Union High School - Reflector Yearbook (Union, ME)

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his breath, he heard the back porch door open and close. The sound of heavy footsteps and the tone of lighter footsteps were heard approaching the living room. Wasting no time, Matty bounded to his feet like a frightened deer. Upon reaching the front hall, he began to fumble with the night lock with shaky, sweat-drenched hands. The stealthy footsteps drew closer. Suddenly Matty threw back his head and released a mighty howl of despair as would a wild beast when in the jaws of a trap. He whirled and bolted the length of the short hallway into the den, slamming the door as his hideous cry died behind him. When he reached the pitch dark interior of the damp and unheated den, he began fumbling for the lamp switch. His trembling fingers connected with the cold plastic of the switch and began to snap it as if they bore no strength. As soon as the flood of golden lamplight filled the small room, Matty made his way to the old fashioned mahogany desk and tried to open the upper drawer. After yanking at it violently, he concluded that the drawer was locked. Frantically he began throwing the papers about on the desk top in a desperate search for the key. He interrupted his searching long enough to listen to the voices coming from the kitchen. A man with a heavy, booming voice was saying he thought a man had run into the room at the end of the hall.and that he would investigate. Very much like an animal in a trap, Matty was making his last attempt for freedom. His face was contorted with horror as he drew up his huge, hairy fist and smashed it through the locked drawer in a shower of splinters and blood. His torn hand darted into the desk, grasping a 4-5 Army automatic in which he always kept a couple of slugs just in case of such emergencies as a burglary or a prison break such as he supposed had occurred. The door knob turned abruptly as if whoever turned it .meant business. Matty ceased trembling and became exceedingly tense. The big hand steadied the muzzle of the 45 in the general direction of the yet-closed door. For awhile the door did not open. This meant to Matty that the man outside must have been listening for a sound within. Suddenly the door burst open, revealing a huge man, clothed in some sort of a dark cloak which Matty naturally took as a disguise to assist him in his prison break. Unnoticed by Matty, his own finger was becoming tighter and tighter on the trigger as he stood tensely surveying the hulk of man which silently stared at the weapon. The automatic roared. ZZ

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Matty woke suddenly, groaned and rolled over to peer out the window beside the bed. He wished ferverently that Marie were there, someone who would meekly accept his midnight raving spasm. He labored in raising himself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed where he sat, sweating off the illusions created by his nerves. The whisky bottle from which he was pouring a drink nearly fell from his hand as the kitchen clock struck 12:30. For minutes he silently stared into the drink which he clutched in his quivering hand, pondering his promise to Marie that he would not wet his mouth with liquor while she was away. Presently his will power broke, and he literally threw the straight, hot drink down his throat. He followed with another and another until the bottle was dry. Why, he must have wondered, did he continue to drink like this, when actually he desired more than anything else to put an end to this unspeakable habit. Matty fell back heavily onto the bed where he lay, gazing out the window into a dense fog. His breathing was now heavy, and his eyelids were drawing low. The pattering of the rain, which, before the drinks, would have been shattering to his nerves, was now music to his ears. Presently Matty saw a flash of flame diffused by the fog somewhere upstreet in the direction of the prison. This was followed by a sputtering sound similar to that of a sub- machine gun. He sat upright in bed, straining his eyes to see if it had been a dream. Twice more he saw and heard quite clearly the same flash and sputter, which he now was certain was occuring at the prison. Riverlets of sweat streamed down his face as his confused mind came upon the idea of gunmen and murderers infesting the neighborhood in the dark of the early morning hours. Struggling drunkenly from the bed, Matty staggered blindly through the dark kitchen into the front hall to slip the night lock on the front door into place. He was horrified by his extreme nervous illusions. Returning to the kitchen, he swayed around into the right position to catch a glimpse of a dark shadow slipping past the front windows. 'He stood, petrified, waiting for the sound which soon came. A sharp rapping at the front door broke the stillness of the house. This was followed by a louder slamming of feet and fists upon its oak-wood panels. The only person that this early caller could possibly be in Matty's clouded mind was a convict from the prison break which he was certain had occurred. The knocking on the front door had stopped, and Matty, in spite of his confused mind, thought of the unbolted back porch door. While making haste to reach the back door, Matty collided with an easy chair in the living room and fell sprawling on the carpet. As he lay there panting, in an effort to regain Z1

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Matty's eyes did not open until the big man had completely risen from the floor and tenderly laid his huge hands on his shoulders say, Mr. Clemmens, don't you recognize me? You weren't at my meeting last night. Matty stared full into the face of the man with light of recognition coming over his face. The man whom he had nearly killed was the minister whose services he had usually attended each Saturday night. A sudden surge of hate poured through Matty's veins as he watched the stream of red trickling from a gash in the poor old minister's forehead. It was a hate for himself and a far greater hate for the liquor which had so long ruled his life. He realized however, that it would require a mightier force than his momentary hate for the evil bottle to put an end to his drinking habit. Matty solemnly related the story of the horrors of the last hour which he had under- gone. Upon hearing the story of the prison break which Matty had seen from his bedroom window, a puzzled frown fell upon the minister's countenance, and he explained that there had been no break, that the whole affair must have been illusions created by hisliquor-drugged mind. The old minister related how he had passed the Clemmens' house from his regular Saturday night service and had seen Mrs. Clemmens trying to gain entrance through the front door. She had explained to him that she had returned from her mother-'s home on the twelve o'clock bus, as she had failed to hear from Matty last night. She was extremely fearful that he had been drinking and injured himself in some way. Upon not being able to raise him by pounding on the front door, the minister continued, he had accompanied her to the back door and had entered the house. As they approached the living room, they heard Matty release the horrible scream from the hallway. Thinking him injured, Marie had gone for a doctor while the minister had gone to Matty's aid. After hearing the true story, Matty was too horrified for words. I-Ie could scarcely believe that liquor would make a strong-headed man put in a night the likes of which had just happened. The next morning Matty attended his minister-friend's church. After the service the preacher invited Mr. and Mrs. Clemmens to the parsonage for Sunday dinner. These invitations were extended Sunday after Sunday as Matty unfailing attended the services at the church. As time went on, the old minister became one of Matty's best friends, but far more important he also became the conquerer of Matty's liquor habit. xl Ronnellow Moore Class of 1951 2.3