Page:Weird Tales Volume 36 Number 06 (1942-07).djvu/9

He was no taller than I, even then, but about twice as broad.

“Since you’re a man of your word, will you give your parole?” he asked.

I swallowed the last bite of bacon, and shook my head. “I’ll escape,” I announced, “as soon as there’s light enough.”

“Will you give me your parole until sunrise?” he almost pleaded.

Wondering, I gave it. He put his hand on my shoulder again, steered me to a narrow stairway and up to a little room the size of a pantry. There was a cot with a gray blanket, Union army issue, on it.

“Sleep here,” he said. “No, no questions—I won’t answer them. Be ready for orders at an hour before dawn.”

He left me. I took off my tunic and boots, and stretched out on the cot. Still puzzling over things, I went to sleep.

I woke to the touch of a hand, cold as a washrag, on my brow. Somehow there was light enough to see a woman standing there. She wore a frosty white dress and veil, like a bride’s. Her face was still whiter.

I saw a straight, narrow-cut nose, a mouth that must be very red to be so darkly alive, and eyes that glowed green. Perhaps the eyes gave the light. I sat up, embarrassed.

“I was told to sleep here, ma’am,” I said. “Is this your house?”

“Yes,” she whispered, “it is my house.” She sat on the edge of the cot. Her hand moved from my face to my shoulder. Her grip was as strong as Sergeant Jaeger’s. “Your name is Cole Wickett. You are a brave soldier, but you never had a sweetheart.”

I was tired of hearing about it. I said nothing, and she went on:

“I will be your sweetheart.” And she put her arms around me.

She was beautiful, more than anyone I had ever seen. But when she came that close I felt a horrible sick fear. Perhaps it was the smell of deadness, as of a week-old battlefield. Or all of them.

I wriggled loose and jumped off the cot. She laughed, a little gurgle like water in a cave.

“Do not be afraid, Cole. Stand where you are.”

She, too, rose. She was taller than I. Her eyes fixed mine, and I could not move. If you want to know how I felt, stare for a while at some spot on the wall or floor. After a moment, you’ll have trouble looking away. It’s called hypnotism, or something. She came near again, and this time I did not shrink when she put her hands on my shoulders.

“Now,” she said.

Then Sergeant Jaeger opened the door, took one look, and began to say something, very rapidly and roughly. It sounded like Bible verses: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God—”

The woman shrieked, high and ear-tingling, like a bat. She let go of me.

She was gone. It was like a light being blown out, or a magic-lantern image switched from a screen.

I stared stupidly, like a country idiot. Jaeger cleared his throat, and tugged his beard. "That was close,” he said.

“Who was she?” I asked, and the words had a hard time forming in my throat.

“Somebody whose call we’ll return,” he put me off gruffly. "She thought she’d destroy the one power we’re counting on. It’s time to strike back.”

I FOLLOWED him outside. The night was black, but the early-morning stars had wheeled up into heaven. We passed two different sentries, and came through the sleeping street of the little town to a church, either ruined or shell-smashed. Beyond was a burying ground, grown up in weeds and walled around with stone. At the broken-down gate stood the chaplain.