellucidar Tarzan of the Apes The Return of Tarzan The Beasts of Tarzan The Son of Tarzan Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar Tarzan the Untamed Tarzan the Terrible Tarzan and the Golden Lion Tarzan and the Ant Men Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle Tarzan and the Lost Empire Tarzan at the Earth's Core Tarzan the Invincible Tarzan Triumphant The Cave Girl The Eternal Lover The Land that Time Forgot The Monster Men The Moon Maid Jungle Girl
This is not a complete list of his works. Will all those that know ofstories he has written that are not in this list please send in thenames so that we can publish them? We would appreciate it.
If you have any question about weird or science fiction that you wouldlike answered, send it in to us, and we will do our best to answer itfor you in this department.
HOW TO COLLECT FANTASY FICTION
by Julius Schwartz
Part Four
Some of the former Munsey magazines published a great deal offantastic fiction that went under the name of 'different' stories. Infact, no fantasy collection could ever be considered 'fair' without agoodly number of these 'classics,' as they have been so often termed.The magazines were: _Argosy_, _All-Story_, _Argosy All-Story_,_Cavalier_, _Cavalier All-Story_, _Scrap Book_, and _Munsey'sMagazine_. Dates 1890 and up!
If the collector is ambitious enough he may try to procure some of theEnglish magazines that include fantastics within their covers. Same ofthem are: _Pearson's Magazine_ (the monthly, not weekly), _TheStartler_, _Union Jack_, _Magnet_, and _Grit_. The first, by the way,originally printed most of H. G. Wells' early fantasyarns, and it'd bea feather in any collector's hat if he were, by any chance, able toget his hands on one of those rare issues.
(We are sorry to state that Part Five will be the conclusion. In thislast part, coming in our February issue, we will have Mr. Schwartztell about fantasy booklets, and he will also inform us about the hardcovers.)
The Flagon of Beauty
(Annals of the Jinns)
by R. H. Barlow
The Princess drooped her long eyelashes. She was really quite prettywhen she did this.
"And you have brought it?" she asked softly, her hand stealing intohis. He coughed. This being spokesman was a delicate task.
"Yes, your Highness," said the man. "It is here." He touched a smallparcel beside him on the divan.
"And you will give it to me?" she breathed.
Steeling himself, he replied, "Their terms are the freedom of thepeople."
She sprang to her feet. "Never!"
"Not for the Flagon?" he queried harshly.
"Not even for that." Reconsidering, she spoke slowly. "Five years agoI sent a band in search of this fabulous drug, into the low-lyingjungle that cloaks the Ancient Cities, the Cities that no man knowswho built, there in the steaming swamps. Men have said that I wasbeautiful, yet, ironically, he for whom I have wrecked my empirescorned me. It was then I bethought me of this flask made in theimmemorial years agone, which figured in legend as containing theessence of Beauty. Perhaps, I thought, with this I might win him frommy rival. Today you have returned; successfully, I grant you; anddemand yield of my power for that which I desire. I have been toldbitter things--that I have ruled mercilessly and tyrannically. That Ihave, but I cared little for affairs of state since I became enamouredof my prince. He has neglected no indignity to impose upon me, but Icannot forget him. On the night of my Feast of Peacocks he sneered atthe priceless dishes and fed his monkey from the place. The gutter-rathe has an infatuation for entertains him most skillfully, but heshares her with the soldiers. He prefers her florid charms to me. ThisI do not understand, but I command you, _give me that flagon_."
He slowly shook his head. "No, Majesty, I cannot betray their faith.Fever took many lives in those crumbling ruins."
"I warn you, I am desperate," she said imperiously, "give, or I shalltake."
He lowered his gaze and remained silent. Seeing he was adamant, shemade a gesture with her head, and a slave stepped from the curtainedalcove. "Take this man to the Room of Pain," she ordered. Inconsternation, he sought to dash the frail vessel to the tiles, but itwas dexterously twisted from his grasp by the blackamoor.
The princess laughed insanely.
"My men did well to steal you from under his nose, my wench," shesneered to the helpless woman at her feet. "Let me see those carminelips smile at this!" she added contemptuously, breaking the ancientseal covered with writing none could interpret. "You are startled?Yes, it is the Flagon! Watch, if you wish, for you may not see when Iam finished with you." She drained the very dregs, and flung thestopper in her captive's face. For a long moment there was no changeapparent in her flushed countenance. Then she noticeably paled. Herhair swiftly grew leaded and grey, her lips assumed a ghastly pallor,and a score of tiny wrinkles appeared on her smooth skin.
She became an old hag, quite ou
t of place in the splendour of thethrone-room.
SUPERNATURAL HORROR IN LITERATURE
by H. P. Lovecraft
(Copyright 1927 by W. Paul Cook)
Part Three
This type of fear-literature must not be confounded with a typeexternally similar but psychologically widely different; theliterature of mere physical fear and the mundanely gruesome. Suchwriting, to be sure, has its place, as has the conventional or evenwhimsical or humorous ghost story where formalism or the author'sknowing wink removes the true sense of the morbidly unnatural; butthese things are not the literature of cosmic fear in its purestsense. The true weird tale has something more than secret murder,bloody bones, or a sheeted form clanking chains according to rule. Acertain atmosphere of breathless and unexplainable dread of outer,unknown forces must be present; and there must be a hint, expressedwith a seriousness and portentousness becoming its subject, of thatmost terrible conception of the human brain--a malign and particularsuspension or defeat of those fixed laws of Nature which are our onlysafeguard against the assaults of chaos and daemons of unplumbedspace.
Naturally we cannot expect all weird tales to conform absolutely toany theoretical model. Creative minds are uneven, and the best fabricshave their dull spots. Moreover, much of the choicest weird work isunconscious; appearing in memorable fragments scattered throughmaterial whose massed effect may be of a very different cast.Atmosphere is the all-important thing, for the final criterion ofauthenticity is not the dovetailing of a plot but the creation of agiven sensation. We may say, as a general thing, that a weird storywhose intent is to teach or produce a social effect, or one in whichthe horrors are finally explained away by natural means, is not agenuine tale of cosmic fear; but it remains a fact that suchnarratives often possess, in isolated sections, atmospheric toucheswhich fulfil every condition of the true supernatural horror-literature.Therefore we must judge a weird tale not by the author's intent, or bythe mere mechanics of the plot; but by the emotional level which itattains at its least mundane point. If the proper sensations areexcited, such a "high spot" must be admitted on its own merits asweird literature, no matter how prosaically it is later dragged down.The one test of the really weird is simply this--whether or not therebe excited in the reader a profound sense of dread, and of contactwith unknown spheres and powers; a subtle attitude of awed listening,as if for the beating of black wings or the scratching of outsideshapes and entities on the known universe's utmost rim. And, ofcourse, the more completely and unifiedly a story conveys thisatmosphere, the better it is as a work of art in the given medium.
(Next month Mr. Lovecraft takes up "The Dawn of the Horror Tale.")
Spurs of Death
by Natalie H. Wooley
The warden leaned back in his chair as he watched the door close, thenturned to the man who stood looking out of the window.
"Well, Jim?" he queried. The other came slowly back to the desk andreseated himself. His face was puzzled.
"Who was that, Tom? He seems strangely familiar, and yet I can't seemto place him."
"That man was Cliff Williams, the cowboy murderer," said the warden."You may have seen his picture in the papers. He gets the chair nextmonth for the three murders he has committed."
Jim Kelton registered surprise.
"He doesn't look like the sort of person to do such a thing like that.He seems almost a kid."
The warden smiled grimly. "His looks are deceiving. He has killedthree men in the last ten years, and as far as anyone knows, withoutany reason. I'll tell you the story, if you care to hear it."
The other assented.
"Well, the first one was a cow hand down in Texas about ten years ago.He was working on a ranch down there and he and this fellow got in anargument over something. He shot him. Then he raked his face open withhis spurs. That was the thing that trapped him in the end. Every timehe killed, he marked his victim's face. Horrible, I grant you. Well,he disappeared, and finally the case was forgotten. He was a kid ofnineteen or twenty then. Five years later he turned up in Oregon.Worked on the Lazy T ranch there. All the men liked him, too. He wasquiet, knew his business, and never talked much. Then one day, he camein from line camp and the foreman gave him his pay. There seemed to besome mistake in it, and he went to the ranch house to see Danby, theowner. None of the boys noticed him come out, but when the cook wentto call him to dinner, he found Danby dead. Choked to death, his faceripped open, and the cowboy gone. When they went to look for Williams,he was gone. When they next heard of him, the police got a call toinvestigate a brawl in a Laredo saloon. When they arrived and brokethrough the circle, they saw two men struggling. Suddenly one fell,and then before they could reach Williams, he lifted his spurred foot,and slashed the face of the fallen man. Then they got him. Then thepolice started for him. They got him after a terrible fight. The otherfellow died in the hospital shortly after." The warden shook his head."He's a tough one. Never a muscle when they sentenced him."
"Too bad." Jim Kelton rose and picked up his hat. "Well, guess I'dbetter run along. Come out for a game of bridge some night, Tom. Ellenwas saying the other day that we never see you any more."
The warden opened the door for his friend. "I'll be out some nightsoon," he promised, smiling.
As Williams stood waiting for the trusty to unlock the door of hiscell, his eyes met those of Lawrie, the man in the next cell. Betweenthe two had grown up an active dislike, the more threatening becauseunspoken. At least, so far. It remained for Claffin, across the way,to bring the thing out into the open. They were all discussing anexpected arrival.
Said Claffin, "I guess this new bird it plenty tough. He murdered hiswife and two kids. That's even worse than 'cowboy' there."
Lawrie cut in sneeringly. "I don't agree with you. He didn't carve 'emup afterwards like Williams did. Nobody in their right mind could do athing like that. I couldn't, and neither could any of the rest of youfellows," he charged. No one answered. The others knew of the enmitybetween the two, and a strained silence filled the place. Then atlast, Williams spoke, his voice hoarse, fairly quivering with rage.
"All right, Lawrie, you've said plenty. I'll remember it. And don'tforget this; you'll be next! You'll be next!" he repeated, harshly.Lawrie laughed, mockingly. The guard coming down the hall put a stopto further conversation for the time being. But now the quarrelbetween the two was out in the open, and through the following daysand weeks, Lawrie seemed possessed of some imp of perversity andtaunted and gibed at Williams continuously. Much of the time, the'cowboy murderer' lay on his back on the cot and stared sullenly atthe ceiling, only turning at times to throw Lawrie a venomous glance.At times, Lawrie grew ashamed for taunting a doomed man, but somethinginside of him, stronger than he, urged him on implacably. Once in awhile, he shuddered at the looks given him by the other, and silentlyhe blessed the bars that kept them apart.
Then came William's last morning. The prison chaplain came toadminister the last rites, but fled before the storm of curses thatmet him. After his departure, a long silence fell that lasted tillthey came for him. Even Lawrie was silent and sat soberly watching. Asthey brought him out, and he passed Lawrie, he stopped and looked in.His eyes, filled with immeasurable hatred, met those of Lawrie. On hisface was a malignant sneer.
"Remember, you're next," he said slowly, and passed on down thecorridor. Lawrie watched his retreating form till it passed fromsight. Claffin called across in a hoarse whisper. "What do you make ofthis; Williams asked them to bury him with his spurs on. Funny, isn'tit?"
Lawrie did not answer for the reason that at the word 'spurs,' aqueerly premonitory chill passed over him. Uneasily, he recalled theother's parting word and the cold, evil hatred of the other's glance.He tried to shake off the cold, chilly feeling that was settlingover him, but without success. There seemed to be an indefinablechange in the atmosphere, a sense of something horrible about tohappen. They all felt it, in a lesser degree. The gray day draggedalong, and conversation lagged. By common consent, they all avoidedgl
ancing at the empty cell. It seemed too potent a reminder of thething that waited for them all. Dusk settled down and shadows began tofill the corners. And then Lawrie glancing idly out the door of hiscell, gave a startled cry. There in the shadows before his cell door,he saw something. A shadow that formed, that seemed to pause andlinger before him. Then, as he cried out, it melted into nothing andwas gone.
His heart was beating fast, pounding with the nameless fear that heldhim in an ever-tightening grip. The sense of impending calamity drewcloser. He began to shake.
"What's wrong?" called Claffin, curiously, his voice low.
Lawrie, eyes fastened on the empty cell next to him, did not answer.He could not. He was watching something--something that formed beforehis eyes into a man, a shadowy figure that smiled horribly and woregleaming spurs. He saw it form, growing clearer and drawing nearer thebars. The shadowy eyes gazed back into his terrified ones, and then hescreamed at the thing he read in them. A scream that died in histhroat in a gurgle as he fell heavily.
The guard came running. "What's going on here?" he demanded, angrily.He peered in suspiciously at the fallen figure. At last they enteredthe silent cell and raised him to his cot. He was dead. And across thehorror that death had stamped indelibly on his face, there ran thelivid gash of a spur!
ABOUT AUTHORS
Clark Ashton Smith makes very little use of alliterations and hasprobably invented more alien names for the characters in his storiesthan any other author.... There are quite a few writers whose firstinitials are E. E.... A few of them are: Speight, Smith, Repp,Chappelow, and Newton.... Miss Leslie F. Stone was taken for a man,even after her picture had been printed in Wonder. Probably that iswhy a new one was drawn for "The Hell Planet" in the June, 1932number.... Jack Williamson wrote science fiction more than three yearsbefore he tackled weird stories, and now seems to be doing a good jobat both.... Malcolm Afford's story, "The Gland Men of the Island" inWonder was printed in Amazing by mistake over two years later underthe name of "The Ho-Ming Gland." This case shows to what extent theeditors revise each story. Compare both stories and you will find manychanges of one over the other, especially at the conclusion ... Kaw,Anthos, and Marius: authors without first names.... Gernsback was theonly editor who imported foreign stories and translated them intoEnglish for his science fiction publications. Fletcher Pratt, anauthor of note himself, usually does the translating.... Weird Taleshas had the largest number of authors who have never had a secondstory appear.... How many are familiar with Bertram Atkey's fantasticstories in Blue Book? In 1930 he had a series of humorousreincarnation stories published there....