Oakland Technical High School - Talisman Yearbook (Oakland, CA)

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EMIQY ' QS. She we-ne --v-In Q 1

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SOME SNAPPY NUMBERS

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'0000 IWOWIWOIOOWIMI O-'O0O'0l0lvO lvl l l'fO'lO00lvO0IHIv'O1ll0O0I'IMHOMIWOHOMONOHIQOOl'O OMIIOl'l O O l O'1l l'0O l O O l'PO'-ONINOH -il The Sower of Fright D' , v'OvII1'WOW'0'Q'CWI''Of'II'O0il'4WWl0PQ'Q0X9Q'4lUQ'ON.K0.N. WB'.'fNlW9'lW54NOlQ'Q0l'+'WOHONI O l0lNl0lNl'lOvCl'l l'S ' Neither brute Nor human . . . -Poe. OBODY ever knew the real name of that queer man whom everybody called the gentleman of room nineteen. There only remains after his mysterious disappearance, the remembrance of his strange wild eyes, and his queer smile, never to be forgotten. Those who knew him best, and I was one of those few, remember also his singular skin of an amazing transparent palenessg the feminine swiftness of his steps, and the broad aristocratic forehead which denoted extraordinary intelligence. This man liked to talk, but few understood what he wished to say, and there were even some who did not wish to understand him, so uncommon and myste- rious were the things he said. He was truly a sower of fright. His presence gave to the simplest objects a fantastic color, things touched by his hands seemed to e11ter the world of dreams. His eyes did not reflect everyday objects- but things unknown of other worlds which were not seen by those who were with him. Undoubtedly he was sick, but nobody ever asked him what his trouble was. Nobody knew what country he came from. Nobody was acquainted with his parents or relatives. He appeared one stormy day of Winter in the city and, after a few years, on another stormy day, he disappeared. The day before he went, at daybreak, he came to my room to awaken me. I felt upon my brow the soft caress of his gloved hand, and I saw him before me, covered with a dark coat. He smiled with a smile that was cynical and humble, diabolical and divine. The look in his eyes was wilder than ever. x I was really frightened. Wl1a-Wliat is the matter with you ? I asked. Do you fecl sick? Do you wish 1ne to call the doctor? Sick,'-he slowly replied, as if he experienced great pain in uttering these words. Then you, too, believe I am sick? Do you really believe there is something the matter with me? Do you want to call the doctor? Do you know that the only person who can cure me is the only person who wishes me to be sick, to be queer, to be different? A11d do you know that he is my master? Do you know that he owns me? I was so accustomed to his strange conversations that I did not think it worth while to make any reply. I shook my head. He smiled, and again I felt the soft caress of his gloved hand. You are not nervous, nor likely to lose your mind with a confession of the kind I am going to make, he continued. I'll ask you to listen care- fully to my tale, for I'll never have a chance to breathe it to another human