HIGH STRANGENESS-Tales of the Macabre by Billie Sue Mosiman Page A

reflecting the last shards of sunlight was the evidence that Walton had always hoped would be found. It was all primitive, disorganized, but recognizably made by human hands for human comfort. The re was a bed of limbs against a far wall, taken, Walton surmised, from some far region in the area where trees must grow. There was a cold dead heap of coals indicating fire for warmth and cooking. There was a cave man's ax, made of a length of timber and a sharpened stone attached to the head with sinew strips from an animal's hide. There was a pile of bones, tiny ones and larger, the marrow gnawed for nourishment and then the bones were discarded all in one place.
    This is where the glorious being lived.
    A nd he lived yet! The coals were not scattered, the bed undisturbed and ready for a man to lie his head down for a sleep. He lived, he lived!
    The first men to catch up with Walton wandered into the cave and began looking around in disbelief. Some shuddered. Some laughed and then abruptly lost the impetus to laughter. One, the leader of the hired men, a bear of a man with biceps as enormous as cannon balls, came to Walton and said, “ What does this mean? Who or what lives here?”
    “ I don't know,” Walton replied truthfully. “ I hope it is the man I've come to find, but I don't really know.”
    “ We were told you were a scientist.”
    “ And that I am.”
    “ Come to measure wind with strange instruments.”
    “ I am afraid that was not quite the truth.”
    The leader glanced around befo re turning again to Walton. “ You hunt a man who would live alone in this icy wilderness, someone who would live like an animal hibernating in a cave of ice? What manner of demon is this?”
    Walton almost laughed in the man's face. Demon? God would more appro ximate the real character of Frankenstein's successful experimental being. He said, placing a calming hand on the other man's arm, “ We'll have no talk about demons and such things. I have been searching for a friend of mine, someone who deserted civilizat i on twenty years ago, someone I thought must by now be dead from exposure or starvation. That I've finally found his lair, and I admit it appears to be not unlike where a polar bear might take up residence, but now that I've found him, you cannot fully ima g ine my joy and thanksgiving. This man was once great. A learned man. He spoke fluently and visited all the great cities of the world. But something...tragic...caused him to turn his back on his fellow man, and I could not live with myself had I not made t h is ponderous trip to assure myself he still lived — or had finally found a restful peace in death. You do understand, don't you? You'll assure the others not to be afraid? We will return now, all of us, just as soon as we can. Our long journey is at an end. ”
    The leader frowned trying to understand what was essentially an unreasonable and illogical story from the man who paid his salary, but after a moment, his breath pluming ghostly as fog from his lips, he nodded acquiescence the way a sheep will bow to the shepherd's song. “ I'll tell the men,” he said, and trundled away to the mouth of the cave where the rest of the party stood in stupefied wonder.
    That night, with his lantern turned low to conserve oil, Walton could not stand the wait for the being's return to his cave home. He took out the paper and began to write to Margaret about his discovery.
    Dearest Sister,
    Through divine providence I have not been killed, beset by my churlish supply bearers, or dropped off an ice crevice into an endless cavern. The Go od Lord has answered my prayers and taken me to the very place of my dreams. I am here in the cave where Frankenstein's monster has been living! If something happens to me so that I do not make it back to your loving sphere, perhaps someone will bear this missal to your hands so that you will know I have not wasted my money and my last year of health. I did not waste those years thinking about