"The Planet of Death" by William T. Libby

A quick (barely longer than flash fiction) QuasarDragon presents, "The Planet of Death" by William T. Libby, from Fantastic Comics (Dec. 1939). Best described as cheesy, corny, and abrupt.

"Death Guarded the Secret of the Tiny Silent Planet Far Out in Space —That Is, Until a Red Headed Adventurer from Earth Wrested Its Treasure from the Claws of Its Weird Guardian."

THE PLANET OF DEATH

By WILLIAM T. LIBBY

The Pilot's face went magenta. He slammed down a large red lever on the complicated control board before him. The humming sound ceased, and the huge space ship slowed down to a halt, suspended like a huge bullet, in the silent black void of outer space. He turned to the tall smiling young officer at his side.

"Red Rockett . . . you? What, in the cockeyed universe, are you doing aboard this ship? I thought you were in Chicago, working on that new sub-gravitational balloon," he complained.

The officer smiled, and pushed his Strato cap to the back of his head, revealing a shock of brilliant red hair.

"That's what everybody thinks," he said, with mock confidence. "Seriously though," the smile faded from Red's eyes, leaving them cold steel blue, "I had to keep my 'whereabouts a secret, even from you, Stocky. You see, I'm on a secret mission."

"Yeah, and every time you go on one of your Secret Missions, I get the assignment to nurse you in the same way. The last time I was nearly atomized by those Martian Red Men—and on the moon, you would have frozen to death, had I not followed you halfway across the planet to get you—I'm a peaceful, commercial, inter-planetary transport pilot. Why do they always pick on me to---"

"All right," replied Red, hiding an involuntary smile under a hurt expression, "I'll telephoto Washington right away, and ask H. Q. to cancel the assignment, till I can get another ship and pilot."

Stocky shifted his square frame, and glanced sidelong at Red. The anger that flushed his face was gone, but he strove to maintain a stern face. His shining eyes, however, betrayed keen interest.

"Oh, well, since I'm stuck with you, I might as well string along —er—What's the new assignment, Red?"

Laughter burst from Red—he slapped the older man on his shoulder. "You old satellite, I knew I could count on you. That's why I had you appointed again. Come down to the Captain's quarters, and I'll tell you all about it."

Stocky turned, and spoke into a transmitter, "First mate, take control on Deck 'B.' Keep ship headed 15 points stellar latitude orbit 10-X, and keep an eye out for stray meteor clusters. That's all." A moment later, they walked down the narrow corridor, their heels clacking loudly on the polished floor.

"I'll come right to the business at hand," Red said, when they reached the cabin. "You've heard of the degravitational element called centrifixo. Well, I've been given the job of getting it for the U. S. Stratospheric Research Department at Chicago." Stocky staggered backward into a duraluminum chair, as the ship lurched to avoid a comet far out in space—Words suddenly poured out of Stocky—"Why, that stuff is found only on Asteranius —No oxygen on that planet—Worst spot in the Universe—No one, except Dekeer ever returned from there alive—and Dekeer returned completely daffy. And you're screwy for taking such an assignment."

Red turned to the Plastikoid window. Outside, the speeding ship was tearing through the vacuum of space. In the distance, millions of miles away, tiny worlds winked and twinkled. An occasional comet left an irradiant arc across the absolute blackness. All was still, but for the hum of the ship's atomic motors. Suddenly, a rasping voice over the ship's photophone broke the silence with, "Planet Asteranius dead ahead, Sir."

"Come, Red, let's turn back now, while the going's good," said Stocky. "No, I've never shirked an assignment, and I'm not starting now. If you'd rather—" "Okay," replied Stocky, "but when trouble comes, I'll know whom to blame." So saying, he turned to the transmitter, and in a stern voice, as though he were angry with himself for being persuaded, said, "See if you can find a spot to land."

After a moment's flying on the planet, they landed with a lurch. "If you wait here, I'll get my space suit, and be back in a jiffy with the stuff," said Red. "Oh, no, you don't. You brought me on this expedition, and I'm goin' along for the fun—if any," Stocky replied, good-naturedly. Ten minutes later, dressed in space suits, the two men were exploring the Planet of Death. Red, who, following the calculations given him by the mad Dekeer, knew where to look for the element, and led the way. About five feet from the centrifixo formation, they spotted a band of weird creatures, with wasp-like bodies. They walked on spindly legs, and in place of hands, each had four antennae, which were electrically charged and could reach out and burn through asbestos. They were horrible, bloodthirsty creatures, who despised Earth men because they were so far advanced scientifically. Red flattened against the boulder—Stocky followed suit, and the two awaited their fate, breathless. The wasps slunk along the ground as though they knew where the Earth men were hiding. But they passed without apparently noticing the shadows cast by the hidden men.

After some minutes, they relaxed, and Red said, "After that, Stocky, I think it'd be best if you got back to the ship and prepared for a quick take-off. The stuff's not far away, and easy to mine. "Okay, fella," agreed Stocky. "Make it snappy." After that first narrow escape, Red was a little more careful. He crept along the ground, until he reached the designated spot, and filled his indestructible bag with the centrifixo. He started back to the plane. Suddenly, a band of the wasp-men appeared. He attempted to dart behind a boulder, but he was seen. He used his disintegrator, and after the first few blasts which surprised them, Red turned, and in a short sprint, gained the ship, with the men at his heels. Barely had he grasped the ladder dropped by Stocky, when, with a powerful leap, one of the creatures jumped up and tried to knock the disintegrator out of his hand. Red blasted him down, but one of his electric charged antennae caught hold of Red's leg, and pulled him down. Red thought fast! He aimed his disintegrator ray at the men, and blasted. With a horrified look of surprise, the enemy dropped. Angry, barely audible sounds came from the band. Seeing this from the ship, Stocky dropped a hooked steel bar into their midst, and picked Red up by the back of his collar, leaving the blood. thirsty villains without their prey.

Later, when quiet was once again restored to the ship and its. crew. Stock turned to Red, and said, "Well, I guess this one beats our expedition to the moon. "Ha, Ha," laughed Red, "It seems that each one of our expeditions is more exciting than the last, hut we always get what we go after, and that's what counts. I wonder what our next one will be?"

End.

From Fantastic Comics #1 available free at the Digital Comics Museum. Scanned by Freddyfly. Artwork de-colorized here to look like the pulps of that era.

The Curse of the Metzengerstein

In honor of Edgar Allan Poe's 200th birthday, I am privileged to be able to post a classic comic book adaption of one of his great stories. Every Poe story is great! "The Curse of the Metzengerstein" is from the June 1953 issue of Chilling Tales #16. With much gratitude to Karswell of The Horrors of It All, who selected, scanned, and sent this story. And after reading this adaptation, those interested can find an online version of the original text story HERE and an old time radio dramatization (as "The Tapestry Horse") HERE (right click to save).

Cradle of the World

Another of the pulp fiction stories from Planet Comics, transcribed from the original JPEG fiche scans to make them easier to read and reformat. The two pages that this came from are included at the bottom.

Cradle of the World
by Lin Davies from Planet Comics #8, September 1940.

Fighting the power-drag of the time-warp, Captain Ames' space ship Discoverer is again smashed back to Earth -- this time in the dangerous days of the hard clouting Cave Men.

The space ship Discoverer hummed and groaned from the force of the shock. Half stunned, Captain Dexter Ames picked himself off the deck of the control cabin. Sprawled in the corner, Doctor Phillips, his second in command, was rising with a face distorted by alarm.

"It can't be a meteor!" cried Ames.

Phillips shook his head, as much to clear his thoughts as to answer the captain's question. "We weren't able to break out of the time warp," he muttered gloomily.

Ames set his teeth. "Let's see what the damage is." He leaned against the speaking aperture. "Morgan! Are the motors dead?"

"As a door-nail, sir," came the muffled voice of Morgan. "We're dropping, but slow -- the gravity resistors are still working."

"That's luck!" breathed Ames, and hurried to the great telescope. He peered down steadily, and gave a cry. "Doctor! It's Earth again -- or am I wrong?"

The little Scientist took his place and peeref through the great quartzite lenses. He blinked, "Yes, that's Europe -- and yet the land outlines don't seem just right! Do you know, Dexter, I have a feeling that we're journeying back into an older age!"

"Not the Ice Age, I hope," grinned Ames with a dubious grin.

"Decidedly not the Ice Age," reproved the scientist. "You should remember that in those times no such land configuration was possible.



Ames nodded. "Well whatever it is, we're stuck with it."

The Discoverer, battered and bent, sank into a long, narrow valley hedged in by snow-capped mountains. Engineer Morgan and his experts began there work at once.

Ames told off a scouting party, hoping to replenish the ship's dwindling food supply. "Remember," he warned, "keep together, and each man in communication by space-phone with the ship." The twenty, led by Gunner Hatch, trooped out the great door.

They climbed a gentle slope above a winding river. No man or beast appeared, and the scouts disappeared from Ames' view.

Two hours later a lookout cried out. Men of the scouting party had appeared on the brow of the hill. They were moving fast, as if in retreat. Another appeared, and then two who were helping an injured man. Hatch ran up as Ames stepped from the ship.

"We were attacked," he gasped. "By giants! Cave-men!"

Ames and Phillips exchanged a glance. "Centuries!" cried the scientist. "We've slipped past centuries of time."

Ames had been counting heads. "You're two mwn short," he rapped.

Hatch nodded. "And one man hurt. He was hit by a great rock thrown by a giant. The others are dead."

"How were they killed? Hit by rocks?"

Hatch's face bore a strange look as he spread his hands. "Nothing hit them. They just dropped after we shot one of the giants. Nothing hit them!"

"Nonsense!" cried Ames, but as he saw the stubborn lines in the Chief Gunner's face he wondered. "Come on Doctor, you and I will do a scout."

He picked six men of proved daring and discretion, and the eight followed the tracks of the food hunters. One man sighted a goat, but Ames shook his head. He wanted to see those bodies -- the two slain shipmates, and the giant -- if the had not been dragged away.

First they found the airmen. Doctor Phillips studied the unmarked still faces with pursed lips, then bade the men strip both. There was not a mark on them. The doctor, shuttling his hand through his thinning hair, said not a word.

A little farther away lay the giant. His death was no mystery. The ray of the ship man's pistol had caught him fairly in the face.

"We'll pick up our men on our way back," decided ames. "Now for food."

They had caught four goats before the giants appeared. One, the nearest, seemed to be a sort of leader. He carried a great club, swung on his shoulder above a craggy, scowling face framed with a mat of long hair. his only garmet was a bear hide hung off one shoulder and caught at the loins with a piece of bone. He came on slowly, teet bared, club balanced for a crushing blow.

Ames gripped his pistol. At that instant another giant leaped from the underbrush to make a flank attack on the party. The menaced ship man fired his ray-pistol. The giant's arms fell, the great body slumped.

And then a startling thing happened. The ship-man beside Ames gave a little sish and sank to the ground. Ames and Phillips knelt by him and saw that he awas dead.

"Ah!" cried the doctor, his face working, his eyes gleaming. "Captain, I --"

The leading giant had paused, astonished the sudden death of two men. His scowl left his face, and a thrill coursed through Ames' whole being. Why, this cave-man's face resembled his own! His pistol wavered from its target as he marveled.

Two giants forward from a fringe of woods. Three ray pistols spat, and they fell. And if by magnetism, three of Ames' party slumped and lay still.

"Ames!" cried the little scientist in anguish. "Stop them! Stop the firing! And don't shoot that big leader"

"Cease firing!" roared Ames. He turned wildly to the Doctor. "He looks like me, that Cave Man."



"Of Course," babbled the doctor. "Don't you see? The time-warp! These are the First Men! That's why our men died!"

Ames passed a hand over his brow, half lifting his pistol as the giants slowly advanced. "You mean --" he cried incredulously.

"Our men shot there own ancestors!" cried the doctor. "And so, without ancestors, how could they be alive? They died!"

"It's crazy!" cried Ames.

"It's the law of time!" retorted Phillips.

"And that big fellow --"

"Is your ancestor!"

Shuddering, Ames holstered his pistol. "Fall back!" he ordered his men. They paused only to lift their dead, and retreated towards the ship. Ames looked back. The big leader had stopped, and stood, leaning on his club, staring stupidly after Ames.


End.

From the original fiche scans of Planet Comics #9 at Golden Age Comics, uploaded there by Rolster.

SHROUDS OF THE DEATH-CRYPTS

By MONTAGUE TRUEX, Ph.D.
(from Planet Comics, July 1947)

Doctor Paul Gregory, chief of the University Science Council, straightened slowly, uttered a long sigh as he glanced wearily at his assistant, Professor Danton. "I concede failure, Danton," his low voiced cracked. "There is no possible restoration of dead tissue back to life."

Danton's swift-darting eyes swept triumphantly over the wan, hawk-like visage of Gregory. "I told you that before you started your experiments. Even though this is the year 2432, resuscitation of dead bodies is utterly impossible!"

They were standing alongside the marble-topped experiment table in the Council's laboratory, upon which stood various micro-plates, test tubes filled with Zadox and a huge, well used atomoscope. Behind the men gigantic crystobulbs flickered monotonously with weird blue flashes as white-coated attendants flitted about in the eerie glow.

A clerk from the outer office padded swiftly up to Dr. Gregory and said: "Sir, there's a man outside who wishes to speak to you. He -- he acts strangely...!"

Professor Danton smiled knowingly, brows raised. "Another crackpot's impossible phantasy, who wishes his absurd testimony to be recorded in our scientific archives." He turned to the clerk. "Tell him we're not interested..."

"Wait!" Doctor Gregory interposed. "I will see him." He turned on his heel and strode rapidly into the office -- the smirking Danton following, reluctantly.

Gregory seated himself at the modernistic desk, told the clerk: "Show this strange gentleman in."

Danton waited at the far crystite window. Long had he craved Gregory's important position, and if Gregory kept listening -- on Council's time -- to these crackpot yarns ... the job would soon be his.

A quiet unassuming man entered the office then, and Doctor Gregory waved him to a seat alongside his desk. "You wanted to see me?"

"Y--yes ... but I--I hardly know where to begin..." the man started. Gregory noticed a queer sheen in tha man's deep-socketed eyes which reflected from the tubes of cold light above. He continued then: "I'd like this to be recorded in your scientific archives..."

Gregory smiled assuringly. "These whole proceedings are even now being recorded on the tele-viz."

By the window a smile played around Danton's mouth.

The man went on, "I only ask the courtesy of no interruptions..." an odd sounding laugh issued from his mouth and his eyes held the queer glow. "Time is short --"

He began:

My name is Bruce Hayward. Three years ago, my wife died. I had her entombed in the underground crypts, where the place the bodies under a huge crysto-bell -- which preserves them in natural state for eternity.

For a full year I visited my wife in those eerie crypts. Believe me, gentlemen, all of her natural attributes had been miraculously preserved. She was even more beautiful in death -- than in life!

But one evening I visited her bell ... It was near to closing time. There was a sinister air pervading the incense-filled hall that evening. I could feel it, hear it with every hollow beat of my footsteps on the marble floor slabs.

Standing before my wife's bell, I must have lost myself in reverie -- for just then I was rudely awakened by the loud slamming of the outer bronzite door and the loud babbling of strange, high-pitched voices. Instantly, there was a terrible Z-Z-A-A-A-P-P! and I knew one of the crypt guards had been put to death by a heat ray. There was another. Than another!

Quickly, fearfully, I slunk behind an ancient cremation slab; waited, silent in the clammy darkness. The cold light tubes above suddenly flickered out. But fingers of light splayed in from an open door somewhere, enabling me to catch the movement of swift-darting shadows.

The intruders brazenly entered the crypt where I was hiding. Four of them. The leader was motioning with his scaly hands, and his cruel, thin lips were bubbling with hurried orders. He wore a repulso helmet; his one ugly eye bulged grotesquely like a lizard's, and his long ugly fingers clutched a dis-gun. The other three cradled long dis-rifles in scale-glittering arms.

I stifled the urge to scream when I saw what they were about ... going to each bell, sliding out the bodies, and slinging them roughly into a small-wheeled car. The scream bubbled up to my lips when I saw them lift my wife's bell and sling her stiff form onto the already high-piled car. Viciously, I bit my tongue, stifled the scream, and clenched my hands into tight ball of hate and fury. What cursed evil was this?

I watched from my cramped hiding place as they went over the entire crypt, piling bodies onto the car. Soon they pushed the car down a long corridor -- one I'd never seen before. At the end, a panel slid up easily, and the ghouls shoved the loaded car through. Cautiously, I followed, and just as I got inside the door -- it slammed shut!

I was trapped!

They must have heard me enter, for immediately I could hear feet pounding back towards me. I whirled, scrambled for the door, clawed at the metal portal, flung myself at it headlong. It hurled me back. I slumped to the cold stone-flagged floor, sat there panting. The pounding of feet got closer ... closer! Terror struck in my swift-beating heart, paralyzed me; I couldn't move!

The ugly creatures thundered up. Dimly, I heard one of them issue a muffled order: "Blank him out!"

A ray gun cut the gloom with a knife-like beam. I felt the searing ray tingle through my body like a gentle electric shock. Then -- unconsciousness.

When I finally came to, I felt strange. A constant tingling from head to toe. My vision was a shimmery thing of dancing waves. Miasmatic effluvium swirled up to my nostrils. My head reeled sickeningly.

I was standing outside a queer looking laboratory. There were two doors, one at each end. Scaley creatures stood at one door and were pushing dead bodies into the lab. Inside, I could hear the low buzz of steady electric current. Then, with horror, I saw what was coming out the other door.

Dead bodies were walking out!

The hideous things seemed to float -- staring, sightless, dumb! I saw Lily, my wife emerge ... and her body brushed gently against me. My frantic fingers grasped her arm. "Lily! Lily!" I hissed. I held her tightly, lest she drift away. She didn't answer.

Voices were babbling inside the lab. "Quickly our time is short! Hah! what a surprise the Universe will get when we attack with our army of the dead! Our electro-energy ray is a success. Allow no one to reach that de-energizer ray on the balcony..."

The de-energizer ray, if that was what I thought it was--

Swiftly, I grabbed Lily's arm and dragged her floating body up a web-like ladder. On the balcony I ran to something resembling an ancient cannon. I located the switches, and pressed one. A long beam of white light lanced out below. the gruesome army of dead had assumed vast proportions by now. The evil stench was smothering. These scaly fiends must have been collecting dead bodies for many, many annos.

The one-eyed monsters came boiling out of the lab now. They'd spotted the beam ... and were pointing scaly fingers at me. "Get him!" they shrieked.

Quickly, I played the beam on the horrid, squirming bodies below. They were alive -- for they moved under their own power. Caught in the beam, they shrunk, decomposed right before my eyes!

The scaly things tried to scramble up the ladder, but I sprayed them viciously with the beam. They wilted like figures of wax ... all the energy sapped from their horrid, writhing bodies. And they died with long loud hisses.

When it was all over below, I turned sadly to Lily. I didn't want to do it, but I had to. Had to! Her eyes had opened, she stared at me blankly.

I twisted the beam, and it caught her as she was floating away. The thing trembled for an instant ... then slowly shrunk, and wasted to a rotting skeleton.

The story teller slumped, let out a sigh. "For two years I tried to get out of those crypts. Someone must hear this story ... before ... before ..." His voice ended in a hiss.

Gregory rose, gaunt faced. "You have proof?"

Danton padded over, exploded: "Of all the damnable lies! Surely ..."

"Quiet!" Gregory clipped. "LOOK! What in the name ..."

Both stumbled crazily over to the man's chair, stared horrified."

He was slumped, his skin dead yellow and shriveling before their eyes! Where his own eyes had been were now deep hollow pits of blackness. his mouth was distorted into a horrible gash, the lips rotted. Whitened finger-bones gripped the chair arms.

"Proof Danton!" Gregory croaked finally. "Those scaly things killed him, and put him under the energy ray!" his clear gray eyes swept triumphantly over Danton's crestfallen face, and he spaced his words carefully, deliberately. "This man has been DEAD FOR TWO YEARS!"

End.

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The original JPEGs that this text was transcribed from are below and are enlargeable. The full comic is available at Golden Age Comics.