Richmond Hill High School - Archway / Dome Yearbook (Richmond Hill, NY)

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footfalls broke the pregnant silence. Someone was entering the room, but no form, human or otherwise, was silhouetted against the door frame. ' One of the men grasped his fast-failing courage and managed to gasp a: 1 'Who's there?' But no answer came to him. Determined to face it out, Maria rose and, stepping forward, slowly approached the footfalls. The steps ceased. 'Do you want something?', Maria's quavering voice fell upon the straining ears of the frightened group. And then came the answer: 'I am looking for my lost blood.' Clear, heavy words came from nowhere. The startled Maria paled, fell slowly backwards and huddled in a chair. The clear footfalls .traveled across the room. In a large basket among other soiled clothes, rested the blood- caked sheet which had received the body of Peter. As we fear- ridden people watched, the blood slowly drained from the cloth and disappeared, until the linen was once again clean and unsullied. Then the steps turned again to the door. We within seemed to hear a whispered intonation, and then silence softly spread its comfort- ing cloak about us. My town was never again visited by any supernatural visitors and soon after this harrowing experience I sailed for America. At the end of this tale, no matter how many times I have heard it, I stop to think. As I look around at the faces of the other listeners I see doubt and belief struggling for supremacy on their features. Although it is said that ghosts and spirits are figments of imagina- tion, still, when I hear stories like this one, I almost believe that such things do exist. REGRET Oh rarely have I waked in the lead-gray of dawn And wept for the deeds forgotten, glories of lambs shorn- But no-I've'sat up nights, my eyes dry with dead tears, And cursed myself for things undone U through all the years. Lily Sinowitz, '34 THE sermon Dom: Page7 ?J

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savagely, but the cruel pain of the ring in his tender, flaming nostrils held him steady. Emboldened by the bu1l's helplessness, Peter stepped nearer to the frothing animal, crying shrilly and temptingly waving the bandana before the beast's snapping eyes. With the snort of a mind gone completely mad the bull jerked savagely, the chain tightened, and the ring pulled loose from his pain-ridden nostrils, leaving his nose in bloody shreds. Lowering his head, he hurled himself forward and before the terror-stricken Peter could budge, the long, heavy horn passed clear through him, impaling his wildly beating heart and pumping lungs. The crazed bull began to race around the tiny space, kicking and stabbing at the limp, broken body that dangled gruesomely from his bloody horns. The horror-stricken and screaming spectators were trans- fixed for the momentg then Peter's father with a hoarse, broken cry, leaped forward with a workman's pickaxe in his hand and buried its point in the seething brain of the bull. With a gasping cry the heavy bulk crashed to the ground, the body of its victim hanging limply from the upright horn. With muttered cries and heavy hearts the brothers of Peter gently disengaged his dead, mutilated body from the weapon which had done such havoc, and tenderly carried it to the nearest house where they laid him upon the bed of Maria, the beloved widow of our town. In spite of the gaping wounds and rivers of blood the sobbing mother refused to believe her son was dead, and even after the hasty arrival of the village curate she had to be led from the room. That night the poor broken body of Peter was lowered to its last resting place after a briefly muttered prayer. Then it was that there began to be strange happenings in that once peaceful village. Maria, upon whose bed Peter's body had been laid, complained that she had heard footfalls during the night fol- lowing Peter's burial. After the village had been awakened twice by her silence-shattering screams in the middle of the night, a party of men and women offered to stay with her the next night. All during the day the frightened villagers huddled together and whispered about ghosts and spirits and men who returned after a violent and sudden death. That night a group of men and women sat close to- gether in the one room of Maria's house, talking and joking in almost hysterical tones as they sought to hide their fear of the unknown behind a mask of nonchalance and carelessness. But as the room dark- ened the talk fell to low whispers and the people began to glance nervously at the dusky corners of the room, feebly lighted by the sputtering candle. Then suddenly there was a poignant and heavy silence. The closed door had begun to open. The round, horrified eyes of every person were riveted on the portal. Were they about to come face to face with the dreaded supernatural? Sharp, distinct, clearly-spaced pages THE SPNIOR DOME

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IN ITSELF e e T e e RUTH sl-1AP1Ro,'a4 nn uma 1. in own pub., and in im!! Can make a Hunn ol Hell, 1 HQH ol Heaven. John llilton Jonathan Benjamin Smith, as he wearily dragged himself to his job, mused on the drab monotony of his life. Every morning he must rise, dress, grab a bite to eat, and hurry to work. Then the usual routine tasks and back again to his dingy home and lonely bed. And this must go on and on, dull gray day after dull gray, day till he was too tired to work and too old to enjoy the pleasures leisure could bring. The interminable years stretched onward, bleak and bare and forbidding. Life, he reflected sadly, isn't worth living. Everything is ugliness, poverty, and toil. Such things as beauty and romance all died with the fairies thousands of years ago. It is futile to struggle, futile to hope. . Ah well, what's the use? So, with his eyes cast down, Smith continued on his way. It was autumn. In the pale blue kies, the Heecy clouds looked like ilufls of soft white down blown by a baby's breath. The trees in the park were splashes of gold, orange, green, and crimson-a riot of color that looked as though a mischievous monkey had gotten hold of Nature's paintbox and were trying to see what he could do in the way of art. The cold was a delightful spice after the listless summer. Lolena, lovely queen of the nymphs that inhabit Forest Park, sang as she rose that morning. Fall's tonic went to her head, and made her giddy with desire to laugh and dance. She stood on tiptoe to drink it in, stretching her hands high above her head. p Beauty like this, she thought, brings man and gods ,closer together. Today I shall make a human as happy as I am. I shall grant a man his heart's desire. i So, perching on top of a maple that overhung the sidewalk she waited. Presently Smith, musing drearily on his hard lot, ap- proached. Lolena, smilingly taking aim, dropped a scarlet' token to attract his attention. ' Smith looked vaguely at the iluttering bit of color. Only a leaf, he sighed, and, eyes still downcast, lost forever his chance.