Memory was fragmentary after that. Some shock drove him to seek the upper regions where a blur of light remained. A priceless stained glass window was smashed. And he plunged to the ground outside. No questions were asked him when days later he came out of a state of delirium. None were needed; he had babbled disjointedly while in that state, enough to cause the cathedral to be closed. An examination was made, discreetly, of certain relics. Later the gardener was observed by some to cast a small paper parcel into the river. And shortly afterwards several high ranking clergymen held a private church service in the cathedral to which no one was admitted. Though the more noisy spoke of hearing a hand bell ring and ponderous Latin phrases uttered. Penhryn's experience had blanks in it which was well for him. One thing, not fully erased, was of a "face eaten away by darkness." There was one final thing that, when he learned of it, sent him into a paroxysm of horror. The investigators, taking much of his delirium babbling into serious consideration, had medical examinations made of the relics. One osseous remain--that which the drugged monks had blasphemously reverenced--had been non-human and unhallowed; a spurious relic passed off as genuine. The substitution was made obviously by a hidden Satanist, mocking the Church, as the Gothic carvers had, and the witch covens. _The End_ * * * * * DIFFERENT A Voice of the Atomic Age resumes publication at 79-14 266 St. Glen Oaks, Floral Park, Long Island, N. Y. Poetry and Science Fiction. $2.00 per year, fifty cents per copy. Lilith Lorraine, Editor. AT TAKEOFF TIME by Raymond L. Clancy I'd like to leave for the stars from Iceland, There where they gleam in purple and gold, In green and orange, and all gorgeous colors, And the Northern Lights their beauties unfold Under the eyes of Venus and Mars, From the Northern Isle, I would leave for the stars. LOOSE ENDS by JEAN REEDY Ada Webster had a feeling of buoyance as she moved away from her body. Sights and sounds were crystal clear. Each mote in the shaft of sunlight, falling through the window pane, was sharply defined. Sounds of the small city came acutely to her ears. Sounds of laughter and talk and moving cars and busses. And closer, the rustle of a nurse's starched uniform, the soft closing of a door as she went out. In the room, quiet sobbing. Tenderly the two beside the bed reached for the sheet and together they covered the whole body. Ada watched in amazement. Brother and sister! They had not seen each other since girl and boy days. Now they were crying in each other's arms.