Mechanic Arts High School - M Yearbook (St Paul, MN)

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JUNE, 1924 T H E UM 13 The D001- By SHELDON STAUBITZ, Q55 THIRD PRIZE The door to the terrace opened, slowly, softly: remained wide for a moment, showing a patch of inky night between the white walls of the bedroom: then it closed again, slowly, softly. So still was everything that the faint click of the latch sounded as loud as the report of a pistol. The woman watched, eyes widening, temples throbbing, a scream Welling in her throat. The door had opened, the door had closed, but no visible hand had touched the knob. Nor could the wind account for it. Outside the cedar trees were as still as statuary. Who-what had opened that door? Who --what had entered? For someone-something-had entered. Her tingling nerves told her that she was no longer alone. There was something-someone here- unseen, intangible, noiseless, but in front of her, beside her, behind her, closing upon her, crushing her, someone-something rendered vicious by hatred. Pshaw! lt was only her imaginationf the funeral had been too 'great a strain. She would go out on the terrace, rid her nostrils of the heavy aroma of cut flowers on the coflin, let the cold night air drive these fevered thoughts from her brain. Yet she could not steel herself to cross the threshold. Something-someone, was barring the way. She would ring for one of the servants to convince her of her foolishness. But she recoiled with a gasp, The bell rope had become a serpent, venomous tongue darting, striking at her. She tried to shriek, but it only racked her breast with pain. Her tonsils had swollen, muflled it. She looked at the bed and staggered with horror. Beneath the gilt canopy, under the old rose coverlet lay a man, an aged man, writhing as if in agony, sallow cheeks purpled, froth on his lips. Above him bent a woman, a tall woman with green earrings -herself-herself! Her face was watchful, relentless, impatient. ln one hand she held a hypodermic needle and the withered skin on the man's shrunken neck showed a bead of blood where it had been punctured. Writhe all you likel Scream all you like! she was hissing tensely. There is no one to hear you. She laughed coldly, tauntingly. 'Af-Xh, you thought you had a line bar- gain, didn't you? Buying me, my youth, my beauty. You thought you made a fine bargain! but I am making a better one! You will be punished, the man gasped between groans, growing fainter and fainter. Yes? By whom? There will be no autopsy. Old men often die of apoplexy. Your other heirs will be too glad to have you dead to press the matter. A great convulsion shook him, a dry rattle sounded in his throat, yellow claws plucked at the rosy coverlet as if picking away obscene insects. You shall be punished, it came very weakly. Nl shall punish you! I shall return! But the woman only laughed again, loudly, coldly. The figure on the bed was rigid now, face frozen in death. And then the picture vanished and the bed was empty! The woman in the room caught at her neck as if to tear something away from it. The thing was pressing closer about her. It began to scratch her cheeks, her breast, her limbs. Don't touch me! she screamed. Don't touch mel Let me go! Overwhelmed with terrilied hysteria she rushed about the room, overturning furni- ture, clutching at tapestries, pulling them down. But there was no escape. At last, past the verge of insanity, she flung herself upon the bed, burrowed into the pillows, bit- ing them. Don't torture mel she moaned. l'll tell everything-everything! The door opened, slowly, softly, remained C0ontinued on page 703 , I

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1+ T .ilu lllllemurg uf llllr. meithretht Ilia lwvc plettire ol hlr. Xl elthri-tlit s ui.tx'c :lt 01.111111-, lztlilornlzt come fi x Ill l Rosen, -luke Yan Rhea. :mtl llztioltl Smith. c three rclztte that they visited the urzixe on .1 tltutirly, otercgtst day. tt 'lien up hopes ol :t picture, hut just :ts they Stopped at the heml- tn hlztze-Ll forth: :ts they pill :sway the frtttium, iglzzcl thztt hlecllxtnics ut t hut- rl picture alter gill, the rlolicls lxluttuil out the sun Llizuin. That I-I E M JUNF 1924 L hlntlly lwczlm was :tll.j A heart at leisure from itself on earth, The glory of a dream-enamoured soul That sees beyond the trivial to the great, And far beyond life's threshold to the Goal. Life's bitter chalice drained he to the depths, Yet on the Wings of vision rode a love Untarnished and e'er sacred-wondrous thing! The key that made this world like that above. For him, a simple headstone o'er his grave, For us, enshrined within our hearts, a seed Once sown by him, and now a blossomed Hower That bears him memory-a living creed, Mabel La Doucre.