Mistress of the Undead | Page 3

casting an eerie glow over
the marshland, and making dancing, fantastic figures out of tree
shadows.
John Turner stood up. The plane had cut a clean path through the
saplings and undergrowth. Parts of human bodies were scattered along
in the narrow opening. Sawgrass was splotched with blood.
He found it possible to move now, but his feet sank ankle deep in the
mire. Tree limbs slashed at his face and shrubs tugged at his legs and
knees as he ran from one body to another to see if he could detect life
in any of them.
They were battered, torn and bleeding. Flesh and brains were scattered
over the ground and hanging from stiff blades of swamp grass. A
woman, apparently the mother of a child, had her arms twined about its
neck, a curly head on her breast. Rest of the body was gone. John
Turner threw his arms across his face to blot out the gruesome picture.
When he opened his eyes again, the victims had regained normal shape,
and they appeared to be resting in sleep on the ground.

It was terribly quiet in the marsh now, except for crackling of the
burning plane. Turner hurried toward the ship. Perhaps there was
someone in it he could save.
A FIERCE heat stopped him. From the flames stepped a young woman.
One arm had been severed at the shoulder. Blood had stained the white
knitted frock. She glided toward Turner. He was afraid to move.
Her pale face was framed in a halo of blond hair, shimmering in the
firelight. Turner would have thought her dead, were it not for the red
lips. She saw him staring at her mouth, as she stood close, and
answered the question in his eyes.
"Indelible lipstick," she smiled. "It's been there for a year. It never
seems to come off."
"AÑa year," he stammered.
"Yes, I put it on the night of the crash," she replied. "My perfume has
lasted, too." She seemed pleased with the facts.
"What made the plane come down like that? Didn't the pilot see the
trees?" he asked her.
"Yes," she sighed. "I'm sure he did it on purpose."
"On purpose!" he almost shouted.
"It all began late this afternoon," she said. "Something happened to one
of the passengers. I think he must have gone insane suddenly." She
swayed slightly in the breeze, and Turner caught her in his arms.
Gently he eased her to the ground beside a tree.
"The hostess humored him every way possible," she continued. "He
decided he wanted to sit between the pilot and co-pilot. It amused him
to ride there, just like a toy would delight a child.
"He had become pacified before we reached the last port, or they might
have put him off. How lucky that would have been for all of us," she

said, regretfully.
"When we took off again, he went back to his seat between the pilots,
where he was perfectly calm.
"The ship had been in the air all day and the pilots were tired. I was
tired. Motors of the plane were droning in perfect accord, singing a sort
of lullaby. Then this insane man began to talk in a low, soothing voice.
I could hear him. He would say, 'You are tired, very tired. Relax now
and rest. Rest comfortably. Don't be afraid. I will tell you what to do.
Trust me. Relax. Rest.' His voice trailed off into the distance, quiet and
intoxicating. His words seemed to rest mind and body.
"Suddenly he said to the pilots, 'You are resting now. I am in command.
Listen to me. Do as I say. You can't refuseÑyou can't refuse.'
"I knew then that he was a hypnotist. I tried to scream out, but I was
speechless! I tried to move. My whole body was asleep.
"The plane began to fly in circles. I was afraid we wouldn't get to Little
City on time. At last the little man said to the pilot, 'Fly straight west.
We are all going west!' I was elated. I thought the fiendish design was
complete.
"'You are up too high!' the insane man shouted.' I felt the plane drop
instantly several hundred feet, the pilot responding to his every whim.
The insane man chuckled gleefully.
"'Lower,' he shouted to the pilot. 'Lower, lower. Faster. Faster, man.'
"Passengers became panicky. They knew something was wrong. They
all rushed to the front of the plane, and that made it drop more rapidly.
"'Faster, faster, faster,' shouted the insane man, and the pilot sent the
plane, like a shooting comet, head on into the trees. It might have been
better, had we nosed straight on down, but the ship hit those huge trees,
flying parallel to the ground.

"All the time the two