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Title: The Fantasy Fan December 1933
The Fans' Own Magazine
Author: Charles D. Hornig
Release Date: August 8, 2014 [EBook #46535]
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FANTASY FAN DECEMBER 1933 ***
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THE FANTASY FAN
THE FANS' OWN MAGAZINE
Editor: Charles D. Hornig
(Managing Editor: Wonder Stories)
Published 10 cents a copy
Monthly $1.00 per year
137 West Grand Street, Elizabeth, New Jersey
Volume 1 December, 1933 Number 4
OUR READERS SAY
"The November issue beats the first two by a mile! If this keeps up, I
wonder what the tenth issue will be like? Sorry that I cannot send an
English science-fiction column this month, as I haven't heard from the
other side yet. Have written to South Africa on the stf situation
there, but won't promise you anything on it. Will we have a story in
the December issue? 'The Other Gods' beat 'The Kingdom of the
Worm.'"--Bob Tucker
We cannot tell what the tenth issue of TFF will be like, but
you can get a good idea of what the fifth will be like by reading
our editorial. We are sorry we did not receive your foreign
science-fiction column this month, and would be pleased to hear about
South Africa. You will notice three stories in this issue of TFF.
Which of the stories so far published is the best, is a matter of
opinion. Further on in this department you will learn the varied
opinions of their merit.
"What might be called the 'Anti-Ackerman' issue has just arrived. It
looks to me like you ought to have advertised it as that, or run a
streamer across the top. I think it would have doubled your
subscriptions, so many people, it seems, would like to read something
against me. Will you please tone down the remarks about my being the
'most active fan,' etc? That started with you. You can't say I ever
had anything to do with it. Many people reading such statements will
become antagonistic 'just because,' and though I'm going around
begging people to like me, still there's no virtue in unnecessarily
tipping away from you neutral parties."--Forrest J. Ackerman
The editor wishes to drop formalities for a brief paragraph in order
to make a personal confession, and will therefore speak in the
singular. Yes, Forrie, it has all been my fault. I was the one that
called you "the world's most active fan," etc., and really had
something to do with the animosity some of my readers have had toward
you. Let me say that I want to apologize--I am very sorry for it. I
meant well, but it didn't seem to have been interpreted the way it was
intended. All those laudatory remarks were really said to let other
readers know how much you have done to advance science fiction, but
for certain peculiar reasons which can never be foretold, they weren't
taken in the proper light. Frankly, this should teach us both a
lesson--you and I. I should consider carefully every remark I make
about anyone or his work, and you should become less prejudiced and
vehement on any particular subject, and consider the question: "What's
one man's opinion?" Your controversy with C. A. Smith is continued in
this issue's "Boiling Point."
"I am highly pleased with your publication, and hope you can make a
success of it. Glad to see you are printing Lovecraft's excellent
article on 'Supernatural Horror in Literature,' and also his 'Other
Gods.' Smith's tale was most entertaining."--R. H. Barlow (author of
the 'Annals' series)
"TFF continues to improve, the November issue marking a new high, what
with Lovecraft and Smith in the same number."--Allen Glasser
"I find the _Fantasy Fan_ very interesting and think it has a
good future. Anybody ought to be willing to pay a dollar for the
privilege of reading, for a whole year, the works of Lovecraft, Smith,
and Derleth. I am glad to see that you announce a poem by Smith in the
next issue. He is a poet second to none. Weird poetry possesses an
appeal peculiar to itself and the careful use of it raises the quality
of any magazine. I liked very much the department of 'True Ghost
Stories,' and hope you will continue it. The world is full of
unexplained incidents and peculiar circumstances, the logical reasons
for which are often so obscure and hidden that they are lent an
illusion of the supernatural."--Robert E. Howard
We wish there were more authors and fans that were enthusiastic over
the future of weird fiction and _The Fantasy Fan_ as you and our
other readers are, and were willing to support it. Yes, anyone should
be willing to pay a dollar to read the works of the authors you
mention for a whole year--and you are certainly included in that list,
although you, of course, would not mention that fact. The opinions of
such a popular weird author as yourself carry weight, and it is a
supreme pleasure to have you as a subscriber and contributor. Our
gratitude is unbounded.
"Delighted to see the November Issue. All the items and departments
seem well calculated to interest the weird fiction devotee; and since
there is no other magazine in this field, TFF ought certainly to be
able to build up a solid clientele in the course of time."--H. P.
Lovecraft
"Weisinger has done himself proud in both TFF and SFD. If he can only
keep going! I wonder what would happen if Schwartz fell down?!!
Lovecraft is O.K., and so is the whole issue; it is interesting. All
I'm doing is praising your mag, but what else can I do?"--Kenneth
Pritchard
Without Schwartz and Weisinger, science fiction fan material would
receive a terrific blow from which it would never recover. We are glad
to see that you are boosting our magazine; thanks for your enthusiasm.
"One is inclined to believe that H. P. Lovecraft's 'The Other Gods'
should now have cause to look down upon 'The Kingdom of the Worm,' as
created by Clark Ashton Smith. The latter's tale, at best, was an
inferior Smith writing, and truly, not one of his best. One must be
logical and open-minded, you know. R. H. Barlow is deserving of praise
for his 'Annals.' The gentlemen with the musical pen-name of Hoy Ping
Pong produced an enjoyable article on 'How to Write a STF Story:' very
amusing satire."--Robert Nelson
"I surely am delighted with the second issue of TFF--a big step
forward from the first edition! By all means keep up the good work
that you have started. This is just the thing we non-scientifictionists
need. Lovecraft, Smith, Wandrei, Howard, and Quinn, I hope, will be
your main contributors as they just about hold up the weird and
fantastic candle. I look for big things from you! 'The Kingdom of the
Worm' was quite light and weak and far below the Smith standard--he is
my favorite author and I know what he can do as I have nearly all of
his stories and poems. The idea of portrayal was novel but many more
pages could have been written. It seemed to me that the climax came
too quickly, and with a less startling denouement than is customary
with Mr. Smith's work. However, I was gladly surprised to see the
story in this new magazine's pages. 'Supernatural Horror in
Literature' by H. P. Lovecraft is intensely interesting."--F. Lee
Baldwin
One has his full right to like or dislike a story, and while you and
the previous writer believed Smith's tale to be below his standard,
many have written in acclaiming it one of his best. If the tale had
appeared in _Weird Tales_, you might have thought so also, but
seeing that TFF is only a struggling little publication, you might
have "hypnotised" yourself into believing that it was not up to his
average. And then again, you must be in the mood when you read weird
stories. Reading them under unfavorable conditions may force a
derogatory opinion of the tale upon you.
"The second TFF was good! Hope you will get more staff writers who are
familiar with fantastic fiction as you go along. Glad to see
Lovecraft's article. C. A. Smith's tale was fine. Keep up their
publication in spite of the opposition which will be forthcoming of
'pure' stf addicts."--Lester Anderson
"The second issue was read with much interest and enjoyment. It showed
considerable improvement over the first issue. The high spots were
Clark Ashton Smith's story 'The Kingdom of the Worm' and the beginning
of H. P. Lovecraft's article on 'Supernatural Horror in Literature.'
Smith's story was splendid and I hope to see much more of his work in
TFF. Lovecraft's article began very promisingly, my only criticism
being that the instalment was much too short."--H. Koenig.
"I am glad to learn that TFF will be devoted henceforth to the weird
in fiction, for I feel that truly fantastic literature, as
distinguished from the merely pseudo-scientific, is entitled to the
fullest support; a support hitherto given to the stf type. I feel
certain that a large and appreciative following may be built up among
the disciples of this branch of literature. My best wishes to the
success of TFF."--Richard F. Searight
Following are two letters in direct contrast.
"I have read the October issue of TFF from cover to cover and enjoyed
it thoroughly. I have one objection, though. Since TFF is a magazine
devoted to the discussion of weird fiction, you should cut down on the
stf stuff. You'll find plenty of readers who will enjoy it without
having to add so much science fiction talk."--Emil Petaja
"Please keep on using the same kind of paper and add more pages. Was
sorry to hear that TFF is leaning toward weird fiction. Why do you
encourage superstition with all the pronouncements of science against
it? I like the magazine fine, all except the weird part. I never have
read a good weird tale. Why do they print the science fiction and
interplanetary stories of Kline, Hamilton, and Williamson in _Weird
Tales_, for weird tales, interplanetary stories are not weird."--Lloyd
Fowler.
Now, considering the two above letters, what is the poor editor to do?
For the present, we will continue to use both stf and weird material,
leaning toward the weird and printing only weird stories--except, of
course, in the January issue, which will be chiefly weird. By the way,
we believe that the January number will have quite opposite effects
upon Messrs. Petaja and Fowler. We are sorry to hear that Mr. Fowler
has never read a good weird story. We must pity him. Has he ever tried
a magazine known as _Weird Tales_ by any chance? But all kidding aside,
we will take his suggestions into consideration.
For some reason known only to themselves, _Weird Tales_ has refused to
accept the TFF ad for their January, 1934 issue. Perhaps they think
they have competition! We had intended to make our January number
entirely weird with 24 pages, but now find it inadvisable, because of
the rejection of our ad. We find that it would be best to conserve the
Fantasy Fan Fund for future issues, rather than put everything into
one issue.
MY SCIENCE FICTION COLLECTION
by Forrest J. Ackerman
Part Four
In my collection are the manuscripts of such stories as "West of the
Earth" (renamed "In Martian Depths") by Juve, Miss Long's "The Last
Man" ("Omega"), "The Egg from the Lost Planet" ("Girl from Mars," by
Breuer-Williamson), Skidmore's "Romance of Posi and Nega," "Lancer in
the Crystal" ... "The Cities of Ardathia" ... "In the Land of the
Bipos" ... "The Machine Man of Ardathia"... "By the Hands of the Dead"
.... "Seed of the Toc-Toc Birds" .... "The Head of Apex," and others
all by Francis Flagg ... "The Golden Bough," by Dr. Keller, Ed Earl
Repp's "Metal World", Bob Olsen's "My Martian Sweetheart", pages from
different Edmond Hamilton stories, and others, plus the entire serial
by C. Willard Diffin, "Two Thousand Miles Below." I have, in addition,
a translation into French of David H. Keller's "Stenographer's Hands,"
which originally appeared in _Amazing Stories Quarterly_. The French
version is known as "Les mains et la machine."
Also, there are four letter files and a large cabinet--all chock full
of correspondence from authors and fans.
There is one portion of my collection yet to be described: the
scientifilms. In a large box are advertisements, press-sheets,
reviews, write-ups, publicity copy, photos, "cuts," and all similar
material from dozens of movie magazines, newspapers, other
periodicals, film companies and all parts of the world on the
scientific from long years ago up to even those to be produced in the
future. The amount of material covered in this file is impossible to
describe.
(In the installments Mr. Ackerman tells about his scientifilm
"stills".)
Birkett's Twelfth Corpse
by August W. Derleth
The wall of hate that stood between the two old rivermen, Fred Birkett
and Hank Blum, had grown from a strange and gruesome rivalry--the
finding of dead bodies of persons drowned in the Wisconsin River at
Sac Prairie. At the time of the tragic drowning of Bud Enders, the
rivermen were tied--each had found eleven bodies in the past forty
years. It was said by each of them, and repeated in Sac Prairie, that
Bud Enders' body would decide the contest.
The sympathy of Sac Prairie was with Birkett, a kindly old man in
contrast to the sullen surliness of Blum, who was, too, somewhat
younger. Birkett had always joked about his odd luck at finding bodies
in the river, and still looked upon his almost uncanny way of knowing
where the bodies had been taken by the swift current as more amusing
than not. But Blum had brooded upon his rival's luck ever since
Birkett had earned a five-hundred dollar reward for finding the corpse
of a young student who had fallen into the Wisconsin while drunk,
almost a decade before. Now Blum made no effort to conceal his violent
hatred for Birkett, nor could Birkett keep down his dislike for his
rival.
Bud Enders was drowned on a warm night in July, and twenty boats put
out from Sac Prairie within an hour after he went down. Fred Birkett
and Hank Blum were among them. Both the old men headed downstream,
knowing by long past experience that the swift current in mid-channel,
where the youth was drawn under, would quickly roll the body below Sac
Prairie toward the long clay river bank southeast of the village,
locally known as the Yellowbanks district.
Toward dawn, Fred Birkett found Bud Enders' body, rolling along in
shallow but swift water crossing a sand-bar just above the
Yellowbanks. The moon was out, and he had no difficulty seeing the
body, which he immediately caught with a boathook and secured to the
boat without taking it from the water. Then he edged his boat out of
the current and made swiftly upstream.
Just where Hiney's Slough enters the Wisconsin, he met Blum. He could
not help boasting. "Just made my dozen," he called to Hank in a gruff,
yet faintly triumphant voice.
Blum turned his boat and swung across current toward him.
Birkett rested on his oars. Unaware of the fury that consumed his
rival, he went on, "Well, we couldn't both find him. Let the best man
win, I always said," and smiled in the satisfaction of feeling himself
the better of the two.
Blum had said nothing, but now he was looking cautiously upstream and
down, his eyes scanning the surface of the water for sight of any
boat, his ears waiting to catch any sound that might indicate the
approach of other searchers. The two boats lay in quiet water, away
from the current.
Whether or not Birkett heard Blum loosen and jerk out one oar is
problematical. He turned toward Blum just as the oar descended and
caught him a glancing blow on the side of the head, toppling him from
his boat and turning the boat with him. Then, with a savage lunge, he
pushed Birkett's boat out of reach of the older man just as he came
coughing and gasping to the surface of the water. With another quick
movement, Blum detached Enders' body from the overturned boat. He made
no attempt to catch the body, knowing that the current would not carry
it from this quiet water, and he could always return and find it.
Then he shot away, unmindful of Birkett's despairing cries, and secure
in the knowledge that Birkett could not swim very well. A little way
upstream he paused and listened. There was no sound from below;
Birkett had gone down. A cunning smile crossed his lips. Edging the
boat into shallow water, he let himself fall fully clothed into the
river, wetting himself thoroughly, except for his torn hat, which he
threw into the bottom of the boat to give it the appearance of having
been hastily torn away from his head and thrown there. Then he got
back into the boat and rowed furiously toward Sac Prairie.
The circle of boats was now further downstream, and he did not have to
row up quite as far as he drifted down. He timed his entrance well,
for the boy's cap had just been found along shore, and the searchers
were excited over their find. Quite suddenly he shot from under the
bridge into the yellow glow of lanterns held high above the water.
"Birkett's gone under," he shouted frantically. "His boat tipped just
above the Yellowbanks!"
Anyone who doubted his cries was easily convinced by his bedraggled
appearance, and it did not require his explanation that he had gone
into the water after Birkett to explain the wetness of his clothes. He
told hastily that the old man fought hard, that he had had to hit him
finally, and had at last reluctantly to let him go in order to save
himself.
As he led the rowboats to a spot a hundred yards above the entrance to
Hiney's Slough, where in the quiet water the two bodies still lay.
Blum was enjoying the irony of the knowledge that his twelfth body
would be that of his old rival. He broke into speech again, excitedly
telling about the accident, and explaining that the boat had long
since gone downstream, swept away by the powerful current in which it
had tipped. He pointed out approximately the place where the accident
had occurred, and went glibly over his story a third time. Then he
left the searchers, and pulled into the current toward the dark waters
where Birkett had actually gone down.
That much Sac Prairie was later able to piece together. What happened
after that is more obscure and fraught with horrific suggestion. It is
certain that he went downstream, and equally certain that he seemed to
be heading for Hiney's Slough, though one or two disputed this point
later. Despite the moon, it was difficult to observe Blum's progress
downstream, for he was soon lost in the very heavy shadows on the
quiet water surrounding the slough's junction with the river.
In the babble of sound made by the searchers above the slough Blum
might have called for some time and not have been heard, though this
is doubtful. At any rate, during a lull in the conversation, someone
picked up the sound of frantic calling. Everyone stood and listened.
Once again came a sharp call, in a voice which was immediately
identified as Hank Blum's. The call was heavy with horror and fear.
Then another call began to sound, but was abruptly stopped, almost as
if it had been rudely shut off by a hand clapped over the lips thru
which it came.
The boats immediately pulled away toward Hiney's Slough.
At first there was nothing to be seen except the bottoms of two
overturned boats, one of which was Blum's, the other Birkett's. Then
someone saw the body of Ender over against one bank, apparently just
washing up from deep water. Quite near it, partly submerged, they
found the bodies of Hank Blum and Fred Birkett.
Blum was dead, but he had not been drowned. He had been strangled. For
when the horrified searchers pulled him out of the water, they found
Fred Birkett's dead fingers sunk deep in the flesh of Blum's neck.
Birkett had found his twelfth corpse.
* * * * *
CLUB NEWS
Mr. Glasser informs us that he will have more news about the Fantasy
Fans' Fraternity for our February issue. If you are a science fiction
fan, why don't you become a member? There is no charge. Simply write to
Allen Glasser
1610 University Avenue
Bronx, New York
and he will tell you all about it.
* * * * *
Subscribe to TFF today to insure yourself of a monthly copy. Only a
limited number are printed.
CONGLAMITORIAL
Third in the series.... Most peculiar titles: "Appendix and the
Spectacles," "The Captured Cross-Section," and "The Gostak and
the Doshes;" all by Breuer.... Extremities: "Absolute Zero" and
"The Heat Wave".... There is plenty of adventure in fantasy fiction.
There's the Adventure in Time--In Futurity--On Eros--Of the Pipe--In
Anethesia--and the Atomic.... When will we have atomic power? Will we
have to wait until "After 5,000 Years," "After 12,000 Years," "After
1,000,000 Years," or until "After Armageddon"?... The entire story
of "Beyond the Star Curtain" by Garth Bentley took place upon the
earth.... _Wanted_: information from our Long Island readers leading
to the discovery of the "Vanishing Wood" in which Tom Jenkins
disappeared in October, 1931 (Chronicled in "In 20,000 A.D." by
Schachner and Zagat in the September, 1930 Wonder).... People may
laugh at fantasy fiction--but we know of at least _two_ motion
picture stars that owe their world-wide success to it, and you can
think of many others.... Of all the interplanetary stories ever
written, "Interplanetary Bridges," by Ludwig Anton, is the only one to
have the word in its title....
* * * * *
Science and Knowledge,
And strong youth and power--
Science, the creed of a nation!
New customs for old,
New ways, a new mold--
The tale of the New Generation!
--Virginia Kidd
* * * * *
Tell your friends about TFF
INFORMATION
We have received several requests (and we mean _several_) for a
list of the stories written by Edgar Rice Burroughs. Following we
present a list of his works compiled from the list in the January,
1933 issue of the _Science Fiction Digest_, through the courtesy
of Julius Schwartz.
A Princess of Mars
The Gods of Mars
The Warlord of Mars
Thuvia, Maid of Mars
The Chessmen of Mars
The Mastermind of Mars
A Fighting Man of Mars
At the Earth's Core
Pellucidar
Tanar of Pellucidar
Tarzan of the Apes
The Return of Tarzan
The Beasts of Tarzan
The Son of Tarzan
Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar
Tarzan the Untamed
Tarzan the Terrible
Tarzan and the Golden Lion
Tarzan and the Ant Men
Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle
Tarzan and the Lost Empire
Tarzan at the Earth's Core
Tarzan the Invincible
Tarzan Triumphant
The Cave Girl
The Eternal Lover
The Land that Time Forgot
The Monster Men
The Moon Maid
Jungle Girl
This is not a complete list of his works. Will all those that know of
stories he has written that are not in this list please send in the
names so that we can publish them? We would appreciate it.
If you have any question about weird or science fiction that you would
like answered, send it in to us, and we will do our best to answer it
for you in this department.
HOW TO COLLECT FANTASY FICTION
by Julius Schwartz
Part Four
Some of the former Munsey magazines published a great deal of
fantastic fiction that went under the name of 'different' stories. In
fact, no fantasy collection could ever be considered 'fair' without a
goodly number of these 'classics,' as they have been so often termed.
The magazines were: _Argosy_, _All-Story_, _Argosy All-Story_,
_Cavalier_, _Cavalier All-Story_, _Scrap Book_, and _Munsey's
Magazine_. Dates 1890 and up!
If the collector is ambitious enough he may try to procure some of the
English magazines that include fantastics within their covers. Same of
them are: _Pearson's Magazine_ (the monthly, not weekly), _The
Startler_, _Union Jack_, _Magnet_, and _Grit_. The first, by the way,
originally printed most of H. G. Wells' early fantasyarns, and it'd be
a feather in any collector's hat if he were, by any chance, able to
get his hands on one of those rare issues.
(We are sorry to state that Part Five will be the conclusion. In this
last part, coming in our February issue, we will have Mr. Schwartz
tell about fantasy booklets, and he will also inform us about the hard
covers.)
The Flagon of Beauty
(Annals of the Jinns)
by R. H. Barlow
The Princess drooped her long eyelashes. She was really quite pretty
when she did this.
"And you have brought it?" she asked softly, her hand stealing into
his. He coughed. This being spokesman was a delicate task.
"Yes, your Highness," said the man. "It is here." He touched a small
parcel beside him on the divan.
"And you will give it to me?" she breathed.
Steeling himself, he replied, "Their terms are the freedom of the
people."
She sprang to her feet. "Never!"
"Not for the Flagon?" he queried harshly.
"Not even for that." Reconsidering, she spoke slowly. "Five years ago
I sent a band in search of this fabulous drug, into the low-lying
jungle that cloaks the Ancient Cities, the Cities that no man knows
who built, there in the steaming swamps. Men have said that I was
beautiful, yet, ironically, he for whom I have wrecked my empire
scorned me. It was then I bethought me of this flask made in the
immemorial years agone, which figured in legend as containing the
essence of Beauty. Perhaps, I thought, with this I might win him from
my rival. Today you have returned; successfully, I grant you; and
demand yield of my power for that which I desire. I have been told
bitter things--that I have ruled mercilessly and tyrannically. That I
have, but I cared little for affairs of state since I became enamoured
of my prince. He has neglected no indignity to impose upon me, but I
cannot forget him. On the night of my Feast of Peacocks he sneered at
the priceless dishes and fed his monkey from the place. The gutter-rat
he has an infatuation for entertains him most skillfully, but he
shares her with the soldiers. He prefers her florid charms to me. This
I do not understand, but I command you, _give me that flagon_."
He slowly shook his head. "No, Majesty, I cannot betray their faith.
Fever took many lives in those crumbling ruins."
"I warn you, I am desperate," she said imperiously, "give, or I shall
take."
He lowered his gaze and remained silent. Seeing he was adamant, she
made a gesture with her head, and a slave stepped from the curtained
alcove. "Take this man to the Room of Pain," she ordered. In
consternation, he sought to dash the frail vessel to the tiles, but it
was dexterously twisted from his grasp by the blackamoor.
The princess laughed insanely.
"My men did well to steal you from under his nose, my wench," she
sneered to the helpless woman at her feet. "Let me see those carmine
lips smile at this!" she added contemptuously, breaking the ancient
seal covered with writing none could interpret. "You are startled?
Yes, it is the Flagon! Watch, if you wish, for you may not see when I
am finished with you." She drained the very dregs, and flung the
stopper in her captive's face. For a long moment there was no change
apparent in her flushed countenance. Then she noticeably paled. Her
hair swiftly grew leaded and grey, her lips assumed a ghastly pallor,
and a score of tiny wrinkles appeared on her smooth skin.
She became an old hag, quite out of place in the splendour of the
throne-room.
SUPERNATURAL HORROR IN LITERATURE
by H. P. Lovecraft
(Copyright 1927 by W. Paul Cook)
Part Three
This type of fear-literature must not be confounded with a type
externally similar but psychologically widely different; the
literature of mere physical fear and the mundanely gruesome. Such
writing, to be sure, has its place, as has the conventional or even
whimsical or humorous ghost story where formalism or the author's
knowing wink removes the true sense of the morbidly unnatural; but
these things are not the literature of cosmic fear in its purest
sense. The true weird tale has something more than secret murder,
bloody bones, or a sheeted form clanking chains according to rule. A
certain atmosphere of breathless and unexplainable dread of outer,
unknown forces must be present; and there must be a hint, expressed
with a seriousness and portentousness becoming its subject, of that
most terrible conception of the human brain--a malign and particular
suspension or defeat of those fixed laws of Nature which are our only
safeguard against the assaults of chaos and daemons of unplumbed
space.
Naturally we cannot expect all weird tales to conform absolutely to
any theoretical model. Creative minds are uneven, and the best fabrics
have their dull spots. Moreover, much of the choicest weird work is
unconscious; appearing in memorable fragments scattered through
material whose massed effect may be of a very different cast.
Atmosphere is the all-important thing, for the final criterion of
authenticity is not the dovetailing of a plot but the creation of a
given sensation. We may say, as a general thing, that a weird story
whose intent is to teach or produce a social effect, or one in which
the horrors are finally explained away by natural means, is not a
genuine tale of cosmic fear; but it remains a fact that such
narratives often possess, in isolated sections, atmospheric touches
which fulfil every condition of the true supernatural horror-literature.
Therefore we must judge a weird tale not by the author's intent, or by
the mere mechanics of the plot; but by the emotional level which it
attains at its least mundane point. If the proper sensations are
excited, such a "high spot" must be admitted on its own merits as
weird literature, no matter how prosaically it is later dragged down.
The one test of the really weird is simply this--whether or not there
be excited in the reader a profound sense of dread, and of contact
with unknown spheres and powers; a subtle attitude of awed listening,
as if for the beating of black wings or the scratching of outside
shapes and entities on the known universe's utmost rim. And, of
course, the more completely and unifiedly a story conveys this
atmosphere, the better it is as a work of art in the given medium.
(Next month Mr. Lovecraft takes up "The Dawn of the Horror Tale.")
Spurs of Death
by Natalie H. Wooley
The warden leaned back in his chair as he watched the door close, then
turned to the man who stood looking out of the window.
"Well, Jim?" he queried. The other came slowly back to the desk and
reseated himself. His face was puzzled.
"Who was that, Tom? He seems strangely familiar, and yet I can't seem
to place him."
"That man was Cliff Williams, the cowboy murderer," said the warden.
"You may have seen his picture in the papers. He gets the chair next
month for the three murders he has committed."
Jim Kelton registered surprise.
"He doesn't look like the sort of person to do such a thing like that.
He seems almost a kid."
The warden smiled grimly. "His looks are deceiving. He has killed
three men in the last ten years, and as far as anyone knows, without
any reason. I'll tell you the story, if you care to hear it."
The other assented.
"Well, the first one was a cow hand down in Texas about ten years ago.
He was working on a ranch down there and he and this fellow got in an
argument over something. He shot him. Then he raked his face open with
his spurs. That was the thing that trapped him in the end. Every time
he killed, he marked his victim's face. Horrible, I grant you. Well,
he disappeared, and finally the case was forgotten. He was a kid of
nineteen or twenty then. Five years later he turned up in Oregon.
Worked on the Lazy T ranch there. All the men liked him, too. He was
quiet, knew his business, and never talked much. Then one day, he came
in from line camp and the foreman gave him his pay. There seemed to be
some mistake in it, and he went to the ranch house to see Danby, the
owner. None of the boys noticed him come out, but when the cook went
to call him to dinner, he found Danby dead. Choked to death, his face
ripped open, and the cowboy gone. When they went to look for Williams,
he was gone. When they next heard of him, the police got a call to
investigate a brawl in a Laredo saloon. When they arrived and broke
through the circle, they saw two men struggling. Suddenly one fell,
and then before they could reach Williams, he lifted his spurred foot,
and slashed the face of the fallen man. Then they got him. Then the
police started for him. They got him after a terrible fight. The other
fellow died in the hospital shortly after." The warden shook his head.
"He's a tough one. Never a muscle when they sentenced him."
"Too bad." Jim Kelton rose and picked up his hat. "Well, guess I'd
better run along. Come out for a game of bridge some night, Tom. Ellen
was saying the other day that we never see you any more."
The warden opened the door for his friend. "I'll be out some night
soon," he promised, smiling.
As Williams stood waiting for the trusty to unlock the door of his
cell, his eyes met those of Lawrie, the man in the next cell. Between
the two had grown up an active dislike, the more threatening because
unspoken. At least, so far. It remained for Claffin, across the way,
to bring the thing out into the open. They were all discussing an
expected arrival.
Said Claffin, "I guess this new bird it plenty tough. He murdered his
wife and two kids. That's even worse than 'cowboy' there."
Lawrie cut in sneeringly. "I don't agree with you. He didn't carve 'em
up afterwards like Williams did. Nobody in their right mind could do a
thing like that. I couldn't, and neither could any of the rest of you
fellows," he charged. No one answered. The others knew of the enmity
between the two, and a strained silence filled the place. Then at
last, Williams spoke, his voice hoarse, fairly quivering with rage.
"All right, Lawrie, you've said plenty. I'll remember it. And don't
forget this; you'll be next! You'll be next!" he repeated, harshly.
Lawrie laughed, mockingly. The guard coming down the hall put a stop
to further conversation for the time being. But now the quarrel
between the two was out in the open, and through the following days
and weeks, Lawrie seemed possessed of some imp of perversity and
taunted and gibed at Williams continuously. Much of the time, the
'cowboy murderer' lay on his back on the cot and stared sullenly at
the ceiling, only turning at times to throw Lawrie a venomous glance.
At times, Lawrie grew ashamed for taunting a doomed man, but something
inside of him, stronger than he, urged him on implacably. Once in a
while, he shuddered at the looks given him by the other, and silently
he blessed the bars that kept them apart.
Then came William's last morning. The prison chaplain came to
administer the last rites, but fled before the storm of curses that
met him. After his departure, a long silence fell that lasted till
they came for him. Even Lawrie was silent and sat soberly watching. As
they brought him out, and he passed Lawrie, he stopped and looked in.
His eyes, filled with immeasurable hatred, met those of Lawrie. On his
face was a malignant sneer.
"Remember, you're next," he said slowly, and passed on down the
corridor. Lawrie watched his retreating form till it passed from
sight. Claffin called across in a hoarse whisper. "What do you make of
this; Williams asked them to bury him with his spurs on. Funny, isn't
it?"
Lawrie did not answer for the reason that at the word 'spurs,' a
queerly premonitory chill passed over him. Uneasily, he recalled the
other's parting word and the cold, evil hatred of the other's glance.
He tried to shake off the cold, chilly feeling that was settling
over him, but without success. There seemed to be an indefinable
change in the atmosphere, a sense of something horrible about to
happen. They all felt it, in a lesser degree. The gray day dragged
along, and conversation lagged. By common consent, they all avoided
glancing at the empty cell. It seemed too potent a reminder of the
thing that waited for them all. Dusk settled down and shadows began to
fill the corners. And then Lawrie glancing idly out the door of his
cell, gave a startled cry. There in the shadows before his cell door,
he saw something. A shadow that formed, that seemed to pause and
linger before him. Then, as he cried out, it melted into nothing and
was gone.
His heart was beating fast, pounding with the nameless fear that held
him in an ever-tightening grip. The sense of impending calamity drew
closer. He began to shake.
"What's wrong?" called Claffin, curiously, his voice low.
Lawrie, eyes fastened on the empty cell next to him, did not answer.
He could not. He was watching something--something that formed before
his eyes into a man, a shadowy figure that smiled horribly and wore
gleaming spurs. He saw it form, growing clearer and drawing nearer the
bars. The shadowy eyes gazed back into his terrified ones, and then he
screamed at the thing he read in them. A scream that died in his
throat in a gurgle as he fell heavily.
The guard came running. "What's going on here?" he demanded, angrily.
He peered in suspiciously at the fallen figure. At last they entered
the silent cell and raised him to his cot. He was dead. And across the
horror that death had stamped indelibly on his face, there ran the
livid gash of a spur!
ABOUT AUTHORS
Clark Ashton Smith makes very little use of alliterations and has
probably invented more alien names for the characters in his stories
than any other author.... There are quite a few writers whose first
initials are E. E.... A few of them are: Speight, Smith, Repp,
Chappelow, and Newton.... Miss Leslie F. Stone was taken for a man,
even after her picture had been printed in Wonder. Probably that is
why a new one was drawn for "The Hell Planet" in the June, 1932
number.... Jack Williamson wrote science fiction more than three years
before he tackled weird stories, and now seems to be doing a good job
at both.... Malcolm Afford's story, "The Gland Men of the Island" in
Wonder was printed in Amazing by mistake over two years later under
the name of "The Ho-Ming Gland." This case shows to what extent the
editors revise each story. Compare both stories and you will find many
changes of one over the other, especially at the conclusion ... Kaw,
Anthos, and Marius: authors without first names.... Gernsback was the
only editor who imported foreign stories and translated them into
English for his science fiction publications. Fletcher Pratt, an
author of note himself, usually does the translating.... Weird Tales
has had the largest number of authors who have never had a second
story appear.... How many are familiar with Bertram Atkey's fantastic
stories in Blue Book? In 1930 he had a series of humorous
reincarnation stories published there....
* * * * *
Come over to "Our Readers Say" and "The Boiling Point" and join in.
THE BOILING POINT
The Smith-Ackerman debate is still going strong, with Smith in the
lead. However, the Ackerman side is taking a big leap with the
following defenses. The first comes from Allen Glasser, who says:
"I am surprised at the vicious remarks being made about Forrest
Ackerman. He really doesn't deserve any such abuse. Perhaps his
writings are a bit flamboyant and over-enthusiastic; but surely that's
no great fault. To those who know him well, Forrest is a fine fellow;
and his zeal for science-fiction merits praise rather than censure."
Donald Alexander is all for Ackerman and wishes to make no secret of
it:
"I've been watching the controversy in 'The Boiling Point.' It seems
to me that young Forrest J. Ackerman is by far the most sensible of
the lot. Instead of intelligently answering his arguments, Messrs.
Smith, Lovecraft, Barlow, etc., have made fools of themselves
descending to personalities. Ackerman is a most interesting type of
'crank.' (Everyone who writes in to a magazine is a 'crank.' So'm I).
At least, F. J. A. shows signs of a rudimentary intelligence, which
most cranks don't. I agree with him. 'The Light from Beyond' and
several other Smith yarns, had no place in _Wonder Stories_. WS
calls itself a science fiction magazine. Smith's story under
discussion isn't science fiction, so, it had no place in such a
magazine. F. J. A. is right there. I see no reason why Lovecraft
should condemn Ackerman for not liking Smith. After all, we each have
our own tastes. Smith, in my own opinion, is a poor writer. His
stories are all like the ravings of some fearfully diseased mind.
Lovecraft, on the other hand, is a fairly good writer. But I'm wasting
good typewriter ink; your readers haven't enough intelligence to grasp
such a common sense argument as the one presented by Ackerman, so they
call him a nitwit, while he actually has more sense than the lot of
them thrown together. If there were a hundred-million Forrest J.
Ackermans in the world, it'd be a better place to live in, at least
we'd have a little common sense used occasionally."
Now, while we are very glad to find defenses on the Ackerman side,
we must disagree with Mr. Alexander when he calls our readers too
ignorant to grasp an argument put forth by Mr. Ackerman. Their eager
disapproval with logical objections contradicts this theory. And then
again, the mere fact that they are science fiction and weird fans puts
them above the average, for such readers must be broadminded and open
minded, and not the "What's-good-enough-for-father-is-good-enough-for-me"
or "There-ain't-no-such-animal" types. We believe that this letter
leaves cause for rebuttal on the part of Messrs. Smith and Lovecraft.
Forrest J. Ackerman, of course, does not like the way he has been
treated, and has this to say about it:
"Pardon me, do; but why did you run 'The Boiling Point' in a foreign
language? What a vocalberry on those Weird Men Smith and Lovecraft!
And I think I'll have to change my tag from 'Forrest J. Ackerman,
Scientifictionist' to 'Forrest J. Ackerman, Ebullitionist'. The two
got the word in within the first line of comments. Now Mr. Smith will
be calling Mr. Lovecraft 'Plagiarist', and then maybe Mr. Smith (the
'Skylark') will burst in and say that HE owns the original. Let's have
a contest... Just thought of it--the original Paul illustration that I
treasure _would_ be from _Smith's_ story, 'The City of the Singing
Flame.' I don't get the connection: the Lovecraft says in print 'a
very childish attack', and in his personal reply to me 'your bright
and candid letter.'!?"
It can be seen by the above letter that Ackerman really holds no hard
feeling toward the Weird Men; just a bit of mockery and rare Ackerman
wit.
Just to show that we are always open to both sides, following are a
couple of fans who still choose to 'lay it on thick.'
"Personally, I thought that 'The Light From Beyond' was very good, and
I certainly could see nothing weird about it. It was fantasy, yes, and
not stf, but some of the greatest classics of so-called science
fiction have been almost pure fantasy. Witness: 'The Snake Mother,'
'The Moon Pool,' 'The Time Stream' (Ackerman's objection to this was
particularly obnoxious to me, as I thought it was one of the best
stories ever written. Certainly it offered the most food for thought),
'The Skylark of Space' (partly fantasy), 'The Princess of Mars,' and
other greats. Certainly, there should be something more to science
fiction than rays, machines, villains, heroines, (composed of lipstick
and legs, as Mr. Barlow rather bitterly expresses it) as has been
stressed so greatly of late. There should be an element of fantasy,
strong character, and a well-developed plot in addition. The lack of
those is why so many weird story lovers (like Mr. Barlow) can find so
much fault with stf. I do not blame him. I, myself, as a reader, will
stop reading stf when the fantasy element is dropped completely."
William Crawford (Editor of _Unusual Stories_).
"What does this Ackerman guy know about weird and fantastic fiction?
From the way he writes, he must be an unimaginative person unable to
stretch his mind away from space-ships and foreign star-clusters. I
get that he is an egotistical radical and one who doesn't like
something that is not even intended for him. So far, in telling about
his collection, he has described a sort of madhouse. However, I
certainly would like to see this madhouse, as I can appreciate a thing
or two that is connected with stf. At heart, I am truly a weird and
fantastic fiction fan."--F. Lee Baldwin
There seems to be enough controversy in this month's discussion to
bring in enough letters to fill next month's. Write in and give us
your opinions on the subject. Are Smith's tales fit for _Wonder
Stories_? Does Ackerman know what he's talking about, and are the
Weird Men justified in their criticisms of him? Here's hoping to hear
from you.
* * * * *
Man is in truth but cosmic dust,
Which by a sudden whirling gust
Of forces from unbounded space,
Spread o'er this planet's tiny face.
* * * * *
If you think that you have anything worthwhile to contribute to
THE FANTASY FAN
send it in to us for our very serious consideration, we are always
glad to get material from our readers.
UNUSUAL STORIES
The new magazine of fantastic fiction presents such stories as:
"The White Sybil"
by Clark Ashton Smith
"Countries in the Sea"
by August W. Derleth
"The Sixth Sense"
by Stanton A. Coblentz
"On Board the Space-Ship Terra"
by L. A. Eshbach
"The Strange Case of Tony Rizutti"
by Ralph Milne Farley
"The Doom that Came to Sarnath"
by H. P. Lovecraft
"Tharda, Queen of Vampires"
by Richard Tooker
"The Garden of Fear"
by Robert E. Howard
"Mars Colonizes"
by Miles J. Breuer, M.D.
"When the Waker Sleeps"
by Cyril G. Wates
"The Torch of Life"
by Joe W. Skidmore
"The Ogre of Space"
by Manly Wade Wellman
"A Diamond Asteroid"
by Lowell H. Morrow
"Binding de Lux"
by Dr. David H. Keller
"Master of Matter"
by Amelia Reynolds Long
"The Titan"
by P. Schuyler Miller
"Synthetic"
by Harl Vincent
and others.
Subscribe now: Single copy: .20--Three months: .50--eight mo:
$1.00--year: $1.50
Special offers to be withdrawn soon.
Published by Fantasy Publications,
Everett, Pa.
H. G. WELLS' "Queer Story of Brownlow's Newspaper," illustrated in
colors, 25 cents. Other fantasy novelties. Allen Glasser, 1610
University Avenue, Bronx, N.Y.
* * * * *
CLARK ASHTON SMITH presents THE DOUBLE SHADOW AND OTHER FANTASIES--a
booklet containing a half-dozen imaginative and atmospheric
tales.--Stories of exotic beauty, glamor, terror, strangeness, irony
and satire. Price: 25 cents each, (coin or stamps). Also a small
remainder of EBONY AND CRYSTAL--a book of prose poems published at
$2.00, reduced to $1.00 per copy. Everything sent postpaid. Clark
Ashton Smith, Auburn, California.
* * * * *
BACK NUMBERS OF THE FANTASY FAN--September, 20 cents; October,
November, 10 cents. (Only a few Septembers left.)
* * * * *
IF YOU HAVE any copies of Weird Tales dated 1923-24-25-26-27, that you
would like to part with, please communicate with the Editor.
* * * * *
Watch For An
Important Announcement
About
FANTASY Magazine
Soon
* * * * *
Transcriber's Note: Minor typographical errors have been corrected
without note. Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have
been retained as printed.
Words printed in bold are marked with tildes: ~bold~.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Fantasy Fan December 1933, by Charles D. Hornig
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FANTASY FAN DECEMBER 1933 ***
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