_A Tale of Stark, Unreasoning Terror_ The Fearsome Touch of Death By ROBERT E. HOWARD [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Weird Tales February 1930. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] As long as midnight cloaks the earth With shadows grim and stark, God save us from the Judas kiss Of a dead man in the dark. Old Adam Farrel lay dead in the house wherein he had lived alone for the last twenty years. A silent, churlish recluse, in his life he had known no friends, and only two men had watched his passing. Dr. Stein rose and glanced out the window into the gathering dusk. "You think you can spend the night here, then?" he asked his companion. This man, Falred by name, assented. "Yes, certainly. I guess it's up to me." "Rather a useless and primitive custom, sitting up with the dead," commented the doctor, preparing to depart, "but I suppose in common decency we will have to bow to precedence. Maybe I can find some one who'll come over here and help you with your vigil." Falred shrugged his shoulders. "I doubt it. Farrel wasn't liked--wasn't known by many people. I scarcely knew him myself, but I don't mind sitting up with the corpse." Dr. Stein was removing his rubber gloves, and Falred watched the process with an interest that almost amounted to fascination. A slight, involuntary shudder shook him at the memory of touching these gloves--slick, cold, clammy things, like the touch of death. "You may get lonely tonight, if I don't find anyone," the doctor remarked as he opened the door. "Not superstitious, are you?" Falred laughed. "Scarcely. To tell the truth, from what I hear of Farrel's disposition, I'd rather be watching his corpse than have been his guest in life." The door closed and Falred took up his vigil. He seated himself in the only chair the room boasted, glanced casually at the formless, sheeted bulk on the bed opposite him, and began to read by the light of the dim lamp which stood on the rough table. Outside the darkness gathered swiftly, and finally Falred laid down his magazine to rest his eyes. He looked again at the shape which had, in life, been the form of Adam Farrel, wondering what quirk in the human nature made the sight of a corpse not only so unpleasant, but such an object of fear to many. Unthinking ignorance, seeing in dead things a reminder of death to come, he decided lazily, and began idly contemplating as to what life had held for this grim and crabbed old man, who had neither relatives nor friends, and who had seldom left the house wherein he had died. The usual tales of miser-hoarded wealth had accumulated, but Falred felt so little interest in the whole matter that it was not even necessary for him to overcome any temptation to pry about the house for possible hidden treasure.