Lowe High School - Towers Yearbook (Windsor, Ontario Canada)

Page 22 text:

18 The Windsor-YVaikerville Technical School Year Book wolf, that we had been reading of in ancient legends. Half fainting we could feel rather than hear his ap¬ proach towards us. With a panther¬ like tread he came, and strange to note, there was no squeaking of the boards when he stepped. Trembling like a leaf 1 was transfixed by the maniacal stare that fiixed itself on me. A horrible arm stretched out to me. with claw-like fingers open¬ ing and closing convulsively. It drew nearer and nearer until only a few inches from my face. Then then long fingers settled themselves in my hair, and as 1 felt the horrible death-cold touch. I sank senseless to the floor. “A sharp cry recalled me to my senses, and as I opened my eyes 1 saw the girls with the guide bending over us. When our strength re¬ turned we told them all. The guide stroked his long white beard, and solemnly predicted that Harvey llarlmve would come no more to the village. “Such has been the case. The villagers say that his touch on a human person has killed his power to return again. If so, I am glad but 1 do not wish the honour of being the means of ridding another town of its evil spirit. -o- ALIAS SUZANNE “Karate, have you seen my skat¬ ing sweater?” asked Marilyn as she entered the room where her brother was sitting. “Marilyn Rogers, you ' er not going skating again tonight! You’re a fine kind of sister to have . You promised to help me fix this blotn- ing radio tonight.” “Well I promised the girls— be¬ gan Marilyn but Ernest interrupted: “Call ' em’ up and tell ’em your cousin from California is here visit¬ ing.” Then seeing the doubtful ex¬ pression on Marilyn’s face he went on: “They ' ll never know the difference anyway. If you stay home and help me fix the radio tonight I’ll take you skating every night next week.” “Well.’ ' said Marilyn, “it’s not a very nice thing to do but I’ll do it this time for your sake.” A few minutes later Earnest chuckled to himself as he heard his sister at the telephone. “Hello—Is that you Louise?—I ' m awfully sorry but I can’t go skating with you tonight. My cousin Suzanne Andrews is here from Cali¬ fornia and as she doesn’t skate I’ll have to stay at home.—No, I couldn’t do that.—Yes. Well good¬ bye Louise. I’ll see you tomorrow. “There, Eartiie,” she said merrily. “The fatal deed is done. Now let’s get to work on the radio.” Ten minutes passed, then the telephone rang and Marilyn left the room to answer it. A moment later she was back with tragedy written on her face. “Now you have done it Tiarnest Rogers! Louise Booklaud just phoned and said that the girls had decided to postpone the skating party and now they’re coming up here to meet “my cousin Suzanne.” It’s your fault too. Now what are we going to do about it. “They’re coming up here. Gosh 1” said Ernest looking up from his work. “Isn’t that just like a pack of girls! But, say, Marivln, I’ve got a swell idea.” “You’re full of great ideas,” re¬ marked Marilyn scornfully. “Well this one is a good one,” went on Earnest. “Now listen care¬ fully. I’ll dress up in some of your duds and you tell them I’m your cousin. They know Mom and Dad are in Chicago and you can tell them I ' ve gone too.” “But won’t they recognize you? asked Marilyn doubtfully. “Not when I ' m fixed up. Now don’t get excited. J ust dig out some of your things for me to wear. Oh they won ' t recognize me when I get dolled up.” Five minutes later he was back and Marilyn had to admit that his own mother would not have known him. On his head was a blonde curly wig which he had worn in a college

Page 21 text:

The Windsor- ' WalkerviHe Technical School Year Book 17 THE GHOST OF HARVEY HARLOWE Prize Story—Gladys Kerr—C3A. “ )h no, of course not! Shelley laugTied a nervous little laugh as she drew her chair close to the dy¬ ing embers in the fire-place. I never never believe a ghost story when read, or told hv someone else, but this is what did actually happen to my chum and me two years ago. “It was while our club of girls was camping on a small island near the Bay of Fundy, that Lenore and I heard from the old light-house keeper the story of young Harvey Harlowe, his dramatic death, and his return every autumn in the form of a monstrous spectre to haunt and keep in constant terror the people of the little fishing hamlet who were indirectly the cause of his death. “The story fascinated us. The in¬ evitable evidence of his reality given by the unique teller set our pulses tingling with a craving for adventure, and we decided to be alert for any signs of the returning Harlowe so that we, too, might share in a personal knowledge of this strange spectre. “()ne evening as the camp was re¬ turning by a backwoods path from the village, where we had been spending a social hour with friends, Lenore and 1 unconsciously lagged a little behind the rest, who were in a hurry to reach the cove where our launch was tied before darkness was completely upon us. “As we passed an empty and ram¬ shackle old house along the path, we saw a flash of light go past one of the broken windows. Clutching each other in suppressed terror we waited, hardly daring to breathe, for an¬ other sign from what we were sure was the ghost of Harlowe. We paused a moment, while the voices of the girls grew fainter and fainter, for another signal of the ghost. None came. We waited again in breathless suspense, and as all seemed quiet, crept through the tall and tangled weeds to the shack, pausing every few steps to listen. The old door was broken in, so we cautiously crept inside. “Squeak! Squeak!” went every step on the warped and rotted boards while the cchocing squeak came back through the gruesome stillness. My knees began to tremble beneath me, as the squeaking of the floor grated on my nerves, and pulling Lenore down be¬ side me, I sank upon the floor to wait. “We waited for what seemed to be an age, not daring to whisper, and conscious only of the wild palpitat¬ ing of our hearts. There was still no sign of our ghost, and we rose to depart, when suddenly, from the attic of the old building, came a rustling sound like dried leaves frolicking over a beaten path on a windy day. The sound increased and changed to a weird melody. Out of this a voice became discernible. It rose flute-like and then fell like the dying wind. “Lenore and 1 clutched each other with such strength that our muscles ached with the intensity of the mo¬ ment. The beads of perspiration stood out on my forehead, while I could feel creepy little chills chas¬ ing each other up and down my back. The noise became louder and louder, and the voice became more distinct. I tried to move but I was glued to the spot, paralysed with dread for we could now hear a step on the rickety old stairs. “Suddenly against the broken win¬ dow near the staircase we beheld the Phantom. Silhouetted against the grey sky of the west, he resembled the “Loup Garou,” or half man, half

Page 23 text:

The Winrfsor-Walkcrvilk Technical School Year Book 19 play the year before. His face was carefully powdered and rouged. He had on a frock of Marilyn’s and lie had even managed to squeeze his feet into a dainty pair of high-heeled slippers of his mother ' s. “Well, will I do?” he asked. Before Marilyn had time to an¬ swer, the doorbell rang and she flew to answer it. When she returned with the girls “Suzanne” was found curled gracefully (?) in a chair with a book. After the necessary intro¬ ductions had been made Suzanne was asked to tell them something of her California home. “Well,” began Suzanne, Down in California it never snows and—well it is always nice down there and it never snows and—well I guess that’s all there is to tell about California. For poor Earnest had never been within a hundred miles of his own northern home and knew little of California ' s beauty and interests. “I suppose you never have any “outdoor skating down there,” asked Louise. “I guess we do skate,” began Su¬ zanne enthusiastically, “I love skating.” But a look from Marilyn warned him that he was on dangerous ground. “Er-um—1 mean roller skating of course,” he stammered. “I’ve never been on an ice pond in my life.” “Oh I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said Louise. “Tomorrow we’ll all go down to the pond and we will teach you to skate.” “Suits me,” said Suzanne calmly. After the girls had gone Earnest kicked off his mother ' s slippers and stretched his feet out. “We’ll that’s that, he said. And let me tell you, Marilyn, I’m going to have a good time tomorrow with those girls teaching me to skate. But the next evening after having seven girls drag him, the star hockey player of the High School of the town around the ice, and after hav- seven girls telling him how his red sweater suited his complexion and his eyes, he decided that masquerad¬ ing as Suzanne Andrews of Cali¬ fornia was not nearly as funny as he had surmised. The following evening when the doorbell rang Earnest gathered up his books and fled from the room. “If that’s those confounded girls tells ’em I’m sick,” he shouted as he dashed up the stairs. “What shall 1 tell them if they ask what’s wrong with you?” asked Marilyn on her way to the door. “Tell ’em I’ve got smallpox. Any¬ thing to keep them away.” The next day when the girls called up to find out how Suzanne was they were informed that she had departed for home because of the serious ill¬ ness of her mother. They were also informed that Earnest had returned from Chicago. A few days later Marilyn entered the room where Earnest was read- ing. “So long old dear,” she said wav¬ ing her sweater over his head. “Where are you going?” he asked. “I’m going skating. Have you any objections?” ELECTA McDADE—G3B. -o- SMYTHE’S WONDER MACHINE By Charles Fisher It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining gloriously, sparrows shirped in the road and a soft gentle breeze was blowing. In fact it was one of those days that make a man look for romance. To put it shortly it was a perfect day. I was wandering along the avenue, thinking of nothing in particular, not even looking where 1 was going, when I was brought up short by the shock of bumping into something. Staggering back I heard a voice say¬ ing, ' ‘Dear me, what was that now! My dear sir, pardon me, excuse me.” The voice sounded vaguely famil¬ iar and recovering my hat from the sidewalk, I turned and confronted one of the most amazing men I have ever known. He had a thin face, broad and bulging at the forehead and ending in a pointed chin, a long