Page:Weird Tales volume 11 number 02.pdf/13

156 neither bestial nor human, but more terrific than either. We fought its leaps and rushes, and fought the horror with which it was inspiring us; struggled against the awful weariness which dulled us and prompted us to cease resisting our fate beneath those vicious claws which sought to grind us into the floor as they had crushed and torn Miggles.

Mark and Paul, vigorous and aggressive as they were, panted and groaned in the despair of that hideous combat, striving to gain a moment’s respite from that monster which rushed and battered us against the walls, the furniture, scattering everything before it. Nor did we dare relinquish our fast-weakening grip on the demon, lest it overwhelm us ere we could escape its triumphant charge. There was no escape from that vortex of horror, the driving, relentless mentality of which increased as we weakened.

Light! Great God, if we could only have a ray of light we might overcome this victorious Juggernaut which crushed and butted the life out of us, saw clearly in the darkness which confused us and nullified our efforts, shattered whatever co-operation might have turned the tide our way: for the cunning of the beast rather than its fierce energy dominated us.

And finally, despite its efforts, I did jab my finger into the pushbutton on the wall near the door against whose jamb the demon almost flattened me. Light! Brilliant, dazzling light that no sun-worshiper ever welcomed as we did!

The table shuddered convulsively and thumped from its rampant position to the floor.

My friends were so white and haggard that I scarcely knew them. Mark’s mouth bled; Paul was bruised and scarred; I was battered black and blue; and our clothes were in shreds.

“Thank God for light!” repeated Mark with more reverence than I had ever thought him capable of.

And we backed out of the drawingroom, not daring to turn our backs to that wooden monster.

The three of us sank into a heavy sleep from which we did not emerge until nearly noon.

with coffee and several slugs A of brandy, we ventured into the drawing-room to contemplate the havoc wrought by that fearful combat; and not even daylight would entirely restore our courage. I stared at that lustrously gleaming table, and wondered how nearly those fine, fierce claws had missed a second immersion in blood; and then I glanced at Paul and Mark. A common impulse drew us to the fireplace.

Paul kindled a fire.

“Yes. I’ll chop the damned thing to bits and bum it,” I exclaimed quite needlessly. “Watch that beast while I get an ax.”

Mark, whose bruises and lacerations were quite painful, would not hear of first aid, and insisted that the execution take place at once.

My friends mustered up their courage and maneuvered that devilish, beautiful table into position so that I could swing freely without being cramped by chandeliers or furniture. We all felt that an extraordinary blow would be needed to cleave asunder that ghoulish lump of tropical wood: the savagery of its assault was still painfully fresh in our minds.

I squared off, getting as good a stance as I could on the polished floor; gripped the ax, poised it, made a practise swing, all the while eyeing that wooden monster, seeking a joint in its top, a vulnerable spot which would yield under my first blow: for I was possessed with the thought that the first stroke had to be mortal, else the thing would overwhelm us in its frenzy.