Volume 1 October, 1933 Number 2

EDITORIAL

You will note several improvements in this issue of THE FANTASY FAN over the first number. The most noticeable one, of course, is the fact that there are almost twice as many pages as in the September copy. But our improvements do not end there--not by a long shot. Not only has the circulation been doubled, but we have a new policy. Starting with this issue, we will present a story every month (maybe more than one) by Clark Ashton Smith, H. P. Lovecraft, August W. Derleth, and other top-notchers in the field of weird fiction. You science-fiction fans are probably wondering by the import of the last sentence why we will not print science-fiction. Well, here's the reason. In the SCIENCE FICTION DIGEST we have a fan magazine for those scientifictionally inclined, which also presents gems of this type story by Arthur J. Burks, Ray Palmer, and others. We feel that the weird fans should also have a magazine for themselves--hence THE FANTASY FAN. But don't get discouraged, you science-fiction guzzlers, we have dozens of excellent articles composed just for you. Although THE FANTASY FAN will present no science-fiction stories, we certainly will continue to give absorbing columns, articles and departments that will make each issue well worth a dime to you. You won't want to miss the rest of Schwartz's "How to Collect Fantasy Fiction," or Ackerman's story of his A-1 collection, or the Club News or the Famous Fans department, or the Boiling Point, or Science Fiction in English Magazines by Tucker, or the super-excellent material we have on hand besides--dozens of articles of humor, satire, information, absorbing interest--the type of article that only the science fiction fan can derive full enjoyment from. So, while THE FANTASY FAN will lean toward the weird angle, it will be worth the while of every science fiction fan to continue to be a reader. Furthermore--through years of experience (well, a month, anyway), we have learned that a great many weird fans--we could almost say a majority--are also readers of science fiction and vice versa. After all, both science fiction and weird tales are fantastic, aren't they? They both are based on the highly improbable, and they both stimulate the imagination. It is a rare fan that does not like both. The scientifically inclined reader may not like weird tales; those that only want to be horrified and terrorized may not like science fiction; but those who want their imaginations stimulated like both.

Let us remind you again, and inform the new readers, that this is primarily a magazine for the fans, of the fans, and by the fans--the fan, the whole fan, and nothing but the fan. (We hope that by this time you realize that we publish a FAN magazine). But all foolishness aside, we want you to run the magazine. Tell us what you like and what you don't like. As many letters as possible will be published in "Our Readers Say" department. We will always abide by the wishes of the majority, and very often act upon the opinions of a single reader--try out his ideas to see how the rest of the readers like them. Make believe that you are an associate editor--criticize us "to the hairy limit"--or tell us how good you think we are (we are not modest). If you feel as though you have the ability to compose suitable articles for publication in THE FANTASY FAN, send them in for our consideration, and if we find them acceptable, you will be paid for them in copies of THE FANTASY FAN--in cash as soon as possible. THE FANTASY FAN is still running on a deficit. Subscribe now, if you have not already done so, and insure yourself of a bigger and better magazine in the future.

The following departments: "This Month's Cash Contest"--"Penpals Wanted"--and the Questionnaire have been discontinued because of lack of support and enthusiasm on the part of our readers. The "Conglamitorial," and "About Authors" and similar departments may be left out once in awhile to make place for material of greater merit.

The feature of next month's issue will be "The Other Gods," by H. P. Lovecraft--a picturesque and weird story well up to the standard of Lovecraft's best, and far surpassing the general run of weird tale. We are extremely fortunate in being able to secure such stories. The November issue will also contain a poem by Clark Ashton Smith, the continuation of all continued in this issue (including another one of the "Annals of the Jinns" and will present many new and interesting features.

Yours for spreading the gospel of weird and science fiction.

The Editor

OUR READERS SAY

"I have read the first issue of 'The Fantasy Fan' with much interest. Good work! I like your departments, and hope you will be able to expand them, particularly those devoted to information about fantastic stories.

"'The Boiling Point' is going to be a great department. I was interested by the article on 'Science Fiction in English Magazines' by Bob Tucker. I predict that 'The Fantasy Fan' will be a success. With all best wishes"--Clark Ashton Smith

"Vol. 1, No. 1, looks to me very much what the younger science fiction devotee wants. Later on it might be a good idea to use matter of interest to weird tales enthusiasts--articles on the classics of weird literature, and information concerning weird magazines."--H. P. Lovecraft

We'll wager Mr. Lovecraft is well satisfied with this issue. It includes everything he asked for and then some. It is no longer for the "younger science fiction enthusiast," but for all lovers of the fantastic.

"I received the first issue of 'The Fantasy Fan' this morning and was indeed pleased with it."--August W. Derleth

"I recently received the first issue of 'The Fantasy Fan' and I want to congratulate you on your initial number. If future issues live up to the promise of the first one, you have nothing to fear. Your venture should be a successful one.

"Being essentially a collector, I enjoyed the articles 'How to Collect Fantasy Fiction' and 'Science Fiction in English Magazines.' I hope Mr. Tucker will be a more or less constant contributor to 'The Fantasy Fan' with information regarding stories in the English magazines.

"I have only one fault to find with the first number of 'The Fantasy Fan' and that's Forrest J. Ackerman. Can't you get along without him? Isn't it bad enough to find his letters appearing in all of the other magazines without having to endure more of him in 'The Fantasy Fan?' Maybe he is the most active science fiction fan, but I wish he would confine his activities to California. If you simply have to have him, please keep his outbursts to a minimum. I wonder if the 'World's most active science fiction fan;' 'The demon letter writer' realizes how tiresome and boring his continual out-pourings may become.

"Once more permit me to congratulate you on your efforts. I am looking forward with considerable interest to future issues. With best luck."--H. Koenig

You will be pleased to hear that Mr. Tucker has promised us a column on English science fiction every month. The second in the series appear in this issue.

Of course, we cannot take sides with you as to whether Mr. Ackerman's 'outbursts' are boring. That is for the readers to decide. Yours is the first unfavorable comment we have had upon Mr. Ackerman's efforts, and we feel that the majority of the readers enjoy his articles.

"Your first issue certainly satisfies! Like Chesterfields, huh? Of course, I don't know--I don't smoke. But I've just read TFF thru, and it's a dandy first number.

"A real good idea, that, of reprinting the article about author Kostkos from the paper. He sounds a real stf'ist.

"If you want to know, I think that 'Science Fiction Alphabet' poem by Allen Glasser is great. I got a laugh out of every letter, and am interested in seeing what happens from N to Z. Also, I greatly enjoyed his 'Earthling Spurns Martian,' newspaper-of-the-future account--but Efjay Akkamin for the terrestrial! From Ockermann to McKerman misspellings have ranged (and, yes, someone even addressed me Mr. Staples, once), but really----"--Forrest J. Ackerman

"I enjoyed the first issue of 'The Fantasy Fan' very much, your features and news items were well chosen and well written. There is little room for improvement, just more pages, better paper, and stories, which will come in time."--Philip Bridges

Mr. Bridges' wishes have also come true.

"Just what I think of TFF:--every single word in it is GOOD--I can't find a solitary thing to kick about. Its perfect. Superb. I'm sure glad I'm a subscriber."--Ted Lutwin

No, readers, this is not a paid testimonial. Of course, we know the magazine is far from perfect or superb, but we are pleased to see that the greater part of our readers were not disappointed in it.

"Congrats on the first of the 'Fan,' it's darn good. The stf alphabet is swell. Tucker's article and 'Club News' are good as are the columns. Am eagerly awaiting No. 2 issue. 'The Fantasy Fan' is filling a long-felt need and I expect it to grow and prosper. Bon voyage."--Daniel McPhail

"Got my first issue of TFF other day. Best articles were 'Science Fiction Alphabet,' 'About Authors,' and 'Conglamitorial.' I thought the whole magazine was excellent."--J. Sam Smart

"'Earthling Spurns Martian' almost sent me into a fit. 'Tis a good little mag. I hope you enlarge the size later."--David Stolaroff

"Received my copy of your magazine and liked it swell. Just what I've been looking for! Your promise of some more new Clark Ashton Smith stories make it even more enticing. Good luck to you!"--Duane W. Rimel

Well, fans, just to show you that the above has not gone to our head, read what someone else says:

"At present, 'The Fantasy Fan' isn't worth the time it takes, to read it or the ink to print it. And same can be said about all the Science Fiction 'fan' magazines."--B. K. Goree, Jr.

Mr. Goree forgot to mention that "The Fantasy Fan" isn't worth the paper it's printed on. Ink is very cheap.

"The first issue is really good, but I think a great many improvements can be made. I would suggest that you use a stiff cover of some heavy paper, with a table of contents either on the front cover, as in the 'Science Fiction Digest,' or on the inside of the front cover. A better grade of paper should prove of advantage. Leave the size the way it is.

"Now for the articles themselves. These were all good, especially Julius Schwartz's on the collection of science fiction, Science Fiction in English Magazines and Sequels by Popular Demand. I do not care an awful lot for Mr. Smith's stories, but have read some dandies by him. Some of his stories are a good cure for sleeping sickness, I agree with Mr. Ackerman on some points in The Boiling Point, but on others--aw, phooie, Mr. Ackerman! Because I just half agree with him, I think I will stay neutral in the controversy. Best wishes to you in your new venture. I hope you double your circulation in a few months."--Oswald Train

We have made several of the improvements you mention, and will make others in good time. Do you want a contents page, fans, or would you rather have the space used for some interesting article? Give us your opinions on the current issue, and tell us your likes and dislikes. We want to hear from you.

The Editor

ARGOSY FANTASTICS

(Courtesy Don Moore, Managing Editor, Argosy)

Fantasy Fans may be interested to know some of the forthcoming fantastic and weird stories scheduled for publication in Argosy, which has always featured this type of fiction. In the November 4th issue, Ray Cummings has a novelette, "Terror of the Unseen," in which a criminal scientist masters the secret of electrical invisibility and throws a great city into chaos. It is an exciting piece of science fiction complete in this issue.

The following week, November 11th, Erle Stanley Gardner presents the second of his series of stories about the Roadrunner, a lone wolf of the Mexican border who has a strange faculty of seeing in the dark--a scientifically possible but rare phenomenon which leads him into unusual adventures. This novelette is entitled "Border Justice."

Otis Adelbert Kline starts his second novel of the red planet in the November 25th issue. "The Outlaw of Mars" is a full length novel of adventure in the weird world of canals, filled with amazing warfare and fantastic animals.

The Kingdom Of The Worm

by Clark Ashton Smith

[Every fantasy reader knows Clark Ashton Smith, and he needs no introduction. Not only is he the favorite of thousands, but his work has been said to rival and even surpass Poe. Although, as a general rule, we do not take sides, we admit without the slightest hesitation that we enjoy Clark Ashton Smith's tales a great deal more than we do Poe's. Even those that find Smith's work altogether too fantastic must admit that no other author has nearly as beautiful a vocabulary, and few have as great an ability to produce the utterly weird effect as our present author. He claims that "The Kingdom of the Worm" is one of his weirdest and most original of his tales, and we are inclined to agree with him. Let the story speak for itself.]

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FOREWORD

This tale was suggested by the reading of "The Voyages and Travels of Sir John Maundeville," in which the fantastic realm of Abchaz and the darkness covered province of Hanyson are actually described! I recommend this colourful fourteenth-century book to lovers of fantasy. Sir John even tells, in one chapter, how diamonds propagate themselves! Truly, the world was a wonderful place in those times, when almost everyone believed in the verity of such marvels.

Now in his journeying Sir John Maundeville had passed well to one side of that remarkable province in the kingdom of Abchaz which was called Hanyson; and, unless he was greatly deceived by those of whom he had inquired the way, could deem himself within two days' travel of the neighboring realm of Georgia.

He had seen the river that flowed out from Hanyson, a land of hostile idolators on which there lay the curse of perpetual darkness; and wherein, it was told, the voices of people, the crowing of cocks and the neighing of horses had sometimes been heard by those who approached its confines. But he had not paused to investigate the verity of these marvels; since the direct route of his journey was through another region; and also Hanyson was a place into which no man, not even the most hardy, would care to enter without need.

However, as he pursued his wayfaring with the two Armenian Christians who formed his retinue, he began to hear from the inhabitants of that portion of Abchaz the rumor of an equally dread demesne, named Antchar, lying before him on the road to Georgia. The tales they told were both vague and frightful, and were of varying import: some said that this country was a desolation peopled only by the liches of the dead and by loathly phantoms; others, that it was subject to the ghouls and afrits, who devoured the dead and would suffer no living mortal to trespass upon their dominions; and still others spoke of things all too hideous to be described, and of dire necromancies that prevailed in Antchar even as the might of emperors doth prevail in more usually ordered lands. And the tales agreed only in this, that Antchar had been within mortal memory one of the fairest domains of Abchaz, but had been utterly laid waste by an unknown pestilence, so that its high cities and broad fields were long since abandoned to the desert and to such devils and other creatures as inhabit waste places. And the tellers of the tales agreed in warning Sir John to avoid this region and to take the road which ran deviously to the north of Antchar; for Antchar was a place into which no man had gone in latter times.

The good knight listened gravely to all these, as was his wont; but being a stout Christian, and valorous withal, he would not suffer them to deter him from his purpose. Even when the last inhabited village had been left behind, and he came to the division of the ways, and saw verily that the highway into Antchar had not been trodden by man or beast for generations, he refused to change his intention but rode forward stoutly while the Armenians followed with much protest and some trepidation.

Howbeit, he was not blind to the sundry disagreeable tokens that began to declare themselves along the way. There were neither trees, herbs nor lichens anywhere, such as would grow in any wholesome land; but low hills mottled with a leprosy of salt, and ridges bare as the bones of the dead.

Anon he came to a pass where the hills were strait and steep on each hand, with pinnacled cliffs of a dark stone crumbling slowly into dust and taking shapes of wild horror and strangeness, of demonry and Satanry as they crumbled. There were faces in the stone, having the semblance of ghouls or goblins, that appeared to move and twist as the travellers went by; and Sir John and his companions were troubled by the aspect of these faces and by the similitudes which they bore to one another. So much alike, indeed, were many of them, that it seemed as if their first exemplars were preceding the wayfarers, to mock them anew at each turn. And aside from those which were like ghouls or goblins, there were others having the features of heathen idols, uncouth and hideous to behold; and others still that were like the worm-gnawed visages of the dead; and these also appeared to repeat themselves on every hand in a doubtful and wildering fashion.

The Armenians would have turned back, for they swore that the rocks were alive and endowed with motion, in a land where naught else was living; and they sought to dissuade Sir John from his project. But he said merely, "Follow me, an ye will," and rode onward among the rocks and pinnacles.

Now, in the ancient dust of the unused road, they saw the tracks of a creature that was neither man nor any terrestrial beast; and the tracks were of such unwonted shape and number, and were so monstrous withal, that even Sir John was disquieted thereby; and perceiving them, the Armenians murmured more openly than before.

And now, as they still pursued their way, the pinnacles of the pass grew tall as giants, and were riven into the likeness of mighty limbs and bodies, some of which were headless and others with heads of Typhoean enormity. And their shadows deepened between the travellers and the sun, to more than the umbrage of shadows cast by rocks. And in the darkest depth of the ravine, Sir John and his followers met a solitary jackal, which fled them not in the manner of its kind but passed them with leisurely pace and bespoke them with articulate words, in a voice hollow and sepulchral as that of a demon, bidding them to turn back, since the land before them was an interdicted realm. All were much startled thereat, considering that this was indeed a thing of enchantment, for a jackal to speak thus, and being against nature, was fore-ominous of ill and peril. And the Armenians cried out, saying they would go no further; and when the jackal had passed from sight, they fled after it, spurring their horses like men who were themselves ridden by devils.

Seeing them thus abandon him, Sir John was somewhat wroth; and also he was perturbed by the warning of the jackal; and he liked not the thought of faring alone into Antchar. But, trusting in our Savior to forfend him against all harmful enchantments and the necromancies of Satan, he rode on among the rocks till he came forth at length from their misshapen shadows; and emerging thus, he saw before him a grey plain that was like the ashes of some dead land under extinguished heavens.

At sight of this region, his heart misgave him sorely, and he misliked it even more than the twisted faces of the rocks and the riven forms of the pinnacles. For here the bones of men, of horses and camels, had marked the way with their pitiable whiteness; and the topmost branches of long dead trees arose like supplicative arms from the sand that had sifted upon the older gardens. And here there were ruinous houses, with doors open to the high-drifting desert, and mausoleums sinking slowly in the dunes. And here, as Sir John rode forward, the sky darkened above him, though not with the passage of clouds or the coming of the simoon, but rather with the strange dusk of midmost eclipse, wherein the shadows of himself and his horse were blotted out, and the tombs and houses were wan as phantoms.

Sir John had not ridden much further, when he met a horned viper, or cerastes, crawling toilsomely away from Antchar in the deep dust of the road. And the viper spoke at it passed him, saying with a human voice, "Be warned, and go not onward into Antchar, for this is a realm forbidden to all mortal beings except the dead."

Now did Sir John address himself in prayer to God the Highest, and to Jesus Christ our Savior and all the blessed Saints, knowing surely that he had arrived in a place that was subject to Satanical dominion. And while he prayed the gloom continued to thicken, till the road before him was half nighted and was no longer easy to discern. And though he would have still ridden on, his charger halted in the gloom and would not respond to the spur, but stood and trembled like one who is smitten with palsy.

Then, from the twilight that was nigh to darkness, there came gigantic figures, muffled and silent and having, as he thought, neither mouths nor eyes beneath the brow-folds of their sable cerements. They uttered no word, nor could Sir John bespeak them in the fear that came upon him; and likewise he was powerless to draw his sword. And they plucked him from his saddle with fleshless hands, and led him away, half swooning at the horror of their touch, on paths that he perceived only with the dim senses of one who goes down into the shadow of death. And he knew not how far they led him nor in what direction; and he heard no sound as he went other than the screaming of his horse far off, like a soul in mortal dread and agony: for the footfalls of those who had taken him were soundless and he could not tell if they were phantoms or haply were veritable demons. A coldness blew upon him, but without the whisper or soughing of wind; and the air he breathed was dense with corruption and such odors as may emanate from a broken charnel.

For a time, in the faintness that had come upon him, he saw not the things that were standing beside the way, nor the shrouded shapes that went by in funereal secrecy. Then, recovering his senses a little, he perceived that there were houses about him and the streets of a town, though these were but scantly to be discerned in the night that had fallen without bringing the stars. Howbeit, he saw, or deemed, that there were high mansions and broad thoroughfares and markets; and among them, as he went on, a building that bore the appearance of a great palace, with a facade that glimmered vaguely, and domes and turrets half swallowed up by the lowering darkness.

As he neared the facade, Sir John saw that the glimmering came from within and was cast obscurely through open doors and between broad-spaced pillars. Too feeble was the light for torch or cresset, too dim for any lamp; and Sir John marvelled amid his faintness and terror. But when he had drawn closer still, he saw that the strange gleaming was like the phosphor bred by the putrefaction of a charnel.

Beneath the guidance of those who held him helpless, he entered the building. They led him through a stately hall, in whose carven columns and ornate furniture the opulence of kings was manifest; and thence he came into a great audience-room, with a throne of gold and ebony set on a high dais, all of which was illumed by no other light than the glimmering of decay. And the throne was tenanted, not by any human lord or sultan, but a grey, prodigious creature, of height and bulk exceeding those of man, and having in all its over-swollen form the exact similitude of a charnel-worm. And the worm was alone, and except for the worm and Sir John and those beings who had brought him thither, the great chamber was empty as a mausoleum of old days, whose occupants were long since consumed by corruption.

Then, standing there with a horror upon him such as no man had ever envisaged, Sir John became aware that the worm was scrutinizing him severely, with little eyes deep-folded in the obscene bloating of its face, and then, with a dreadful and solemn voice, it addressed him, saying:

"I am king of Antchar, by virtue of having conquered and devoured the mortal ruler thereof, as well as all those who were his subjects. Know then that this land is mine and that the intrusion of the living is unlawful and not readily to be condoned. The rashness and folly thou hast shown in thus coming here is verily most egregious; since thou wert warned by the peoples of Abchaz, and warned anew by the jackal and the viper which thou didst meet on the road into Antchar. Thy temerity hath earned a condign punishment. And before I suffer thee to go hence, I decree that thou shalt lie for a term among the dead, and dwell as they dwell, in a dark sepulcher, and learn the manner of their abiding and the things which none should behold with living eyes. Yea, still alive, it shall be thine to descend and remain in the very midst of death and putrefaction, for such length of time as seemeth meet to correct thy folly and punish thy presumption."

Sir John was one of the worthiest knights in Christendom, and his valor was beyond controversy. But when he heard the speech of the throned worm, and the judgement that it passed upon him, his fear became so excessive that once again he was nigh to swooning. And, still in this state, he was taken hence by those who had brought him to the audience-room. And somewhere in the outer darkness, in a place of tombs and graves and cenotaphs beyond the dim town, he was flung into a deep sepulcher of stone, and the brazen door of the sepulcher was closed upon him.

Lying there through the seasonless midnight, Sir John was companioned only by an unseen cadaver and by those ministrants of decay who were not yet wholly done with their appointed task. Himself as one half dead, in the sore extremity of his horror and loathing, he could not tell if it were day or night in Antchar; and in all the term of endless hours that he lay there, he heard no sound, other than the beating of his own heart, which soon became insufferably loud, and oppressed him like the noise and tumult of a great throng.

Appalled by the clamor of his heart, and affrighted by the thing which lay in perpetual silence beside him, and whelmed by the awesomeness and dire necromancy of all that had befallen him, Sir John was prone to despair, and scant was his hope of returning from that imprisonment amid the dead, or of standing once more under the sun as a living man. It was his to learn the voidness of death, to share the abomination of desolation, and to comprehend the unutterable mysteries of corruption; and to do all this not as one who is a mere insensible cadaver, but with soul and body still inseparate. His flesh crept, and his spirit cringed within him, as he felt the crawling of worms that went avidly to the dwindling corpse or came away in glutted slowness. And it seemed to Sir John at that time (and at all times thereafter) that the condition of his sojourn in the tomb was verily to be accounted a worse thing than death.

At last, when many hours or days had gone over him, leaving the tomb's darkness unchanged by the entrance of any beam or the departure of any shadow, Sir John was aware of a sullen clangor, and knew that the brazen door had been opened. And now, for the first time, by the dimness of twilight that had entered the tomb, he saw in all its piteousness and repulsion the thing with which he had abode so long. In the sickness that fell upon him at this sight, he was haled forth from the sepulcher by those who had thrust him therein: and, fainting once more with the terror of their touch, and shrinking from their gigantic shadowy stature and cerements whose black folds revealed no human visage or form, he was led through Antchar along the road whereby he had come into that dolorous realm.

His guides were silent as before; and the gloom which lay upon the land was even as when he had entered it, and was like the umbrage of some eternal occultation. But at length, in the very place where he had been taken captive, he was left to retrace his own way and to fare alone through the land of ruinous gardens toward the defile of the crumbling rocks.

Weak though he was from his confinement, and all bemazed with the things which had befallen him, he followed the road till the darkness lightened once more and he came forth from its penumbral shadow beneath a pale sun. And somewhere in the waste he met his charger, wandering through the sunken fields that were covered up by the sand; and he mounted the charger and rode hastily away from Antchar through the pass of the strange boulders with mocking forms and faces. And after a time he came once more to the northern road by which travellers commonly went to Georgia; and here he was rejoined by the two Armenians, who had waited on the confines of Antchar, praying for his secure deliverance.

Long afterwards, when he had returned from his wayfaring in the East and among the peoples of remote isles, he told of the kingdom of Abchaz in the book that related his travels; and also he wrote therein concerning the province of Hanyson. But he made no mention of Antchar, that kingdom of darkness and decay ruled by the throned worm.

HOW TO COLLECT FANTASY FICTION

by Julius Schwartz