Page:Weird Tales volume 02 number 03.djvu/79

 The Cauldron

True Adventures of Terror

CONDUCTED BY

PRESTON LANGLEY HICKEY

the columns of THE CAULDRON are open to all those knowing of or having experienced genuinely weird or horrifying adventures, the editor wishes to make plain that no more manuscripts dealing with ghosts or any phase of spiritualism will be considered, unless they are of unusual merit. This step is taken because THE CAULDRON is not a department of psychic phenomena, and to discourage authors from submitting articles along these lines, scores of which are received daily. What THE CAULDRON wants, as we state in our heading, are "True Adventures of Terror," and not impossible "spirit" stories.

(Here is an interesting article, especially so since it represents the work of a fourteen-year-old author.)

DIED exactly five years ago. That day was somewhat like today and I can remember clearly everything that happened.

Death had always been the most over-shadowing and terrible thought in my life. Often I spent sleepless nights thinking and brooding about death and what should become of me. People laughed at me for this fear ndand [sic] my few friends pitied me. I hoped that some day I would get over it, but it was impossible.

When I entered college I had only a few chums, and that is the way it remained during my whole college career. I spent my time either in going on long walks or in reading. I never went out into social life at all, and dreams of athletic glory never occupied my mind. It was probably because I did not enter into anything pleasant that these morbid fits came over me.

One day, while I was reading in my room, I suddenly became terribly ill, I quickly threw myself on the bed and gradually my dizzy feeling left me. In its place I felt violent shooting pains around my heart. I saw black spots dancing wildly in front of my eyes and then, blackness and unconsciousness.

When I could see again I was gazing directly at the New York banner which hung over my roommate's bed. I tried to look elsewhere, but found that I could not do so, and when I tried to move my body my efforts were likewise in vain.

I wondered if this was death, the death that I had always feared, and yet, I asked myself, how could it be? All my senses were with me, even if I could not control my body or breath. I wondered what would become of me, what they would think when they discovered me, and if I would recover?

Then through sort of a misty faze, I saw all the incidents of my past existence. How unhappy I had been, living a life of unfriendliness filled with gloomy thoughts. Then I lapsed into unconsciousness.

When I came to, I was lying in the same position as before. I heard footsteps coming up the hall. My roommate came shuffling into the room and turning to me, he said:

"Sorry you didn't see the game, Ben. It was fine."

I felt that way too, although I could not answer.

"Are you sick?" he asked, presently.

Again I could not answer him although I strained as hard as I could.

"Gee!" he muttered, "I guess I had better get someone to look after you."

He hurridhurried [sic] away and presently returned leading Dr. Brantly, the dormitory doctor. He came over and put his ear to my breast, Then turning slowly to my roommate, Lee—

"Richard," he said, solemnly, "this boy has been dead for about two hours. Heart failure, I guess."

"What!" cried Lee, "dead! Yet," he added, "I thought it would be his heart, or some abnormal death, for he was always brooding over something gruesome, and especially about death."

"Too bad," said the doctor, "that boy, I have always felt a strange attraction for. He was possessed of good mental powers, and it is sad that his peculiar dread ruined an otherwise promising life."

The doctor was a large man with big shoulders. His face was round and merry-looking, and his big gray eyes were nearly always twinkling. They were not now, however, as he bent over me and gently closed my eyelids. Then he spread a blanket over my whole body.

"Where does he live?" asked the doctor.

"In Whitehall, Pennsylvania," answered Lee. "His father and mother were killed in a railroad accident. He has a guardian uncle, Mr. Wooding, who is sending him through college. Whitehall is where his mother and father are buried, so I guess that is the only place to send his remains."

His words went deep into my soul. For the first time I realized my true plight. I was going to be buried alive. I tried and pulled and strained to move, and speak, and let them know I was alive. But it was useless. Then again I lost consciousness.

When I came to my senses again I found that I was breathing, but nearly suffocated. I wondered where I was and tried to rise; but could not do so because I was blocked by something above me. Then I remembered that I was supposed to be dead, and this was probably my coffin. I shuddered when I though I had awakened too late, that perhaps I was indeed buried alive. But I did not give up hope although I was nervous and nearly fainting. I tapped the upper boards with my fingers and the sound was sufficient to tell me that there was no heavy weight resting on the coffin. I braced my stiff shoulders against the lid, expecting to find resistance, but it was not even nailed and was easily lifted off, without much noise.

With much effort I got upon my feet. My whole body ached and my limbs were stiff as a result of my cramped position in the coffin. I then turned my attention to finding out where I was. I heard a clock ticking in the corner of the room. I walked over toward it. At the same time the moon rose from behind the trees and the moonlight flooded the room. Then I realized that I was at the home of my uncle, James Wooding.

I asked myself if I should go to him, but I knew what a shock it would be, and I was convinced of the fact that Uncle Jim had no real affection for me, but just pitied me, I decided that no one should know.

Softly I tiptoed to the next room, and gathering some heavy books and a small rug, I deposited them in the coffin. Then I draped the cloth that had covered my own body, over this pile of junk. I replaced the top and was about to leave when it suddenly occurred to me to see what time it was. I looked at the clock, and by the light of the moon I could see it was exactly twelve. By the calendar hanging near I found it was Friday, October 15th. I suddenly realized that it was my birthday, and also that I was born at twelve o'clock, twenty-three years ago. Now here I was born again, risen from the coffin.

I crawled silently out of an open window into the cold night. I felt weak and stiff, but after walking a while I limbered up and was able to break into a run. I don't remember how far I ran, but the strain was too great and finally I fell to the road exhausted.

The next thing I remember was the warm breath of a nurse who was bending over me. She told me how I was found delirious on the road and was brought to a hospital. When I asked her, she said I would be able to leave in a week, and that I was in Townville, which was not far from Philadelphia. She gave me a paper to read, and glancing it over, I saw a short notice about my funeral. No one had found out.

That was five years ago. Now, indeed am I born again. The fear of death has left me, and I am living a happy, normal life. And furthermore, I know the sweetest girl in the whole world is engaged to me. JOHN W. WALTON.

(The authenticity of this article is doubtful. It is published simply for any interest it may contain for our readers who are radio "fans.")

T WAS MY fortune when a child to have been gifted with an uncanny knowledge of Science; that branch of Science which deals with Electricity particularly held my attention.