keeping them canned up like that—maybe they all saw it was a chance to get a body and live again. . . . . They must have all crowded inside and taken possession of his body at once. . . . wonder what his astral did?
Maybe they fought. . . .
Anyhow, they couldn’t all occupy one body, and so. . . .
This thought is driving me crazy.
The ambulance boys say I’m getting jumpy.
This hospital gives me the creeps.
Guess I’ll see if I can’t get another job.
The Specter
By MILES J. BREUER
I dwell alone, behind the stone,
In the Shadow’s grisly gloom;
My watch I keep when flesh-folk sleep,
Before Grohrishou’s tomb.
At dank midnight in sulfur light
My pallid shape I show;
And those that see, in terror flee,
Nor ever respite know.
I glide among the staring throng
Of gravestones in the dark,
For here I reign; ’tis my domain,
This ghoulish Dead Men’s Park.
And in the rooms of ghastly tombs
I rattle dead men’s bones;
My shrieking laughs ’neath epitaphs
Are heard ’mid sighs and groans,
In every storm I show my form,
The timids’ blood to freeze;
I haunt their halls, their ruined walls;
I leer from out the trees.
I live alone behind the stone,
Whose gray top reeks with gore;
Each thing that runs my presence shuns—
Alone forevermore!
