Once, in those dear dead days when I first awakened to the call of fantasy, I was seized with some strange outbreak of energy; and typed two copies of Edmond Hamilton's first tale, "The Monster God of Mamurth." The copies are still on had. Not faultless typing, but readable. If anyone has not read this great little story by Hamilton, I'll gladly send a copy to the first two fans writing me.
The Slanting Shadow
by August W. Derleth
Mr. Abner Follansbee, investigator for the Society for Psychic Research, stopped his car to peer out into the Wisconsin woods. To his companion he said, "This is apparently the place, Fred. There's a sign off to one side. Pretty well shot. 'Kroll's Inn'. Let's see that young lady's letter again."
Fred Tenny took a letter from his inner coat pocket and thrust it toward Follansbee, who opened it and regarded the scrawled writing dubiously.
"Probably just another wild goose chase," he said presently. "Looks to me more like a matter for the police. The girl's guardian, Uriah Kroll, disappeared over a year ago—and since then his room has been very strange. That's all it amounts to. I suppose the young lady thinks she's got a ghost on her hands."
The younger man smiled. "Something about a shadow, isn't there?"
"Yes. 'There's a queer shadow on the bed in his room when the moon shines,' she writes. 'I can't understand it. It shouldn't be there.' That's all."