The Metal Monster E-Book

Abraham Merritt

• Herausgeber: Abraham Merritt
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

American editor and author of works of fantastic fiction of some interest.Originally trained in law, he turned to journalism, first as a correspondent, and later as editor. In 1917, published his first fantasy, The People of the Pit, in Weird Tales. This was followed by many more tales, including: Through the Dragon Glass [1917], The Moon Pool [1918] and its sequel The Conquest of the Moon Pool [1919], The Metal Monster [1920], The Face in the Abyss [1923], The Ship of Ishtar, Dwellers in the Mirage [1932], The Woman of the Wood [1926], Burn, Witch, Burn! [1932], Creep, Shadow, Creep! [1934], The Drone Man [1934] and The Fox Woman [1946].Merrit also had a passion for exotic plants, writing numerous articles on botany. Also discoverer, with S. Weir Mitchell, of psychedelic drugs.He died in Florida in 1943, after a heart attack.

Leseprobe

The Metal Monster

Abraham Merritt

Table of Contents

Prologue

Valley of the blue poppies

The sigil on the rocks

Ruth Ventnor

Metal with a brain

The smiting thing

Norhala of the lightnings

The shapes in the mist

The drums of thunder

The portal of flame

“Witch! Give back my sister”

The metal emperor

“I will give you peace”

“Voice from the void”

“Free! But a monster!”

The house of Norhala

Conscious metal!

Yuruk

Into the pit

The city that was alive

Vampires of the sun

Phantasmagoria metallioue.

The ensorcelled chamber

The treachery of Yuruk

Ruszark

Cherkis

The vengeance of Norhala

“The drums of destiny”

The frenzy of Ruth

The passing of Norhala

Burned out

Slag!

Prologue

Before the narrative which follows was placed in my hands, I had never seen Dr. Walter T. Goodwin, its author.

When the manuscript revealing his adventures among the pre-historic ruins of the Nan–Matal in the Carolines (The Moon Pool) had been given me by the International Association of Science for editing and revision to meet the requirements of a popular presentation, Dr. Goodwin had left America. He had explained that he was still too shaken, too depressed, to be able to recall experiences that must inevitably carry with them freshened memories of those whom he loved so well and from whom, he felt, he was separated in all probability forever.

I had understood that he had gone to some remote part of Asia to pursue certain botanical studies, and it was therefore with the liveliest surprise and interest that I received a summons from the President of the Association to meet Dr. Goodwin at a designated place and hour.

Through my close study of the Moon Pool papers I had formed a mental image of their writer. I had read, too, those volumes of botanical research which have set him high above all other American scientists in this field, gleaning from their curious mingling of extremely technical observations and minutely accurate but extraordinarily poetic descriptions, hints to amplify my picture of him. It gratified me to find I had drawn a pretty good one.

The man to whom the President of the Association introduced me was sturdy, well-knit, a little under average height. He had a broad but rather low forehead that reminded me somewhat of the late electrical wizard Steinmetz. Under level black brows shone eyes of clear hazel, kindly, shrewd, a little wistful, lightly humorous; the eyes both of a doer and a dreamer.

Not more than forty I judged him to be. A close-trimmed, pointed beard did not hide the firm chin and the clean-cut mouth. His hair was thick and black and oddly sprinkled with white; small streaks and dots of gleaming silver that shone with a curiously metallic luster.

His right arm was closely bound to his breast. His manner as he greeted me was tinged with shyness. He extended his left hand in greeting, and as I clasped the fingers I was struck by their peculiar, pronounced, yet pleasant warmth; a sensation, indeed, curiously electric.

The Association’s President forced him gently back into his chair.

“Dr. Goodwin,” he said, turning to me, “is not entirely recovered as yet from certain consequences of his adventures. He will explain to you later what these are. In the meantime, Mr. Merritt, will you read this?”

I took the sheets he handed me, and as I read them felt the gaze of Dr. Goodwin full upon me, searching, weighing, estimating. When I raised my eyes from the letter I found in his a new expression. The shyness was gone; they were filled with complete friendliness. Evidently I had passed muster.

“You will accept, sir?” It was the president’s gravely courteous tone.

“Accept!” I exclaimed. “Why, of course, I accept. It is not only one of the greatest honors, but to me one of the greatest delights to act as a collaborator with Dr. Goodwin.”

The president smiled.

“In that case, sir, there is no need for me to remain longer,” he said. “Dr. Goodwin has with him his manuscript as far as he has progressed with it. I will leave you two alone for your discussion.”

He bowed to us and, picking up his old-fashioned bell-crowned silk hat and his quaint, heavy cane of ebony, withdrew. Dr. Goodwin turned to me.

“I will start,” he said, after a little pause, “from when I met Richard Drake on the field of blue poppies that are like a great prayer-rug at the gray feet of the nameless mountain.”