I felt the earth slip from under me, and I shot into space. A feeling of suffocation, indescribably terrible, enveloped me, and a million sparks of fire seemed dancing before my eyes, though I could not see. I tried to scream, but could make no sound. Then something seemed to burst; my lungs were free; I gave a terrible cry.
A voice from above came sharply down to me:
“What the devil’s the matter with you, Bill?”
The ship gave a lurch and brought me wide awake. In the dim light of the cabin I saw Jim McCarthy’s face peering at me from the bunk above.
“Jim,” I said, wiping my sweat-soaked face with the sheet. “If you fill me up on any more of your home-made hootch I will kill you!”
THE THUNDER VOICE
The Story of a Hairy Monster
By F. WALTER WILSON
It was my grandfather who told me of The Thunder Voice, and of the terror which it spread throughout the Valley of Trelane away back in the early days, when scattered Indians hunted the forests thereabouts—told me of how the gruesome horror of it changed strong men into whimpering weaklings, afraid to step beyond their thresholds after dark.