And, there, in a fragmentary, woefully incomplete way, you have E. Hoffmann Price: swell spinner of tall yarns, linguist, mechanic, cook par excellence--and in general a hell of a good fellow. Selah! * * * * * The Laughter of a Ghoul by Robert Bloch Have you ever heard the laughter of a ghoul? Shrill and high, it rises and ululates with the cadence of a song from the Pit. Hearing it brings the soul closer to strange terrors and gives the listener vague glimpses into half-opened door-ways thru which no man should peer too closely. Once I heard that mocking laughter in the silence of the night, and since that evil-fated day the night has held neither silence nor surcease from the haunting memory of that mirth or madness. Ever it lurks and lingers in the shadows of my brain, till only thru expression of my torment can I hope to maintain my sanity in a world made hideous by the Nemesis of inescapable memory. In all the Rood-mass realms of Nightmare, there is nothing equalling in foulness that grim and fearful monster known to legend as the Ghoul. Accursed is he, and accursed the land burdened by his presence. In such a land I dwelt, lord of an ancient, remote line. Slithering secrets dwelt within the archaic avenues of the vast and sombre forest near my manor in the hills--secrets black and hideous, haunting and unspeakable, such as demonian presences mumble nightly in the aeon-dead abysses beyond the light of stars. Here in this forlorn realm of trickling tarns and baleful solitude my newly-wedded and beloved bride chanced one day to wander, as in rustic holiday. All unbeknowning, I spent the day in town, returning only as even-tide drew near. But she, my beloved, did not return, even with the coming of darkness.