The Return

of the Mist

"Warden Lawson had a strange power over the convicts of his prison, but Spike Torri was a different proposition. Then came the Mist -- a mist that was living! And the life in it was that of Spike Torri!"

A fantastically Amazing Classic
by
Robert E. Lee, Jr.

***

High atop the tallest building in the world, the towering sixty-storey Woolworth Building in downtown Manhattan, are located the headquarters of the fabled economic empire which is master-minded by one man. He is the eighty-ninth richest man in the Social Register, the fabulous globetrotter, gourmet, bon-vivant, adventurer. envied by millions -- David Lloyd Barrett.

On that particular day in May, the sky was overcast. There had been rain. There would be rain again. Standing at a window in his magnificent blue octagonal personal office, the most inner and sanctum of inner sanctums, DLB clasped his hands behind his back and ruminated as he looked down at City Hall Park across Broadway. The greenery had a dank limpid glisten to it and the pigeons perching on the heroic marble sculpture commemorating Civic Virtue seemed sadly forlorn.

Something was in the air, DLB thought with the subtle instinct that had served him so well at the outset of so many past adventures. A darkness that was not entirely due to the storm clouds that hovered above. A sinister static electricity that seemed to crackle from distant sources, veins of invisible lightning that --

The door to DLB's palatial office burst open.

DLB wheeled and found himself face to yellow face with Jordan "Pudgy" Fong, his best friend, his cohort, the only man on earth allowed to actually enter the sanctum sanctorum uninvited and unannounced.

"Listen, David," Pudgy panted, "I ---"

"Darn it," DLB expostulated, "If I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times: Call me 'Mister Barrett' during business hours."

"Sorry, Mister Barrett," Pudgy gasped, shuffling his feet.

"It's all right," DLB averred. "But don't let it happen again. Now, what the heck's the matter with you? You're sweating."

"Gosh," Pudgy burbled, "I'm so excited."

"Take a cold shower," DLB advised drily."

He noticed that Pudgy's skinny yellow Oriental fingers were clutching an item of inscrutable aspect. Pudgy held it before him, displaying it to DLB as though it were an offering to one of his own pagan gods.

"The Lotus Flower," Pudgy screeched, "is glowing!"

"Gad," DLB hissed. "This can only mean one thing!"

"Yeah," Pudgy assented. "Yeah, yeah, yeah."

Suddenly overhead a faint sound resolved itself into the drone of a single-engined aeroplane.

DLB cocked his head, tilting an ear unerringly toward the source of the sound. Without a doubt or hesitation, he announced:

"Lindberg."

"Ah, so," Pudgy whispered.

DLB snapped, "Poor lad, to have endeavored so with all his might and main, and to be foredoomed to failure."

"He's got a good chance," Pudgy protested.

"No." DLB shook his head, his handsome features expressing his pity for the youth who would soon attempt to make the perilous New York-to-Paris crossing by heavier-than-air craft. "No, Byrd and Chamberlain will be the first to land in Paris. They will claim the fabulous twenty-five thousand dollar Orteig Prize. But I must admit that I admire this Lindberg, in spite of his Jewish-sounding name."

"What makes you so sure Byrd and Chamberlain will beat him?" Pudgy sniveled, his wily yellow face illuminated by the glowing object he clutched before him.

"It is inevitable," DLB responded. "Two great men, their prowess already proven, dauntlessly reaching out to conquer one of the last frontiers, in their magnificent tri-motor Fokker, a masterpiece of technology from the most technologically-adept people outside of our own America, America, God shed His grace on thee. How could one lone youth hope to compete with such a combination? Why, this Lindberg boy has only one engine! What would he do should it fail over the raging Atlantic?"

"Go down, I guess," Pudgy anticipated.

"Poor lad," DLB sympathized.

The drone of the engine had faded. DLB returned his gaze to the object Pudgy held toward him. Cupped in Pudgy's hands was a loti-form bowl, conceived with fantastically amazing artistry, rendered with the most intricate of craftsmanship, of solid gold, in the manner of the most ancient heathen Orientals. The bowl itself had been a revered relic of antiquity when the first of the Shangs was but an infant mewling and puking in his cradle, a heritage from a strange civilization now lost beyond the distant reaches of memory. Resting in this loti-form bowl, was an object even more ancient than its golden bed --- the Lotus Stone!

Of the approximate shape and size of the egg of the now-extinct Royal Purple Bird of Mu, the Lotus Stone was a crystal of a most marvelous refraction. To the eye its depths seemed infinite and of an inconceivable purity. In its heart lay a small figure, a snake that, at one glance might have seemed carven of ebony, and on another glance might seem a living thing. At this moment, as the Lotus Stone gave off its transcendental glow, the snake was poised as if to strike!

"It points," DLB coagulated, mentally charting the direction in which the minute snake would seem to seek its prey. A sharp jangling sound terraced the air. Recognizing the sound, DLB lifted the tele-phone receiver from his desk. It was a French model, mouthpiece and earpiece in one span. DLB spoke briskly into the mouthpiece. "Fuck off." Pause. "Oh, all right. Put him on." Pause. "No, Your Honor, I'm sorry, I won't be able to make time to see you this afternoon." Pause. "Yes, I do understand how important it is, but something even more important has just come up." Pause. "No, not even five minutes." Pause. "No." Pause. "I --- well, if you make it quick." Pause. "Yes, I am familiar with the structure of the bed of the East River at that point." Pause. "My advice is to go ahead and do it. Make sure you seal the cable as well as possible." Pause. "Rubber cement would probably be best." Pause. "You're quite welcome." He turned to Pudgy. "You know what this glowing Lotus Stone means, don't you?"

"Well," Pudgy empathized, "It has been in my family since the dawn of time."

DLB jiggled the tele-phone receiver. "Edith? Have the derigible ready for take-off immediately. Right. Yes, Pudgy, you know what the glowing Lotus Stone means?"

"Oh, for Tong's sake," Pudgy whimpered. "So tell me already, Mister Barrett, sir, please."

"It means," DLB vociferated dramatically, "that the Mist has returned! Now, let us be off about thwarting him!"

"Yeah," Pudgy sighed. "Let's."

THE END

--Rob't E. Toomey, Jr.
&
Lee Hoffman

***

NEXT ISSUE! Another Story in This Fabulous Series About The Greatest Arch-criminal of All Time, the Invader from Another Dimension Rather Unlike Our Own -- THE MIST!

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Data entry by Judy Bemis
Hard copy provided by Geri Sullivan

Data entry by Judy Bemis

Updated August 29, 2002. If you have a comment about these web pages please send a note to the Fanac Webmaster. Thank you.