Page:Weird Tales Volume 4 Number 2 (1924-05-07).djvu/96

these moving tresses began stealthily stealing about in front of me and over me. . . . Oh! I admit it! I was a coward. I dared not return to that tent. Instead, I dwelt upon the importance of a letter that I must post, even though it necessitated my walking nine miles to the nearest postoffice and back the next morning in time for work.

The following morning when I returned to camp Chad was drinking coffee and eating cold corn bread. He scarcely greeted me when I said "Good morning, Chad" and sat down upon a block of wood that I used at meal time for a chair. His right eye was bloodshot and I noticed that the muscles in that side of his face twitched at irregular intervals. The veins across his temples bulged out bold and prominent, the blue of them exaggerating their size. He held his coffee cup clasped between both hands—I wondered why. He replaced the cup upon the crude table with both hands. He bit hungrily at the pone of corn bread that he picked up immediately after releasing the cup.

I needed nothing more to tell me that Chad Wells had experienced a bad night, and that he was ih worse condition than I was after walking eighteen miles to and from the postoffice, following a night of torment with "That Thing."

"Chad," I said, trying to break a silence that was becoming uncomfortable, "the Atchafalaya is rising several inches a day and has been for the past week; back water up the Red is pushing into her, with all the tributaries of both rivers pouring Arkansas rains into her. Wouldn't be surprised if we aren't run out o' here."

Chad attempted to answer me as he reached for his coffee cup with one hand. That hand trembled like one with palsy. Then I knew why Chad was handling his cup with both hands. His voice was high-pitched and unnatural.

First it embarrassed him for me to ask questions, then I could see that it angered him, and having consideration for my good friend and compassion upon him while in this condition, I desisted from any attempt at conversation during the entire day. He made no attempt to talk to me, nor did he utter a word until we had returned to the tent late that evening, when he suddenly surprised me by saying, as much to the trees as to me: "This is going to be a hell of a night."

I had been so absorbed in the poor condition of Chad during the day that I had quite thrown off the tormenting fear that gnawed into me all the day before. But that cold declaration of Chad's chilled me to the bone: "This is going to be a hell of a night." It brought me back to "That Thing." It seemed to deliver me into the clutches of that hideous, uncanny, devilish creature, munching and crunching upon the bones from Chad's lunch, making a noise like the rasping sound made by a frightened bat, chattering and sputtering. I could see it, yet I had never seen it. But there it was, with its twisted legs and drawn feet, dragging itself along on its rump, pulling and clawing with crab-like claws and toes. It had been too dark in the tent the night before for me to see it, but there it was. There it was, dragging itself! It had a head like that of a man, formed like that of a man, but there seemed to be no skin covering its face—just raw flesh, dry but bloody looking. There it was creeping and dragging along, with eyes glittering out of the shadows like chiseled rubies. I shrieked a sort of command for it to stop. "That Thing" grinned, then raked its long finger-nails across its protruding teeth, making a rasping noise like that of a frightened bat.

I see "That Thing" now. It is here. It is there. It is everywhere. Chad! Come back, Chad! Come to your old comrade, boy, and help me fight. I helped you, Chad, that night when we were young. Come, Chad! Come! Come!

Too late, it has me by the ankles now, dragging me and munching and crunching upon my bones.

I am now where Chad Wells died. I am in the Pineville Asylum. I became insane as did Chad Wells, but there are times when I can understand everything. I hear the doctors discussing me and they say I have semi-lucid periods. I hear some of the nurses say, "I am afraid of that wild nut." Just a little while ago, it must have been this morning, or maybe yesterday, one of them said, "Doctor, don't make me go in there; I'm afraid of 'That Thing'."

Yes, "That Thing" put me here, just as it did Chad Wells, but by all the demons of hell I'll finish this story! I know where I left off. I was telling about "That Thing" coming to our tent on the third night just before dark, and I could see it plainly for the few minutes preceding the blackness of night. I was seeing it when my nerves got into the kinks again, but I'm all right now.

"That Thing" came dragging along. I have told you how it did and how it looked. Chad trembled for a spell, a minute maybe, then he started toward "That Thing." It spread out flat upon the ground with its little raw-flesh head turfied upward. When Chad got within a step of "That Thing" the little raw-flesh head stretched way out like that of an angry goose and hissed through its protruding teeth. Chad quickly kicked at the ugly head, but before he could get his foot back to the ground, "That Thing" was in midair, scratching, clawing and biting. Before Chad could strike, the hellish thing was back on its rump, ready for another spring. Chad again kicked viciously at the raw-flesh head, but it shot sideways and upward, with those fiendish claws twisting and writhing and squirming for an opening at the man's throat. While off the ground the protruding teeth of "That Thing" extended far beyond its hair-covered lips, exaggerating, if such a thing were possible, the murderous appearance of this soul destroying archangel of the devil.

As much as I loyed Chad, I could not force myself to go to his aid. I prayed aloud for mental and physical strength to rescue my friend and comrade from the clutches of "That Thing," for now the twisted legs and drawn feet and its crab-like claws were about Chad's neck and head. The protruding teeth were glistening from against the background of the raw-flesh head and the hair-covered lips; they were darting forward and backward as if sparring for an opening at Chad's throat.

I tried to close my mind—make it a blank. I rushed into the fray and grabbed. God! I can feel that slimy, jelly-like substance now as it sloughed off "That Thing" and quivered in my hands. I then opened my mind (I hope you get my meaning) which told me that the body and form of that hellish demon was by no means demolished or impaired by losing the quantity of slushy slime that quivered in my hands. However, I must have torn "That Thing" from the neck and head of Chad, for it was now about to attack my friend with a heavy limb that it had grasped within its claws.

Now for the first time Chad lost his nerve. I do not think it was because of "That Thing" seizing the heavy limb and raising it to strike Chad, but because this monster suddenly began to curse us with language too vile to write down. "That Thing" cursed in French and cursed in English. It was enraged. The more it cursed us, the more furious it got.

When I saw Chad running I followed him with all my might. We were only about fifty yards from our tent. I could