Page:Weird Tales Volume 45 Number 3 (1953-07).djvu/53

"Lies, lies," I muttered, but he had left. His fear of me was genuine, though, which is why I do not think he is the real source. But he is close to it. The real source would not be afraid. Somehow I have never formulated a plan for dealing with the real source.

April 22:

Events are shaping quickly. From exhaustive studies of various areas in our town I can now reveal that It is in my immediate neighborhood. All last night I prayed for guidance as Kate snored stupidly in the next room. She would never understand, poor shadow-ridden soul that she is. But it is in my power to help her as it is to help Mr. George and all mankind. Poor Kate! Now she misunderstands my gift of vision! Today she called in a doctor. They were waiting for me as I came in; leering at me quietly. This doctor is a cool one with his brain half consumed with the shadow. He gave me a physical, pronouncing me unusually fit. "I don't understand," he kept shaking his head. But I knew he did and his subsequent questioning showed he understood—partially at least. "When did you first take up this-er-street walking?"

I was quick to see the trap. "Oh, about a week ago, I guess," I smiled straight at him.

"Why do you do this, Sam? May I call you Sam?"

Oh, he was an oily ingratiating one! "Of course," I said. "I walk the streets for my health," I lied—in a good cause, of course.

"But your wife said—" he caught himself.

"My wife, sir, says a lot of things."

The doctor then gave a shrug and moved out into our gallery. My wife had already excused herself, saying, "I want to get some air." But I knew she lied, that she really wanted to have a chat with the doctor—secretly. Oh, I know they are hatching some plot against me, but it doesn't matter. I have God on my side and with just a few more days I shall have the Source of It. Just a few more days.

April 26:

These have been trying days! My wife has nearly undone me! Oh, I suppose I underestimated her, but I didn't think she would move so quickly. I was right about that plot on our gallery, but how could they have gotten me committed so quickly. Well, there is no use complaining now; all my previous work is undone. But there is one thing I can still do—observe. At least, too, I am near home. This is comforting.

My observations have not been so objective due, undoubtedly, to my overwrought condition. But in time my vision will clarify itself again. However, Roseridge is such a small place with so few faces to analyze that I fear that I shall never even get near the source. Also it is difficult to pray in this dormitory with all these pitifully deranged people about me. The nurses and doctors don't mind my praying or my walking about the dormitory on observations. No, they "don't mind me." I think the proper word is "humoring." Ah, if only they knew my plan!

All the people I have observed (albeit cursorily) thus far are contaminated, especially the doctors with their stupid questioning. I can also reveal that I "interest" them.

April 27:

Well, this has been a day, I can tell you! First I met Tweed and secondly I learned that I could go before the appeal board tomorrow. I had just concluded my morning prayers and was about to leave my bed area on my morning rounds when this fellow Tweed came down the aisle. Everyone had told me he was the incorrigible one: a hopeless, but cheerful idiot who was committed when he was nine or ten. His lips were constantly trembling; there was a bit of foaming saliva trickling down his agaping jaw. I looked in a terrible fascination at him for the first time as you might look at a Bushman who would almost, but not quite past muster as human. Tweed turned in the direction of my bed and stared right through me. It seemed to me that his eyes were all black pupil. He turned to leave for the grounds (for he had complete access to Roseridge, as I had) when I spoke. "You-you are Tweed?"

I did not expect from what the others had told me that he was capable of coherent speech. But he answered in perfect diction.