Part 13 (1/2)

”That's it! If you could get the materials now-you know what I need-go to the drugstore-but hurry up because-”

I shook my head. Gulther was nebulous, s.h.i.+mmery. I saw him through a mist.

Then I heard him yell.

”You d.a.m.ned fool! Look at me. me. That's my shadow you're staring at!” That's my shadow you're staring at!”

I ran out of the room, and in less than ten minutes I was trying to fill a vial with belladonna with fingers that trembled like lumps of jelly.

I must have looked like a fool, carrying that armful of packages through the outer office. Candles, chalk, phosphorus, aconite, belladonna, and-blame it on my hysteria-the dead body of an alleycat I decoyed behind the store.

Certainly I felt like a fool when Fritz Gulther met me at the door of his sanctum.

”Come on in,” he snapped.

Yes, snapped.

It took only a glance to convince me that Gulther had his cool again. Whatever the black change that frightened us so had been, he'd shook it off while I was gone.

Once again the trumpet voice held authority. Once again the sneering smile replaced the apologetic crease in the mouth.

Gulther's skin was white, normal. His movements were brisk and no longer frightened. He didn't need any wild spells-or had he ever, really?

Suddenly I felt as though I'd been a victim of my own imagination. After all, men don't make bargains with demons, they don't change places with their shadows.

The moment Gulther closed the door his words corroborated my mood.

”Well, I've snapped out of it. Foolish nonsense, wasn't it?” He smiled easily. ”Guess we won't need that junk after all. Right when you left I began to feel better. Here, sit down and take it easy.”

I sat. Gulther rested on the desk nonchalantly swinging his legs.

”All that nervousness, that strain, has disappeared. But before I forget it, I'd like to apologize for telling you that crazy story about sorcery and my obsession. Matter of fact, I'd feel better about the whole thing in the future if you just forgot all this ever happened.”

I nodded.

Gulther smiled again.

”That's right. Now we're ready to get down to business. I tell you, it's a real relief to realize the progress we're going to make. I'm head research director already, and if I play my cards right I think I'll be running this place in another three months. Some of the things Newsohm told me today tipped me off. So just play ball with me and we'll go a long way. A long way. And I can promise you one thing-I'll never have any of these crazy spells again.”

There was nothing wrong with what Gulther said here. Nothing wrong with any of it. There was nothing wrong with the way Gulther lolled and smiled at me, either.

Then why did I suddenly get that old crawling sensation along my spine?

For a moment I couldn't place it-and then I realized.

Fritz Gulther sat on his desk, before the wall, but now he cast no shadow. but now he cast no shadow.

Where had it gone?

There was only one place for it to go. And if it had gone there, then-where was Fritz Gulther?

He read it in my eyes.

I read it in his swift gesture.

Gulther's hand dipped into his pocket and reemerged. As it rose, I rose, and sprang across the room.

I gripped the revolver, pressed it back and away, and stared into his convulsed countenance, into his eyes. Behind the gla.s.ses, behind the human pupils, there was only a blackness. The cold, grinning blackness of a shadow.

Then he snarled, arms clawing up as he tried to wrest the weapon free, aim it. His body was cold, curiously weightless, but filled with a slithering strength. I felt myself go limp under those icy, scrabbing talons, but as I gazed into those two dark pools of hate that were his eyes, fear and desperation lent me aid.

A single gesture, and I turned the muzzle in. The gun exploded, and Gulther slumped to the floor.

They crowded in then; they stood and stared down, too. We all stood and stared down at the body lying on the floor.

Body? There was Fritz Gulther's shoes, his s.h.i.+rt, his tie, his expensive blue suit. The toes of his shoes pointed up, the s.h.i.+rt and tie and suit were creased and filled out to support a body beneath.

But there was no body on the floor. There was only a shadow-a deep, black shadow, encased in Fritz Gulther's clothes.

n.o.body said a word for a long minute. Then one of the girls whispered, ”Look-it's just a shadow.”

I bent down quickly and shook the clothes. As I did so, the shadow seemed to move beneath my fingers, to move and to melt.

In an instant it slithered free from the garments. There was a flash-or a final retinal impression of blackness, and the shadow was gone. The clothing sagged down into an empty huddled heap on the floor.

I rose and faced them. I couldn't say it loud, but I could say it gratefully, very gratefully.

”No,” I said. ”You're mistaken. There's no shadow there. There's nothing at all-absolutely nothing at all.”

AUGUST DERLETH.

August William Derleth was born in 1909 in Sauk City, Wisconsin, where he spent most of his life. He sold his first story to Weird Tales Weird Tales at the age of seventeen, in 1926, and contributed prolifically to that pulp magazine for much of its run. Also in 1926, he came into contact with H. P. Lovecraft, whose influence upon his work would be decisive. Corresponding prolifically with Lovecraft, he became acquainted with many of Lovecraft's colleagues, including Donald Wandrei, Clark Ashton Smith, and Robert E. Howard. After Lovecraft's death in 1937, Derleth and Wandrei established the publis.h.i.+ng firm of Arkham House to issue Lovecraft's tales in hardcover; Arkham House would become the most prestigious small-press publisher of supernatural fiction in the United States. at the age of seventeen, in 1926, and contributed prolifically to that pulp magazine for much of its run. Also in 1926, he came into contact with H. P. Lovecraft, whose influence upon his work would be decisive. Corresponding prolifically with Lovecraft, he became acquainted with many of Lovecraft's colleagues, including Donald Wandrei, Clark Ashton Smith, and Robert E. Howard. After Lovecraft's death in 1937, Derleth and Wandrei established the publis.h.i.+ng firm of Arkham House to issue Lovecraft's tales in hardcover; Arkham House would become the most prestigious small-press publisher of supernatural fiction in the United States.

Derleth established a mainstream reputation with such works as Place of Hawks Place of Hawks (1935) and (1935) and Evening in Spring Evening in Spring (1941), which richly evoked the history, topography, and personalities of his native Wisconsin. Sinclair Lewis wrote a laudatory article on him in (1941), which richly evoked the history, topography, and personalities of his native Wisconsin. Sinclair Lewis wrote a laudatory article on him in Esquire Esquire in 1945. But Derleth failed to become a mainstream author recognized outside his home state, largely because his prodigious literary work in many different fields tended to dissipate his energies. Aside from his publis.h.i.+ng activities, he edited several important anthologies of horror and science fiction, notably in 1945. But Derleth failed to become a mainstream author recognized outside his home state, largely because his prodigious literary work in many different fields tended to dissipate his energies. Aside from his publis.h.i.+ng activities, he edited several important anthologies of horror and science fiction, notably The Night Side The Night Side (1944) and (1944) and Dark of the Moon: Poems of Fantasy and the Macabre Dark of the Moon: Poems of Fantasy and the Macabre (1947). He wrote many tales of the Cthulhu Mythos under Lovecraft's inspiration, although he failed to understand the philosophical direction of Lovecraft's invention and has been much criticized for leading it in a direction Lovecraft would probably not have approved. Derleth died in Sauk City in 1971. (1947). He wrote many tales of the Cthulhu Mythos under Lovecraft's inspiration, although he failed to understand the philosophical direction of Lovecraft's invention and has been much criticized for leading it in a direction Lovecraft would probably not have approved. Derleth died in Sauk City in 1971.

”The Lonesome Place,” first published in Famous Fantastic Mysteries Famous Fantastic Mysteries (February 1948) and collected in (February 1948) and collected in Lonesome Places Lonesome Places (1962), is perhaps Derleth's finest supernatural tale. Like much of his supernatural work, it relies on relatively conventional supernatural manifestations, but its execution is remarkably skillful. (1962), is perhaps Derleth's finest supernatural tale. Like much of his supernatural work, it relies on relatively conventional supernatural manifestations, but its execution is remarkably skillful.

THE LONESOME PLACE.

You who sit in your houses of nights, you who sit in the theatres, you who are gay at dances and parties-all you who are enclosed by four walls-you have no conception of what goes on outside in the dark. In the lonesome places. And there are so many of them, all over-in the country, in the small towns, in the cities. If you were out in the evenings, in the night, you would know about them, you would pa.s.s them and wonder, perhaps, and if you were a small boy you might be frightened . . . frightened the way Johnny Newell and I were frightened, the way thousands of small boys from one end of the country to the other are being frightened when they have to go out alone at night, past lonesome places, dark and lightless, sombre and haunted. . . .

I want you to understand that if it had not been for the lonesome place at the grain elevator, the place with the big old trees and the sheds up close to the sidewalk, and the piles of lumber-if it had not been for that place Johnny Newell and I would never have been guilty of murder. I say it even if there is nothing the law can do about it. They cannot touch us, but it is true, and I know, and Johnny knows, but we never talk about it, we never say anything; it is just something we keep here, behind our eyes, deep in our thoughts where it is a fact which is lost among thousands of others, but no less there, something we know beyond cavil.

It goes back a long way. But as time goes, perhaps it is not long. We were young, we were little boys in a small town. Johnny lived three houses away and across the street from me, and both of us lived in the block west of the grain elevator. We were never afraid to go past the lonesome place together. But we were not often together. Sometimes one of us had to go that way alone, sometimes the other. I went that way most of the time-there was no other, except to go far around, because that was the straight way down town, and I had to walk there, when my father was too tired to go.

In the evenings it would happen like this. My mother would discover that she had no sugar or salt or bologna, and she would say, ”Steve, you go down town and get it. Your father's too tired.”