Page:Weird Tales Volume 10 Number 6 (1927-12).djvu/84

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Weird Tales

power of my oath to her draw me back, till I enter the caverns with her and creep forth in the form of a bat to prey upon mankind. Before that can happen, I too will die.


Today in the city I heard that a horde of strange insects or small animals infested the pleasure camps last night. Some said, with horror-bated breath, that they perhaps were rats. None of them was seen; but in the morning nearly every camper had a strange, deep wound in his throat. I almost laughed aloud. They were so horrified at the idea of an army of rats, creeping into the tents and biting the sleeping occupants on their throats! If they had seen what I saw—if they knew that they are doomed to spread corruption——

So my own death will not be enough. Today I bought supplies for blasting. Tonight I will set my train of dynamite, from the hole I made in the cliff where the vampires creep in and out, along the row of tents, as far as the last one—then I shall light my fuse. It will be done before the dawn. Tomorrow, the city will mourn its dead and execrate my name.

And then, at last, in the slime beneath the unmoving waters of the canal, I shall find peace! But perhaps it will not be peace—for I shall seek it midway between the old boat with its cargo of death and the row of dismal houses where a little child was done to death when first she became the thing she is. That is my expiation.



THE JUNGLE

By Cristel Hastings

The snakelike vines reach out on every side,
Weaving a swing where chimpanzees may ride
And chatter in the sullen, lifeless noon
While all about the purple shadows swoon.

The crumbling logs of trees lie everywhere,
Encrusted with rare orchids here and there—
Deceiving bits of loveliness to lure
Unwary feet that brave the sodden moor.

The moon looks in between the fronded beams
Of wicked plants that stand, until it seems
The night is made of moss and leaf and bole—
A hopeless wood—a place without a soul.

Never a star looks in this silent gloom—
This tangled maze of green from Nature’s loom—
Never a sound, save macaws' chattering
And chimpanzees'—haunting their aerial swing.