tuting i^redericks-
•-Virginia. March 21-24.
Qrotesque Fanlasu
MONTAGOE UBkak, “
m-
gh
em
nd
r ®dge of the Everglad-
could be very trite and call it
ping a date with destiny. But
■e It was—my date with des-
e’l tk fate—in that
ere on the edge of the
like hanging moss—always jusi,
beyond my fingers, shrouded in
flimsy, drifting vapor
nv
k with d ®
k with darkness, and the deep-
,/d voice startled me: “You
It somethin?”
iaTllf'’r^ explain to the
whe T I 'vas
died in^ oddly-twisted form
^dled in a greasy blanket, but it
Dutrb ^ 'horror slithering
^ touched the
1 mv ^"®*de me,
y whisper was loud and
Ping in the dark silence, “wL
But days and nights and years
of endless work and failure killed
something inside me; a tight look
of defeat and fear in Carla’s eyes
showed her disbelief; the sullen
loneliness of the swamps fogged
my mind, and finally, in self-dis
gust, I flung my damned concoc
tion of elements into the swamp
and got ready to leave. A week
passed, or maybe two; I was mak
ing a final check on the apparatus
the morning that I heard Carla
screaming. I cursed my worthless,
shriveled legs and dragged myself
to the door; and in the green haze
of the swamp’s dawn, I saw it.
•IONTAGOE uwouu
--aiwa"” S»i ’^SeV'yeet. The corse and the ae-
cusation that I saw in her eyes
clipped a thread in my mind, and I
was horribly aware of insanity
oozing over me as I watched her.
Crazed by fear, she fought with
the frenzied strength of a mad
woman; when she finally tore her
self loose, I was near enough to
see a foot and a hand sucked into
the retreating ooze. Before I could
move, Carla had disappeared —
crawling off into the murky
swamplands in a loose, disjointed
way, more animal than woman. I
was alone with that hellish mass
and the echoes of my own terrified
screams.
:he
surprise
‘‘n. With a wave of his
IwnTd
-uid ik that
As I watched, a turgid, grayish
mass swallowed up two terrified
natives and their tiny canoe; and
then with amoeboid movement, it
dis
Voice
e slidioc ^ minor
e shd ng about me like water-
d 'vater, and
0 Jv b --wled
atures r slimy, swamp
1 I could^o f me,
en. Maybe the fii®ve—and
rv T 1 ^ the Indian told the
y. I know that he began it but
seemed that the ’ ^
‘Then were the horror-riddled
days of warning men who came in
to the swamp—only to have de
riding laughter thrown at me of
watching them become part of that
Hell beneath the slime, of the un
controllable retching at the sick-
- A ening sound of their gurglinsr
shrieks. How long? An eternity of
hours, days, or maybe years before
one called Joe, pitying a bundle of
desolate madness, brought me out
—and then went back. I watched
him struggle too, and I heard his
shrill cries just as if I had been
there; even now, I can see him
stinking slime, sliding on and on
—never stopping, never dying.”
Alma Altman
fteH ”7'' ®®vie sound
its of terror’p ^ swirling
or against my face.
igerous ’ ‘^ot
ifused.’’TheT m
a haum-oei “ * tbe
•nal ^ these in-
JinmpTii ^ help set up my
a raw heie, I was obsessed
ss-?I of its close-
press ^ ^ rotting
®tnmp, caught in thread-
settled back under the slime of the
swamp water. I was sickened by
fear, but a flaming triumph
scorched my body. It was as if Hell
had laid her egg and hatched it
there in the rotting stench and the
stagnant slime of the fermenting
water; the impossible had happen
ed, and there was life in the mass
I had created.
Was there a change in the
voice? Deep-pitched tones — the
Indian’s voice—pierced the thick
mist inside my head; “Jest sets
eats sometimes. He’s dead—dead
as he knows how to git—thinks
he’s living elements—won’t never
die—.”
“Centuries of weird, triumphant
thought careened across my brain,
but triumph dulled before a blast
of fear; Carla’s screaming was
more than just frightened cries; it
was choking, retching shrieks of
terror. I glanced around, and icy
horror thickened my blood; she
was struggling with a tentacle-like
part of the mass flowing around
Blood was a red-hot throbbing
in my forehead, and a scream
gurgled up through my throat and
coiled against my lips. There was
a heavy ache in my stomach, and
for a minute, I felt very tired and
very old. After endless, agonized
effort, I stood up and started
toward the rectangle of light that
was the door. I heard, or maybe I
just, sensed a sluggish movement
that drew my eyes toward the
(Continued on Page 18)
hilltop—PAGE THREE
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