INTRODUCTION
Miguel Rendón B. was a reader of Los Cuentos Fantasticos, and was the winner of a reader competition announced in Los Cuentos Fantásticos #27 (1950). The contest solicited from readers the best story that matches the cover that appears on issue #27, awarding a prize of $100 to the first place winner and free subscriptions to various publications for the second and third place winner. The third place winner was Marta Elvira Bermúdez, who later published a story, "Sugestión", in issue #34 of Los Cuentos Fantásticos, possibly a reworking of her contest entry. "The Avenger", by Miguel Rendón B., was the first place winner, and appeared in issue #28. Many thanks to Antonio from Proyecto F for supplying the text.
For bibliographic information and the cover of issue #27, see: https://ttrantor.org/VolPag.asp?volumen=LCF2702&titulo_volumen=Los%20Cuentos%20Fant%E1sticos%2027
THE AVENGER
"Blame my death on Cass Doremus, the student. Look for him in the autopsy rooms or in the cemeteries, Cass is dead. I killed him; he died a few hours before me, but that doesn't matter. Despite all this, he's nearly killed me and I know that he'll finish the job. I'm leaving some notes, torn from my personal diary, that will explain things. I ask in the name of the law that Cass, or whatever is left of him, be punished. Crime must be condemned whether it was committed out of hatred, like mine, or out of vengeance, like his."
These lines, illogical but not incoherent, drawn in an anguished calligraphy with a feline character, were written a few minutes before Katja Sjöberg exhaled her last breath. The notes from her diary referred to in the letter, also attached to the file, are as follows:
WEDNESDAY, 10 PM.—
What disgust! What happiness! I hate him as a man and adore him as a victim. And that's great. My hatred for him, like his love for me, must be absolute for the experiment to produce fascinating results. I pity those who will never feel the temptatious viscosity of another's blood on their hands, spilled for pleasure. I (the words here are crossed out) him... perhaps in two nights' time, I will feel it myself.
THURSDAY, 5 AM. —
I've dreamed it all, anticipating the events. How marvellous! I suppose that reality is even more exciting. I've planned everything well; nothing can go wrong. Nobody knows me and nobody has ever seen us together. Tomorrow night? Yes, tomorrow. The new moon will help. Today, I'll study the exact place and time when the train passes.
FRIDAY, MIDNIGHT. —
He has twenty-two hours left to live. The train passes through the birch forest at 9:57, a short distance from a level crossing. I'll kill him! I'll kill him! Each time those words resonate more voluptuously within my soul. Men in love are good for nothing. They only thing they enjoy more than the women they love is destroying them. I'll kill him! What does the world care about a biology student interested in studying the human brain? All my life I've waited for someone to love me. And Cass adores me. Oh, what bliss!
SATURDAY, 3 PM. —
Killing a stranger is like swatting a defenseless fly or shooting down a bird of passage.
It's within everyone's reach. It's a very relative satisfaction. But destroying a being who loves us is something grandiose, something that only the most blessed spirits experience. I'll know soon enough. We've scheduled... (some unintelligible words here) ... old mill, near the forest. I'll kill him while he's kissing me. When all is said and done, I'll translate this part of my diary into a code that only I know. The police are clever and not tolerant one bit; if they discover my brilliant experiment, they might dare to hold me accountable.
SATURDAY, 11 PM. —
Already! Consumatum est. His kiss beside the tracks was abruptly cut off by a push backwards at the precise moment when the locomotive passed, whose warning whistle drowned out his marvellous screams. Tomorrow, the newspapers will talk about a suicide due to poverty, or an accident caused by low visibility. And I will laugh, as I have laughed tonight. I've returned to the city through the lonely woods and entered my house through the back door, unseen by anyone. My only neighbor is a consumptive drunk who doesn't notice anything. What would Cass think, if he had time to think anything? I feel fine. I think I'll sleep peacefully. Tomorrow I'll recall the scene in all its details. I want to enjoy it intensely. I want to savor it for the rest of my life.
I can't fall asleep. I feel like someone is walking around my room. I'm walking around half nude and I'm cold. The drunk is coughing and vomiting upstairs.
I definitely can't sleep. When I was in bed, I opened my eyes and saw an oblong object standing out against the darkness of my room, as if suspended in the air. When I closed my eyes, the vision disappeared. A minute later, I opened them again and saw the object more clearly. It seemed to be taking shape and form. When I turned on the light, it vanished. But it hasn't gone away. I have a premonition it's there, behind me, spying on me. Could it be someone... or SOMETHING? I'm going to turn around.
Horror! The object is now visible in full light. It has volume and moves on its own. I'm trembling. I change position and face the "thing", holding back my trembling. An indefinable impulse compels me to continue writing; I want to record the emotions of these incredible moments. The clock of some church pronounces the time. Twelve o'clock. With each chime, the object leaps across the room, threateningly approaching me. I'm afraid. My strength is beginning to fail and I can no longer write at the same time as events are taking place. I ran to the door, but the "thing" blocked my path. I've seen it up close! It's a whitish mass, tinged with a phantasmagoric green. It has the form of a head, with a central indentation, from front to back. It's crisscrossed by a multitude of fine red vessels that run between the protuberances of the horrible mass, and on its anterior section, there are two eyes that stare at me fixedly and expressionlessly. The head has no mouth, no ears, no nose, no chin. Only the two eyes and a short, narrow stem that isn't supported by anything, and from which two thin tentacles emerge, with three finger-shaped hooks at their ends. It's monstrous. A beast of unknown species. It's a... It's a... It's a brain! A HUMAN BRAIN!
It came too close to me and I've lost consciousness. When I came to, I escaped, I don't know how, from my cursed room and ran through the streets with these crumpled notes in my frozen hands. Now I'm in a nauseating hotel, where perhaps the monster might not have followed me. I look around and see nothing. Have I been saved? Suddenly, a blast of sepulchral air strikes my face and the gelatinous, horrifying mass appears beside me. Have pity! Its two tentacles, damp and lecherous, advance towards me, running over my arms, my bust, my neck. Every moment I feel less in control of my actions, but taking advantage of the moments when I'm in a decadent lucidity, I continue writing, although it's quite delayed. I recoil in fear, trip over something and fall to the ground. I stretch out my hand to stop the beast from advancing, in whose contracted eyes I now see a diabolical expression. Mercy! The monster's six claws encircle my throat. I give in, but its claws refuse to strangle me. They just lick my skin, leaving it cold and clammy. In a last attempt, I tried to attack the beast, but it's fled to the ceiling, out of my reach. Something inside me is collapsing. I'm going mad. Mad! My legs are paralyzed and my heart is beating in irregular jolts. My senses are dulling. I reach for these notes and continue writing on the floor. I want to record the nightmare until the last moment, in case I survive it. The monster looks at me. My fingers do not obey me. I cannot breathe. I'm suffocating! What deadly power emanates from this disgusting mass? Damn you, Cass!! I understand that it's you, but wait. Before terror or hatred annihilates me, before my limbs atrophy forever, I need to write a letter. You've defied me and outwitted my experiment, but I swear that you won't live in peace.
The letter is done. You can finish killing me now, Cass. Oh, what a pang in my heart! Air, air! I feel that... (the last lines are almost incomprehensible) ...It's better... at once... Tomorrow you would come back... Kill me, Cass!
* * *
In Katja Sjöberg's files, there was also a newspaper clipping that read: "Last Saturday night, a train struck Cass Doremus, a biology student. His mangled body was taken to the amphitheater of Hospital X. Curious students, upon opening the skull, found that the corpse had no brain. Eminent men of science are studying the extraordinary case. It appears to be a crime, but the police categorically deny that they have any theory that is... rational."
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