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Vampire, whole no. 7, September 1946
31858063101335_006
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The ODD BROTHERS by F. LEE BALDWIN Read about Jules and Henre Duprée, two of the nastiest characters imaginable, in an off-trail horror tale by a veteran fan author who is, apparently, not averse to mixing a bit of satire in with the gore . . . The lane was long and shadowed, and at its end a house squatted whitely, centered on a lawn of billiard-table green. The whole thing looked neat, like an architect's layout. But that part could fool you. For behind this white house was the garden, surrounded by a wild grape vine, sumac bush, willow thicket jungle. This garden's hub seemed to be a pool, very deep, covered wantonly by curious and luxuriant plants. By this pool was a flat, round shadow. This shadow was caused by a fat little man. He was Jules Duprée, a somewhat overly brilliant psychiatrist who liked to tinker with other people's minds. In a nice way, of course. He was staring into what he could see of the pool's depths as if searching for something. There was anger written in the lines of his buttery face, in the manner in which he chewed his lips, in the way he blinked his large brown eyes. He was wondering why in the sacred name of the Holy Mother his brother, Honre, seemed so intent on breaking his promises lately. It hurt because so far he was impotent against Honre's actions. What dug deepest, though, was the evident fact that he was being used. Used to bring in live specimens for Honre, it appeared. He was worse off than any broker in such materials. They received payment. He, Jules, did not. Not even in words of appreciation. Just then, hearing a light swishing sound, he turned. It was Honre Duprée approaching with light steps across the grass. Jules could hold himself no longer. "Sacre Nom, Honre," he screamed at his brother, "but you promised me the escaped mad one from the institution at Blacklodge for my experiments -- the one who gushed verse and who claimed to be Whitman. I had much trouble bringing him through the wood and across the swamp, eluding the guards who were searching for him. But no, I did not get him. And now I find, Honre," -6-
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The ODD BROTHERS by F. LEE BALDWIN Read about Jules and Henre Duprée, two of the nastiest characters imaginable, in an off-trail horror tale by a veteran fan author who is, apparently, not averse to mixing a bit of satire in with the gore . . . The lane was long and shadowed, and at its end a house squatted whitely, centered on a lawn of billiard-table green. The whole thing looked neat, like an architect's layout. But that part could fool you. For behind this white house was the garden, surrounded by a wild grape vine, sumac bush, willow thicket jungle. This garden's hub seemed to be a pool, very deep, covered wantonly by curious and luxuriant plants. By this pool was a flat, round shadow. This shadow was caused by a fat little man. He was Jules Duprée, a somewhat overly brilliant psychiatrist who liked to tinker with other people's minds. In a nice way, of course. He was staring into what he could see of the pool's depths as if searching for something. There was anger written in the lines of his buttery face, in the manner in which he chewed his lips, in the way he blinked his large brown eyes. He was wondering why in the sacred name of the Holy Mother his brother, Honre, seemed so intent on breaking his promises lately. It hurt because so far he was impotent against Honre's actions. What dug deepest, though, was the evident fact that he was being used. Used to bring in live specimens for Honre, it appeared. He was worse off than any broker in such materials. They received payment. He, Jules, did not. Not even in words of appreciation. Just then, hearing a light swishing sound, he turned. It was Honre Duprée approaching with light steps across the grass. Jules could hold himself no longer. "Sacre Nom, Honre," he screamed at his brother, "but you promised me the escaped mad one from the institution at Blacklodge for my experiments -- the one who gushed verse and who claimed to be Whitman. I had much trouble bringing him through the wood and across the swamp, eluding the guards who were searching for him. But no, I did not get him. And now I find, Honre," -6-
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