Newport High School - Live Wire Yearbook (Newport, ME)

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NEWPORT, MAINE A- -?.sA.-..-s..s. . I .-21 telling this tale today. The name on the gravestone was Frankenstein The Monster. I was paralyzed. My fingers refused to move. My eyes popped. I stared at the stone. The engraving became luminous. I noticed a movement in the crease of one of the letters. A drop of glowing human blood splashed to the base of the stone. The light faded and I saw no more. When I came to, I was looking at the luminous hands of my watch. It was twelve thirty. I lit a match and noticed the engraving on the stone. I realized then it wasn't a dream. During the last dying flicker of the match I glanced at the gravestone opposite me. The letters on it were of the same fantastic design as on the one back of me. My match died. I continued staring at the dark outline of the stone. A silvery glow slowly formed at the middle ofit. The name Dracula appeared. Memories of a man who was dead in the daytime and alive at night came to me. Dracula could change himself into a wolf or a bat and killpeople at will. He was finally killed by driving agolden spike into his heart. And here I was sit- ting on him. For the next half hour I perspired beads of cold sweat. I didn't dare move. I heard weird sounds. Cries of agony. Peals of insane laughter. Screams of frenzy and even the howl- ing of a lone wolf. Suddenly I froze. A bat crawled up my sleeve toward my throat - - thoughts of Dracula - - I saw a hugh illuminated shadow walk slowly by - -thoughts of Frankenstein, Right there I awoke. I couldn't stand it any longer. I shook the bat from my arm and ran for home as fast asIcould go. One fact was settled in my mind. I'd rather not be a Future Farmer than go through with any more of that initiation. Warren Brawn '42 The Last Mile The warm spring air was still, ex- cept for the rhythmical click-clack of the track spikes as they tapped lightly on the cinders. It was late, nearly time for supper at the dorm: yet, one solitary figure still remained here on the track. The ease with which those long even strides carried him forward showed the perfection which comes only from years of practice and de- velopment. And such it had been. For seven springs, three in high school and now the fourth in college, Dick had been dreaming of what would really happen tomorrow. To- morrow at the inter-collegiate meet Dick would run his last mile before he hung up his spikes and entered, as his father had so firmly insisted, into the business of banking. But he was not pleased, at least not as he had dreamed of being. He had always dreamed of Winning: but now he would not wing that was certain. Never before had he realized the change it would be to settle down to the life of banking. Now, all these things sped through his troubled mind as he ran. As he lay in his bed that night, tossing in restlessness, once more that picture ran through his mind. All those meets in the last four seasons seemed to drift before his eyes. Each time, he saw himself, as he had been beaten, sometimes only by feet,

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T T 'Tv' THE LIVE WIRE 20- ff - fi,.f ,.,. . .. ..-,...,fi. ten-thirty tonight. Here it was five minutes to twelve by the clock in the steeple. Who'd believe him when he said that Fred's car had been out of gas five miles from home? He came in sight of his home stand- ing dark and silent in the night. Bud quickly and quietly made his way to the rear of the house towards the pantry window, which had never been locked since he could remember. Care- fully pushing the window up, he was half way over the sill, when ugh! The window had come down with a thud, knocking the wind out of him. His feet and legs were , dangling in mid air on one side, and his finger tips barely reached the floor on the other. He couldn't move one way or the other. He was rather glad that it was dark and no one could see him. To add to his discomfort, Tippy, the cat which had awakened had climbed up and was tickling Bud's nose with her tail. Down Tippy, he hissed and helped her with a swat of his hand. The cat wasn't easily dis- couraged. Climbing up again she stuck her claw nail into Bud's lip. With an exclamation, he dived 'after her. This was disasterous. The window had let go, and his body tumbled a complete somersault which caused his feet to come against the opposite wall with a terrible crash. He sat there listening, his breath coming in great gasps and his heart pounding. The house was silent. He slowly got to his feet, and mak- ing his way cautiously across the kitchen, he reached the living room door. He was half way across the room when smack up against a smok- ing stand, knocking it and its contents galley-west. What a noise! An exclamation came from the room above and a startling voice thundered, Who's there? Silence. Again the voice and again complete silence. Bud carefully picked his way across the parlor and started up the stairs. One two, anda terrible cre-ee-ek. Hesi- tation. One, two, cre-ee-ek. Another pause. In this fashion Bud reached the fioor above without a mishap. Stealing through the hall he reached his door with only a groan from his father's room. He entered his room, quickly undressed, crawled into bed, and with a sigh of relief he turned over and went to sleep. All was well until the next time. Olita Goodnow '44 When Death Was Welcome Far away I heard the old church clock toll midnight. The very sound set me trembling. Two more hours of waiting ---- of horror - - - in the spookiest place possible, the grave- yard. I was propped up on a grave- stone with my shivering back snug a- gainst its icy coldness. There was no moon. The frogs didn't croak. The darkness hung like a blanket over the ground. Everything was deathly silent. Minutes were seemingly end'- less. Ten minutes went by - - - silence, fifteen minutes - - a cricket chirped, I jumped and then lit a match. I looked at the engraving on the stone back of me. The letters were twisted in a blood-curdling manner. When I fi- nally puzzled the mess out, I gasped. My heart make one mighty leap and had I not closed my mouth with the speed of lightning, I doubt if I'd be

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22- Y - - V Yrff - H -W--nf--4, W-he--in We-f-+l THE LIVE WIRE but always by that same one, Martin. Always he had gone on, hoping that sometime he might speed past Martin in that last stretch of a mile, and hear those cries of praise which always greet a winner. Now the last chance had come. He had trained as he had never trained before until now he was in the peak of condition and his hopes the highest ever - - until - - today Coach Morse had called him to his office and said, Dick, tomorrow is the National Championship meet. If we can take the mile we've got a very good chance to win. Now, I've been looking over the competition and it's pretty tough even for Martin. Now here's the way I've got it figured. If you were to run and set a very fast pace, it would be necessary for the whole field except Martin to stay with you. Thus Martin would be able to conserve his power to the last quarter mile and as the others are exhausted from following you, he could win the race easily. I realize this race means a lot to you: therefore you can do as you like: but if we lose the mile its foutsb for us. But as I said before, make up your own mind, and don't do it if you really d0n't think it's the best idea. Of course he had agreed, but with it had gone his last chance. What an end after four years of struggling! The next day dawned warm and pleasant. The field which was so quiet last night now was filled with a milling crowd of spectators fighting their way to the fast filling bleachers. Dick sat slouched on the bench, mech- anically watching the events until the call came. First call for the mile! Slowly he rose, removed his warm-up suit and took the usual warming-up exercises ending with one slow lap around the half-mile track. Last call for the mile! the an- nouncer called outg and a group of men representing colleges all over the nation took their respective positions at the starting line. After the usual confusion of arranging the runners, the starter raised the gun. On your marks: get set, and they were off at the sound of the gun. The crowd roared hysterically as Dick sprinted out for a twenty yard lead and set a killing pace. At the quarter mark, he led thirty yards and at the half, by fifty. Then, as if some of those muscles of his shapely legs had run out of fuel, his pace began to slow and the length of those bouncing strides shortened. At the three- quarter mark his lead was even less. His lungs burned like two furnaces within his chest: the muscles of his legs pulled and knotted in pain from overworkg and a pain like the cutting of a sharp knife ran through his right side. Behind him he heard, a- bove the distant sounding cries of the crowd, the pounding of feet. Soon Martin would speed by, winning again. Dick cast a glance over his shoulder and what he saw sent a tingle of surprise through his body. It was not Martin! It was Jones from Boston! He must run, not only for himself, but also for dear old Trilon. Ahead loomed the finish line: behind him the pounding of feet drew nearer and nearer. The pain in his side grew sharper and sharper. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes to fight it off, yet, with each step the pain grew greater. Then something with- in him seemed to snap: the cries of the crowd seemed to fioat away into