Page:Weird Tales Volume 2 Number 2 (1923-09).djvu/80

Weird adventures, it seems, are not confined to the printed page. Life is full of them. And quite often the unusual things that actually happen are even more remarkable than the strange events (wholly fictitious) that you encounter in Weird Tales.

In our mail this morning are letters from persons who not only read Weird Tales—and enjoy reading it and tell us so—but who also can speak, from first-hand knowledge, of weird experiences. And they enjoy these, too, and likewise write to tell us about them.

We remarked last month, in this department, that almost everybody likes to read a weird tale occasionally. And now, after going through our morning mail, we feel urged to add that people also like to live them.

Among these letters that we mention is one from Zahrah E. Preble of New York City, who recently joined the Hendricks-Hodge Archeological Expedition that journeyed to New Mexico for the purpose of digging into the prehistoric customs of an ancient people. Miss Preble is now with the expedition at Zuni, New Mexico, and from there she writes us thus:

"My dear Mr. Baird: I am convinced that the Zunis are adepts at rain making. The sky had been cloudless until the old priests started to the Sacred Lake, 60 miles away. Then faint wisps began to form into clouds. But no rain fell until day before yesterday, when the rain priests from Zuni came out to the sacred spring in Ojo Caliente, and met the returning pilgrims from the Sacred Lake. Here we were allowed to witness a most wonderfully impressive and reverent ceremony. I think we are perhaps the only white people, with the exception of Frank Hamilton Cushing and Mrs. Matilda Stevenson, who have ever been allowed to see this part of the ceremony. But our camp was given not only that privilege, but the one of taking motion pictures of it, so that the Museum of the American Indian, Heye Foundation, would have the record. Before we left the mountain side the rain was falling in torrents.

"Yesterday the ceremony was augmented by the more spectacular and better-known 'Rain Dance,' in Zuni. It is a beautiful and solemn performance. Rain fell last night in copious quantities. Today it is raining as I write this, and the music of the waters is drumming on my tent fly. I say that the Zunis are great rain makers, and that Faith is the keynote of their ability!

"So far, I have been too busy absorbing new sights and sounds to do much writing, but, if the wind does not blow too hard each day, I hope to accomplish something before long.

"There is an interesting historical tale of the murder of Father Latrado, right in front of the old Spanish Mission church, in 1670, which is one of the most picturesque parts of the Hawikuh ruins. Perhaps I can reconstruct that scene sufficiently weirdly to make a good yarn for you. I will keep it in mind."

Those of our readers who are intrigued by the occult—and we believe that many of them are—will probably be interested in the next letter, which comes from F. A. Ells-Over of San Diego, California:

"Dear Friend: I fully realize that the death of Captain Buckman (in the accompanying story) is seemingly far from logical. Not that I believe, personally, that it is possible; yet some occultists concede the actuality of such phenomena.

"I obtained the idea for this weird climax in an occult paper the name of which I have forgotten—it is so long ago—but I could not forget the article. It was an account of a materializing séance, at which a well-known medium was successfully evoking physical manifestations of the dead. Closely watched, he could plainly be seen in his cabinet; and the phantasm of a dear departed male was taking form.

"In the group was a young, impetuous fellow who had never before dabbled in that sort of thing—and he was scared stiff. The thing had become substance, objectively, now, and it ambled slowly toward the young man.

"It came closer. The boy’s hair stood straight up. The thing brushed his sleeve as it passed, sending strange shivers up his spine. With a yell, he lashed out with a mean left to the phantom’s right eye; then closed with it, wrestling. The thing disintegrated in his arms. He fainted.

"The next day the medium was very sick and used up. And his right eye was black as black can be!

"That is the article. I can’t vouch for its truth; but it is as near as I can remember a true account of the piece I read years ago in that occult paper. Evidently the medium had materialized his own astral body, and the blow reflected in his physical shell. Science claims that the witches of old used this same process.

"At any rate, dear Ed. (coincidence, the abbreviation of your name and occupation are the same!) I send this in for what it is worth. They say nothing is impossible, and who sabes the occult?

"And if nothing is impossible—and if you leave..."