SLL and GAR were entertaining Cass at a party one night, drinking borscht from his sneakers, when who should drop in through a skylight from a DC-6 but the Schwartz sisters who immediately began laying about them with a pair of two-handed broadswords. Fifteen minutes and ninety gallons of blood later the place was cleared of all sentience save Cass, myself, the Schwartz girls, and a drunken cockroach (something familiar about that boy) who immediately staggered to the seashore, fell in and was poisoned to death. Cassius, basking in such munificent attention, and also regaling himself with the beauty of the two girls, immediately realized how unhappy he really was in civilization. He pleaded on bended bodies for forgiveness, and upon being received warmly by Olga and Ketanya, made plans for his leaving "culture." I didn't try to stop him. What would'a been the use? I'd made enough to retire, Cass had seen the World, Rubin had been adopted by some destitute family named DuPont who wanted a house pet, and all in all, the only drawback was that I hated to see him go. But finally he chartered a plane (something about a sacred cow I believe) and took off back to where he felt was home with the two Schwartz valkyries. Yep, that's the last anyone ever saw of 'em. That is, till now. Huh? Where are they? And what am I doin' here? Well, you see I didn't figger on taxes after the Show ... and I was broke in two months. That's what I'm doin' here. Eh? Where are they? Well, just ste-ep right up, ladeez and gennulmen, for onny twenny-fi' cents I'm gonna show you a real, authentic, for-sure aardvark and two girls frozen into a block of lemon flavored ice, right here in the heart of the Swiss.... _The End_ THREE A. M. by WALT KLEIN The clocks are all awry this hour of the secret night--the slender hands all aimless; the terrible, slender hands all fingering a different cipher, and the stars all reeling in their orbits. O time! time! time! Time and death have vanished this enchanted moment, forgotten, lost in the endless corridors of mind. But who-- who will know tomorrow of this moment fleeing, lost? Wailing, wailing, wailing.... The pendulum, rasping, drops, the door springs open, and a tinny voice shrieks: "Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!" THE GOTHIC HORROR BY GEORGE WETZEL