Tales of Mystery and Imagination

Clark Ashton Smith: The Charnel God

"Mordiggian is the god of Zul-Bha-Sair," said the innkeeper with unctuous solemnity. "He has been the god from years that are lost to man's memory in shadow deeper than the subterranes of his black temple. There is no other god in Zul-Bha-Sair. And all who die within the walls of the city are sacred to Mordiggian. Even the kings and the optimates, at death, are delivered into the hands of his muffled priests. It is the law and the custom. A little while, and the priests will come for your bride."

"But Elaith is not dead," protested the youth Phariom for the third or fourth time, in piteous desperation. "Her malady is one that assumes the lying likeness of death. Twice before has she lain insensible, with a pallor upon her cheeks and a stillness in her very blood, that could hardly be distinguished from those of the tomb; and twice she has awakened after an interim of days."

The innkeeper peered with an air of ponderous unbelief at the girl who lay white and motionless as a mown lily on the bed in the poorly furnished attic chamber.

Alarmado por la presencia de unos bichitos de caparazón duro y crujiente, corrió a comprar un potente insecticida. De nada sirvieron las advertencias de su mujer: “Son bichitos de la fruta, no hacen nada”. Él tenía otras ideas al respecto. En sus años de estudiante en Madrid, había vivido en un piso interior atestado de cucarachas. Subían del patio de luces, salían de detrás de los muebles, brotaban del azucarero. Pequeñitas e insidiosas, alguna vez habían trepado a su cama.... “Déjalo, no tiene importancia”, le dijo su mujer. Pero él ya había abierto la puerta, sin siquiera molestarse en vestirse decentemente para bajar a la calle. En calzonas, arrastrando unas chanclas de goma desgastada, recorrió un tramo de acera, dobló una esquina y entró en el supermercado como quien entra en un dispensario en el segundo justo antes de desmayarse.

Más calmado, examinó el estante de los insecticidas. Al otro lado del pasillo, un hombre de aspecto elegante hacía lo propio con el de los vinos. Los movimientos de uno y otro se acompasaron. Éste no, éste parece más indicado para las hormigas, esta cosecha no fue buena, este otro sirve para “los bichos del jardín”, demasiado afrutado este otro... Por fin, oculto entre otros envases, vio un aerosol alto, único ejemplar de su especie. Sobre su superficie tenía serigrafiada una enorme cucaracha negra. Leyó las indicaciones. El producto parecía peligroso y eficaz. Peligroso, porque recomendaba toda clase de precauciones para evitar su inhalación fortuita. Eficaz, porque aseguraba el exterminio de todos los bichos que cayesen bajo su influjo. Al otro extremo del pasillo, el hombre de los vinos examinaba cuidadosamente una botella y asentía con gesto de aprobación.

During the fall of the year 1827, while residing near Charlottesville, Virginia, I casually made the acquaintance of Mr Augustus Bedloe. This young gentleman was remarkable in every respect, and excited in me a profound interest and curiosity. I found it impossible to comprehend him either in his moral or his physical relations. Of his family I could obtain no satisfactory account. Whence he came, I never ascertained. Even about his age--although I call him a young gentleman--there was something which perplexed me in no little degree. He certainly seemed young--and he made a point of speaking about his youth--yet there were moments when I should have had little trouble in imagining him a hundred years of age. But in no regard was he more peculiar than in his personal appearance. He was singularly tall and thin. He stooped much. His limbs were exceedingly long and emaciated. His forehead was broad and low. His complexion was absolutely bloodless. His mouth was large and flexible, and his teeth were more wildly uneven, although sound, than I had ever before seen teeth in a human head. The expression of his smile, however, was by no means unpleasing, as might be supposed: but it had no variation whatever. It was one of profound melancholy--of a phaseless and unceasing gloom. His eyes were abnormally large, and round like those of a cat. The pupils, too, upon any accession or diminution of light, underwent contraction or dilation, just such as is observed in the feline tribe. In moments of excitement the orbs grew bright to a degree almost inconceivable; seeming to emit luminous rays, not of a reflected but of an intrinsic lustre, as does a candle or the sun; yet their ordinary condition was to totally vapid, filmy, and dull, as to convey the idea of the eyes of a long-interred corpse.

— La raison pour laquelle je devins le gardien du cimetière de Saint-Guitton, monsieur le Juge d’instruction ? Mon Dieu, la voici : la faim et le froid.

« Imaginez-vous quelqu’un, vêtu d’un complet d’été, ayant fait soixante kilomètres séparant deux villes : celle où on lui a refusé tout travail et tout secours, et celle qui fut son dernier espoir. Imaginez-vous cet être nourri de carottes glacées sentant le purin de l’engrais et de pommes reinettes, aigres et dures, oubliées sur l’herbe d’un verger désert ; imaginez-le trempé par une pluie d’octobre, courbé sous de grosses rafales qui accouraient du nord, et vous aurez devant vous l’homme que je fus, lors de mon arrivée dans la banlieue de votre sinistre ville.

« J’entrai dans la première maison, qui est une auberge à l’enseigne des Deux-Pluviers, où le patron charitable me réconforta de café chaud, de pain et d’un hareng saur et où, au récit de ma détresse, ce brave homme m’apprit qu’un des gardiens du cimetière de Saint-Guitton venait de partir et quel l’on cherchait un remplaçant.

« Pourquoi les morts m’auraient-ils fait peur ? Les vivants m’avaient tant fait souffrir. Pouvaient-ils être plus méchants que ces derniers ?

« Vous cacherai-je ma joie d’avoir été agréé sur-le-champ par deux gardiens restants, qui semblaient avoir pleins pouvoirs sur le cimetière et les affaires qui s’y rattachaient ? Non, car je reçus tout de suite de chauds vêtements et un repas. Ah ! mais quel repas ! De larges tranches de viande rouge, des pâtés ruisselants de jus, des fritures aussi copieuses que dorées.

The sign on the wall seemed to quaver under a film of sliding warm water. Eckels felt his eyelids blink over his stare, and the sign burned in this momentary darkness:

TIME SAFARI, INC.

SAFARIS TO ANY YEAR IN THE PAST.

YOU NAME THE ANIMAL.

WE TAKE YOU THERE.

YOU SHOOT IT.

Warm phlegm gathered in Eckels' throat; he swallowed and pushed it down. The muscles around his mouth formed a smile as he put his hand slowly out upon the air, and in that hand waved a check for ten thousand dollars to the man behind the desk.

"Does this safari guarantee I come back alive?"

"We guarantee nothing," said the official, "except the dinosaurs." He turned. "This is Mr. Travis, your Safari Guide in the Past. He'll tell you what and where to shoot. If he says no shooting, no shooting. If you disobey instructions, there's a stiff penalty of another ten thousand dollars, plus possible government action, on your return."

Un día la madre de una amiga me contó una curiosa anécdota. Estábamos en su casa, en barrio antiguo de Palma de Mallorca, y desde el balcón interior, que daba a un pequeño jardín, se alcanzaba a ver la fachada del vecino convento de clausura. La madre de mi amigo solía visitar a la abadesa; le llevaba helados para la comunidad y conversaban durante horas a través de una celosía. Estábamos ya en una época en que las reglas de clausura eran menos estrictas de lo que fueron antaño, y nada impedía que la abadesa, si así lo hubiera deseado, interrumpiera más de una opinión su encierro y saliera al mundo. Pero ella se negaba en redondo. Llevaba casi treinta años entre aquellas cuatro paredes y las llamadas del exterior no le interesaban lo más mínimo. Pero eso la señora de la casa creyó que estaba soñando cuando una mañana sonó el timbre y una silueta oscura se dibujó al trasluz en el marco de la puerta. “Si no le importa”, dijo la abadesa tras los saludos de rigor, “me gustaría ver el convento desde fuera”. Y después, en el mismo balcón en el que fue narrada la historia se quedó unos minutos en silencio. “Es muy bonito”, concluyó. Y, con la misma alegría con la que había llamado a la puerta, se despidió y regresó al convento. Creo que no ha vuelto a salir, pero eso ahora no importa. El viaje de la abadesa me sigue pareciendo, como entonces, uno de los viajes más largos de los que tengo noticia.

Mario Giorgi: Alle spalle

"Scorrevole, scorrevole, qualcosa innanzitutto di scorrevole" pensava James. Naturalmente non immaginava che un autentico A.C. scuotesse desolatamente la testa, appollaiato alle sue spalle. Leo, si chiamava Leo il suo personal A.C.

James si grattò la fronte e impugnò la penna, per dare inizio al suo lavoro. Ma una larga macchia d'inchiostro, liquida, schiumosa e perfino con qualche microbollicina, una macchia uscita inesorabilmente dalla penna per via del colpo di polso un po' troppo nervoso, costrinse lo stesso James ad accartocciare il foglio prima ancora di avere scritto "cap".

— Cominciamo bene! — esclamò James, urtando con il gomito Leo, che dopo tanti anni non si era ancora abituato alle improvvise goffaggini del suo protetto.

Trentacinque anni. "Trentacinque anni di gomitate nelle parti genitali", pensò Leo con forbitezza. E benché lui stesso non sapesse dire a che sesso appartenesse, quel gomito piantato lì, poco sotto il ventre, gli procurava sempre un certo prurito, anche dopo trentacinque anni.

Ma James, poverino, non ne sapeva nulla. Puoi ragionevolmente immaginare che qualcuno ti segua dappertutto, sempre, da quando esci da tua madre fino a quando non ti chiudono il coperchio della bara sulla faccia? No, è ovvio. Ci sono situazioni in cui non è decettabile l'idea che qualcun altro sia presente. Quando fai i tuoi bisogni, per esempio. Oppure mentre fai l'amore. Oppure... No, meglio non pensarci. Fantasie, stupide fantasie.

April 15th, 190_

DEAR SIR,___ I am requested by the Council of the ________ Association to return to you the draft of a paper on The Truth of Alchemy, which you have been good enough to offer to read at our forthcoming meeting, and to inform you that the Council do not see their way to including it in the programme.

I am,

Yours faithfully,

_______Secretary.

April 18th

DEAR SIR,___ I am sorry to say that my engagements do not permit of my affording you an interview on the subject of your proposed paper. Nor do our laws allow of your discussing the matter With a Committee of our Council, as you suggest. Please allow me to assure you that the fullest consideration was given to the draft which you submitted, and that it was not declined without having been referred to the judgment of a most competent authority. No personal question (it hardly be necessary for me to add) can have had the slightest influence on the decision of the Council.

Believe me (ut supra).

April 20th

The Secretary of the _______ Association begs respectfully to inform Mr Karswell that it is impossible for him to communicate the name of any person or persons to whom the draft of Mr Karswell's paper may have been submitted; and further desires to intimate that he cannot undertake to reply to any further letters on this subject.

"And who is Mr Karswell?" inquired the Secretary's wife. She had called at his office, and (perhaps unwarrantably) had picked up the last of these three letters, which the typist had just brought in.

Miguel Delibes: La mortaja

El valle, en rigor, no era tal valle sino una polvorienta cuenca delimitada por unos tesos blancos e inhóspitos. El valle, en rigor no daba sino dos estaciones: invierno y verano y ambas eran extremosas, agrias, casi despiadadas. Al finalizar mayo comenzaba a descender de los cerros de greda un calor denso y enervante, como una lenta invasión de lava, que en pocas semanas absorbía las últimas humedades del invierno. El lecho de la cuenca, entonces, empezaba cuartearse por falta de agua y el río se encogía sobre sí mismo y su caudal pasaba en pocos días de una opacidad lora y espesa a una verdosidad de botella casi transparente. El trigo, fustigado por el sol, espigaba y maduraba apenas granado y a primeros de junio la cuenca únicamente conservaba dos notas verdes: la enmarañada fronda de las riberas del río y el emparrado que sombreaba la mayor de las tres edificaciones que se levantaban próximas a la corriente. El resto de la cuenca asumía una agónica amarillez de desierto. Era el calor y bajo él se hacía la siembra de los melonares, se segaba el trigo, y la codorniz, que había llegado con los últimos fríos de la Baja Extremadura, abandonaba los nidos y buscaba el frescor en las altas pajas de los ribazos. La cuenca parecía emanar un aliento fumoso, hecho de insignificantes partículas de greda y de polvillo de trigo. Y en invierno y verano la casa grande, flanqueada por el emparrado, emitía un «bom‑bom» acompasado, casi siniestro, que era como el latido de un enorme corazón.

El niño jugaba en el camino, junto a la casa blanca, bajo el sol, y sobre los trigales, a su derecha, el cernícalo aleteaba sin avanzar, como si flotase en el aire, cazando insectos. La tarde cubría la cuenca compasivamente y el hombre que venía de la falda de los cerros, con la vieja chaqueta desmayada sobre los hombros, pasó por su lado, sin mirarle, empujó con el pie la puerta de la casa y casi a ciegas se desnudó y se desplomó en el lecho sin abrirlo. Al momento, casi sin transición, empezó a roncar arrítmicamente.

Sally Anders had never really thought of herself as a wallflower. A girl could be shy, couldn't she, and still be pretty enough to attract and hold men?

Only this morning she had drawn an admiring look from the milkman and a wolf cry from Jimmy on the corner, with his newspapers and shiny new bike. What if the milkman was crowding sixty and wore thick-lensed glasses? What if Jimmy was only seventeen?

A male was a male, and a glance was a glance. Why, if I just primp a little more, Sally told herself, I'll be irresistible.

Hair ribbons and perfume, a mirror tilted at just the right angle, an invitation to a party on the dresser—what more did a girl need?

"Dinner, Sally!" came echoing up from the kitchen. "Do you want to be late, child?"

Sally had no intention of being late. Tonight she'd see him across a crowded room and her heart would skip a beat. He'd look at her and smile, and come straight toward her with his shoulders squared.

There was always one night in a girl's life that stands above all other nights. One night when the moon shone bright and clear and the clock on the wall went tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. One night when each tick said, "You're beautiful! Really beautiful!"

Giving her hair a final pat Sally smiled at herself in the mirror.

El amanecer los alcanza en plena discusión. Los ánimos están algo exaltados.

El escéptico- Sigo pensando que te lo inventas. El otro lado no existe. Son cuentos de viejas para asustar a los niños y a los imbéciles.

El creyente- Y yo te digo que los he visto. Una vez, fugazmente. Pero son horribles. Nada nos une a ellos….

El asustadizo- Basta. No quiero seguir escuchándoos. Esas son cosas con las que no hay que jugar.

El incauto- Pues yo he leído que es posible comunicarse con ellos. Podríamos probarlo…

Un ruido llega desde el pasillo. Todos se desvanecen en el aire.

Lisa Morton: Sparks Fly Upward

My breath is corrupt, my days are extinct,

the graves are ready for me.

–Job 17:1

Blessed and holy is he that hath part in

the first resurrection…

–Revelations 20:6

June 16

Tomorrow marks one year ago that the Colony was begun here, and I think just about everyone is busy preparing for a big celebration. We just had our first real harvest two weeks ago, so there’ll be plenty of good things to eat, and as for drink - well, the product of George’s still is a little extreme for most tastes, so Tom and a few of the boys made a foray outside yesterday for some real liquor.

Of course I was worried when Tom told me he was going (and not even for something really vital, just booze), but he said it wasn’t so bad. The road was almost totally clear for the first five miles after they left the safety of the Colony, and even most of Philipsville, the pint-sized town where they raided a liquor store, was deserted. Tom said he shot one in the liquor store cellar when he went down there to check on the good wines; it was an old woman, probably the one-time shopkeeper’s wife locked away. Unfortunately, she’d clawed most of the good bottles off to smash on the floor. Tom took what was left, and an unopened case of good burgundy he found untouched in a corner. There are 131 adults in the Colony, and he figured he’d have a bottle for every two on Anniversary Day.

It’s been two weeks since any of the deadheads have been spotted near the Colony walls, and Pedro Quintero, our top marksman, picked that one off with one shot straight through the head from the east tower. It would be easy to fool ourselves into thinking the situation is finally mending… easy and dangerous, because it’s not. The lack of deadheads seen around here lately proves only one thing: That Doc Freeman was right in picking this location, away from the cities and highways.

Of course Doc Freeman was right - he’s right about everything. He said we should go this far north because the south would only keep getting hotter, and sure enough it’s been in the 80’s here for over a week now. I don’t want to think what it is down in L.A. now - probably 120, and that’s in the shade.

Aleksandr Pushkin by Vasili Tropinin

А в ненастные дни

Собирались они

Часто;

Гнули — бог их прости! —

От пятидесяти

На сто,

И выигрывали,

И отписывали

Мелом,

Так, в ненастные дни,

Занимались они

Делом.

Однажды играли в карты у конногвардейца Нарумова. Долгая зимняя ночь прошла незаметно; сели ужинать в пятом часу утра. Те, которые остались в выигрыше, ели с большим аппетитом; прочие, в рассеянности, сидели перед пустыми своими приборами. Но шампанское явилось, разговор оживился, и все приняли в нем участие.

— Что ты сделал, Сурин? — спросил хозяин.

— Проиграл, по обыкновению. Надобно признаться, что я несчастлив: играю мирандолем, никогда не горячусь, ничем меня с толку не собьешь, а всё проигрываюсь!

— И ты ни разу не соблазнился? ни разу не поставил на руте?.. Твердость твоя для меня удивительна.

— А каков Германн! — сказал один из гостей, указывая на молодого инженера,— отроду не брал он карты в руки, отроду не загнул ни одного пароли, а до пяти часов сидит с нами и смотрит на нашу игру!

— Игра занимает меня сильно,— сказал Германн,— но я не в состоянии жертвовать необходимым в надежде приобрести излишнее.

— Германн немец: он расчетлив, вот и всё! — заметил Томский.— А если кто для меня непонятен, так это моя бабушка, графиня Анна Федотовна.

— Как? что? — закричали гости.

— Не могу постигнуть,— продолжал Томский,— каким образом бабушка моя не понтирует!

— Да что ж тут удивительного,— сказал Нарумов,— что осьмидесятилетняя старуха не понтирует?

— Так вы ничего про нее не знаете?

— Нет! право, ничего!

— О, так послушайте:

Надобно знать, что бабушка моя, лет шестьдесят тому назад, ездила в Париж и была там в большой моде. Народ бегал за нею, чтоб увидеть la Vénus moscovite^[2]; Ришелье за нею волочился, и бабушка уверяет, что он чуть было не застрелился от ее жестокости.

В то время дамы играли в фараон. Однажды при дворе она проиграла на слово герцогу Орлеанскому что-то очень много. Приехав домой, бабушка, отлепливая мушки с лица и отвязывая фижмы, объявила дедушке о своем проигрыше и приказала заплатить.

Покойный дедушка, сколько я помню, был род бабушкина дворецкого. Он ее боялся, как огня; однако, услышав о таком ужасном проигрыше, он вышел из себя, принес счеты, доказал ей, что в полгода они издержали полмиллиона, что под Парижем нет у них ни подмосковной, ни саратовской деревни, и начисто отказался от платежа. Бабушка дала ему пощечину и легла спать одна, в знак своей немилости.

Nathaniel Hawthorne by Charles Osgood

Young Goodman Brown came forth at sunset into the street at Salem village; but put his head back, after crossing the threshold, to exchange a parting kiss with his young wife. And Faith, as the wife was aptly named, thrust her own pretty head into the street, letting the wind play with the pink ribbons of her cap while she called to Goodman Brown.

"Dearest heart," whispered she, softly and rather sadly, when her lips were close to his ear, "prithee put off your journey until sunrise and sleep in your own bed to-night. A lone woman is troubled with such dreams and such thoughts that she's afeard of herself sometimes. Pray tarry with me this night, dear husband, of all nights in the year."

"My love and my Faith," replied young Goodman Brown, "of all nights in the year, this one night must I tarry away from thee. My journey, as thou callest it, forth and back again, must needs be done 'twixt now and sunrise. What, my sweet, pretty wife, dost thou doubt me already, and we but three months married?"

"Then God bless you!" said Faith, with the pink ribbons; "and may you find all well when you come back."

"Amen!" cried Goodman Brown. "Say thy prayers, dear Faith, and go to bed at dusk, and no harm will come to thee."

So they parted; and the young man pursued his way until, being about to turn the corner by the meeting-house, he looked back and saw the head of Faith still peeping after him with a melancholy air, in spite of her pink ribbons.

"Poor little Faith!" thought he, for his heart smote him. "What a wretch am I to leave her on such an errand! She talks of dreams, too. Methought as she spoke there was trouble in her face, as if a dream had warned her what work is to be done tonight. But no, no; 't would kill her to think it. Well, she's a blessed angel on earth; and after this one night I'll cling to her skirts and follow her to heaven."