Page:Weird Tales Volume 5 Number 6 (1925-06).djvu/92

It Is Not to Be Wondered at that
This Man Became a Maniac

The house sits back some distance from the highway. All else around is pleasing to the view, but this dark, grim building is a blot on the landscape. Encircled by a tall, ragged hedge, which conceals the lower part of the building from the eyes of passers-by, it seems almost like a portion of another world, and has little in common with neighboring dwellings.

People going by glance up at the gloomy edifice with feelings akin to terror, then hurry on. After turning a curve in the road beyond, they breathe a sigh of relief, feeling as a prisoner freed from captivity might feel.

That is during daytime. At night, few pedestrians are daring enough to pass that dwelling.

Even motorists, when realizing they have reached its vicinity, nervously increase their speed and, sweeping by in a swirl of dust, leave the gloomy pile far behind.

Yet few can pass without first turning their eyes toward a narrow window near the top of the building. For from that window gleams the light, and they know that in the room behind the casement is the man who fears the dark. They know the light is always there during hours of darkness, and will doubtless always be there while the man lives.

Once (it happened some weeks after the man had come) the light went out. And even yet, though that was fifteen years ago, dwellers in near-by houses shudder when they remember the sounds that were heard on that occasion. The unearthly shrieks, the piercing cries of utter anguish, the screams of direst terror—all these ring in their ears as they recall that evening. And nightly, before retiring, they pray that the light may not go out.

Their prayer has been mercifully answered. For when the first shadows of twilight begin to fall, the light also appears, to burn with steady, undiminished power until darkness is past.

It has never gone out again, and probably never will until the man dies. Then, and not until then, it will be extinguished.

Gibson Jenkins pressed the elevator bell impatiently. He glanced down the shaft expectantly.

But the elevator did not appear. He waited several minutes. Still it did not come.

Jenkins was much annoyed. He had now been waiting nearly ten minutes. Ten minutes seems a long time to a man who is in a hurry.

It was the first time Gibson Jenkins had ever been in this department store. He had gone to see the man-