When I looked up the young man was staring in astonishment at the huddled figure that lay at my feet, but the Thing was close behind him, its right arm was raised to the level of his, and its hand rested on the hand that held the gun. Then it drew back and I saw a look of peace on its face; the peace of a sated drug addict, the peace that would come to a vampire who has drunk his fill. The young man shook his head several times, then slowly, like a tired child stifling a yawn, he put the nozzle of the revolver into his mouth and pulled the trigger.

The room was a bedlam of screaming women and swearing men; they rushed back and fro like ants when a pick axe has been driven into their hill. I sank into a chair and listened to the waterfall that crashed about my ears and pondered on the suddenly revealed truth that man's lusts must go on multiplying so that eventually, surely there must be total darkness — or a wiping out — a new beginning.

At last I rose and made my way towards the door — towards those black figures who were now more real than before, and there suddenly came into my vision a little man with a pale wrinkled face and the knowledge of forbidden lore in his eyes. He beckoned with a long trembling finger, and I bent down so that his lips could approach my ear. His voice was old, so very old, and he spoke in a low husky whisper:

'Don't look behind, but you're being followed.'

With a single movement the watchers turned their heads, and the white masks were staring at me, the eyes black pools of darkness, and I knew I would never walk or drink alone again.

Together we left the room.

THE RETURN

By G. M. Glaskin