On it came, and his confidence waned. Bullet after bullet he sent crashing into its vitals, but it did not halt. Now he dashed the empty gun full into the gargoyle face without effect, and with a lurch and a roll it had him in its grasp. As the giant arms closed crushingly about him, he abandoned all hope, but following his fighting instinct to the last, he drove his dagger hilt- deep in the shaggy belly.
But even as he struck, he felt a shudder run through the gigantic frame. The great arms fell away—and then he was hurled to the ground in the last death throe of the monster, and the thing was swaying, its face a deathmask. Dead on its feet, it crumpled, toppled to the ground, quivered and lay still. Not even a man-eating ape of Zambebwei could survive that close- range volley of mushrooming lead.
As the man staggered up, Constance rose and reeled into his arms, crying hysterically.
"It's all right now, Constance," he panted, crushing her to him. "The Zemba's dead; De Albor's dead; Ballville's dead; the negroes have run away. There's nothing to prevent us leaving now. The Moon of Zambebwei was the end for them. But it's the beginning of life for us."
THE END
Skull-Face
Table of Contents
1. — THE FACE IN THE MIST
2. — THE HASHISH SLAVE
3. — THE MASTER OF DOOM
4. — THE SPIDER AND THE FLY
5. — THE MAN ON THE COUCH
6. — THE DREAM GIRL
7. — THE MAN OF THE SKULL
8. — BLACK WISDOM
9. — KATHULOS OF EGYPT
10. — THE DARK HOUSE
11. — FOUR THIRTY-FOUR
12. — THE STROKE OF FIVE
13. — THE BLIND BEGGAR WHO RODE
14. — THE BLACK EMPIRE
15. — THE MARK OF THE TULWAR
16. — THE MUMMY WHO LAUGHED
17. — THE DEAD MAN FROM THE SEA
18. — THE GRIP OF THE SCORPION
19. — DARK FURY
20. — ANCIENT HORROR
21. — THE BREAKING OF THE CHAIN
1. — THE FACE IN THE MIST
Table of Contents
"We are no other than a moving row
Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go."
—Omar Khayyam
THE horror first took concrete form amid that most unconcrete of all things—a hashish dream. I was off on a timeless, spaceless journey through the strange lands that belong to this state of being, a million miles away from earth and all things earthly; yet I became cognizant that something was reaching across the unknown voids—something that tore ruthlessly at the separating curtains of my illusions and intruded itself into my visions.
I did not exactly return to ordinary waking life, yet I was conscious of a seeing and a recognizing that was unpleasant and seemed out of keeping with the dream I was at that time enjoying. To one who has never known the delights of hashish, my explanation must seem chaotic and impossible. Still, I was aware of a rending of mists and then the Face intruded itself into my sight. I though at first it was merely a skull; then I saw that it was a hideous yellow instead of white, and was endowed with some horrid form of life. Eyes glimmered deep in the sockets and the jaws moved as if in speech. The body, except for the high, thin shoulders, was vague and indistinct, but the hands, which floated in the mists before and below the skull, were horribly vivid and filled me with crawling fears. They were like the hands of a mummy, long, lean and yellow, with knobby joints and cruel curving talons.
Then, to complete the vague horror which was swiftly taking possession of me, a voice spoke—imagine a man so long dead that his vocal organ had grown rusty and unaccustomed to speech. This was the thought which struck me and made my flesh crawl as I listened.
"A strong brute and one who might be useful somehow. See that he is given all the hashish he requires."
Then the face began to recede, even as I sensed that I was the subject of conversation, and the mists billowed and began to close again. Yet for a single instant a scene stood out with startling clarity. I gasped—or sought to. For over the high, strange shoulder of the apparition another face stood out clearly for an instant, as if the owner peered at me. Red lips, half- parted, long dark eyelashes, shading vivid eyes, a shimmery cloud of hair. Over the shoulder of Horror, breathtaking beauty for an instant looked at me.
2. — THE HASHISH SLAVE
Table of Contents
"Up from Earth's center through the Seventh Gate
I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate."
— Omar Khayyam
MY DREAM of the skull-face was borne over that usually uncrossable gap that lies between hashish enchantment and humdrum reality. I sat cross-legged on a mat in Yun Shatu's Temple of Dreams and gathered the fading forces of my decaying brain to the task of remembering events and faces.
This last dream was so entirely different from any I had ever had before, that my waning interest was roused to the point of inquiring as to its origin. When I first began to experiment with hashish, I sought to find a physical or psychic basis for the wild flights of illusion pertaining thereto, but of late I had been content to enjoy without seeking cause and effect.
