By Ray Bradbury
Halloween evening, 1954. a tender, film-obsessed scriptwriter has simply been employed at one of many nice studios. An nameless research leads from the enormous Maximus motion pictures backlot to an eerie graveyard separated from the studio by means of a unmarried wall. There he makes a terrifying discovery that thrusts him right into a maelstrom of intrigue and mystery—and into the dizzy excitement of the motion picture on the top of its glittering strength.
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Additional resources for A Graveyard for Lunatics: Another Tale of Two Cities
Suddenly a rat began chewing away at something beneath the cupboard. A big fly started up, as if it had just awoken from a long sleep, and buzzed about the room. A moth rose from Dad’s boots and circled the candle flame in a descending spiral. Dad lit a cigarette and smoked meditatively. The noise of the rat increased and other rats joined in the chewing. Mum’s face twitched. Dad said: ‘Your grandfather is completely blind now. He is the head-priest of our shrine, Priest of the God of Roads. Anyone who wants a special sacrifice for their journeys, undertakings, births, funerals, whatever, goes to him.
They shook their heads simultaneously. They just stood there, completely blockingout the light from the door. I looked at their short arms, limp at their sides, and my head nearly fell off in fright when I discovered that all of them without exception had six fingers on each hand. Then I noticed that they were barefoot and their toes were inturned like those of certain animals. They radiated a potent and frighteningdignity. I got down from the bench and ran to Madame Koto’s room and shouted that she had three strange customers.
He complained bitterly about how people ate off him and then stabbed him in the back. I had heard these complaints all my life. His cigarette burned angrily as he dredged up a fresh variation. Mum would wake up suddenly. His blistering tirade was aimed at everything. I fell asleep with Dad cursing the treachery of the world way into my dreams. When I woke up, Mum was sweating and quivering on the bed. Dad had bought malaria medicines and bitter roots which were marinated in yellow alcohol. Mum’s teeth chattered, her eyes were at odd angles, and Dad sat beside her, his bad arm folded, the blood dried on his bandaged head.
A Graveyard for Lunatics: Another Tale of Two Cities by Ray Bradbury