A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, April 1950 — page 111: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE LITTLE DOLL DIED 111 end—the way she was.carrying on. The Haitian villagers had been steamed up before, and now they really got into the spirit of the thing. Those Negroes went around with eyes like saucers full of milk. Charms, amulets and voodoo rattles were selling in Morne Noir at holiday prices. Dead goats began to appear in trees, hung up as protection against eval haunts, and there was a-rush on the Ouanga market with top prices for anti-zombie powder. Don’t laugh, mister. If half of civilized New Jersey could lose its head over a mythical invasion from Mars, think of that jungle-blockaded village in the middle of uncivilized Haiti! The place took on the atmosphere of a spirit medium’s parlor, and I was fit to be tied. What with Jenny Lou’s antics and the Negroes worked up to fever pitch, we began to see walking corpses in every 2 nightshadow. Yes, we. Marines have nervous systems, too. My men went out to mount guard after dark with their teeth rattling. I could feel my own thin veneer of civilization peeling ‘away. All I had to do was blow out the candle and listen to those Caco drums thumping off in the mornes for a while, and I could glance up and see Pea- body standing there in the moonlight, dead as a turnip, his yellow hair down over his eyes, red bullet-holes in his chest, making passes at me with his ghoulish, scientific hands. And if I had the gollywoggles, imagine McCoy! Well, that Irish taxidermist was im bad shape, I could see that. He was _losing more weight than any of us in this Ay struggle with Mr. and Mrs. Peabody. Figure his feelings about Jenny Lou. After all the coy glances she'd given him. All the romantic sighs. Now it was all right to go around and commiserate her» husband's loss; that’s all right for a couple of weeks, but a widow should begin to get over it, especially a young, good-looking widow who needs a strong friend around to look after her. More especially when she’s previously giyen that strong friend reason to think she might want looking after. Then try to guess McCoy’s bafflement when he found Jenny Lou galvanized into that granite statue. You can see how that zombie angle must've frazzled his nerves. I'd hear them arguing in the tent—or rather,McCoy arguing, “You can’t go on like this, Jenny Lou. Wilfred’s dead. I saw those Cacos shoot him. He had that mummy under his coat ; you see those ‘bullet-holes in the thing. They—they must've hit him in the heart. He—he must’ve died instantly, Jenny Lou.” ‘Poor, poor Wilfred.” “Sure, Jenny, I know. It’s all of us loved Wilfred. I couldn't feel worse over me own brother. But it’s you that’s alive! It’s you that wants takin’ care of now. Let me take’ you out of this hell-hole, Jenny. Now poor Wilfred’s gone—” “They found his body in that cold lake, Terry! The Cacos! The witch doctors! If he should ever come back—”’ ‘No, Jenny! The dead stay dead!” “But until I’ve seen him have a Chris- tian burial—”’ , Lordy! I suppose I should’ve packed the woman off, entailed an escort of Ma- rines along with McCoy and ordered her up to the coast. But you can’t tie up a white woman with repe and drag her. Besides, I didn’t have any real author- ity. My job was to operate a marine out- post, and Mrs. Peabody was an American citizen in a foreign country in a state of war, and it was a damned dangerous trip to the coast. Charlemagne’s raiders were reported Waning the trails for just such a break. ! dispatched a messenger to the district commander at Cape Haiti—the colonel who’d wished the Peabody expedition on me in the first place. No answer. Weeks later the dispatch bearer’s skeleton was found in the jungle. Meantime the colonel had dispatched me an order that crossed my message. Reinforcements were needed atewhere. I was to stick in Morne See and hang on. So 1 hung on. Jenny Louise hung on. McCoy hung on. We.all hung on. Men- tally we were hanging by some pretty thin threads as those weeks dragged by. There’s some gray in my hair, brother, and that situation put it there. And why McCoy’s didn’t turn white as snow, | don’t know. Certainly he had it tougher than the rest of us. Peabody had been his best friend, and the widow’s attitude must’ve just about driven him batty. I’m here to tell EoOmicboo! SS (E(0)