Short Stories
Jim brightened up and finished his steak, sopping bread in
the gravy when the meat was gone.
"When I was a kid—" he began, but broke off abruptly.
Again the unseen thing of gloom had fluttered, and his being
was vibrant with premonition of impending misfortune. He felt
a disruptive influence at work in the flesh of him, and in all his
muscles there was a seeming that they were about to begin to
twitch. He sat back suddenly, and as suddenly leaned forward
with his elbows on the table. A tremor ran dimly through the
muscles of his body. It was like the first rustling of leaves before
the oncoming of wind. He clenched his teeth. It came again, a
spasmodic tensing of his muscles. He knew panic at the revolt
within his being. His muscles no longer recognized his mastery
over them. Again they spasmodically tensed, despite the will of
him, for he had willed that they should not tense. This was revo-
lution within himself, this was anarchy; and the terror of impo-
tence rushed up in him as his flesh gripped and seemed to seize
him in a clutch, chills running up and down his back and sweat
starting on his brow. He glanced about the room, and all the de-
tails of it smote him with a strange sense of familiarity. It was as
though he had just returned from a long journey. He looked
across the table at his partner. Matt was watching him and smil-
ing. An expression of horror spread over Jim's face.
"My God, Matt!" he screamed. "You ain't doped me?"
Matt smiled and continued to watch him. In the paroxysm that
followed, Jim did not become unconscious. His muscles tensed
and twitched and knotted, hurting him and crushing him in
their savage grip. And in the midst of it all, it came to him that
Matt was acting queerly. He was travelling the same road. The
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