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i L
eS pider Mansion
By FRITZ LEIBER
What was the terrible, terrifying rustling that haunted the house? And why did, naked Fear itself squat everywhere, in every corner?
TREMENDOUS splash of light- ning gave us our first glimpse of the pillared front of the Old Orne House—a pale Colonial mask framed by wildly whipping leaves. Then,
even before the lightning faded, it was blotted out by a solid sheet of muddy water sloshing up against the windshield.
“But I still don’t like midgets,” Helen said for the third time, “and besides—”
