About the Author:
Alfred Kubin (1877-1959) was one of the major graphic artists of the 20th century who was widely known for his illustrations of writers of the fantastic such as Balzac, E.T.A. Hoffmann, Gustav Meyrink and Edgar Allan Poe, of whom he illustrated at least 50 books. In his combination of the darkly decadent, the fantastic and the grotesque, in his evocations of dream and nightmare, his creation of an atmosphere of mystery and fear he resembles Mervyn Peake. The Other Side (1908) is his only work of fiction.
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My poor wife found it impossible to overcome these fits of anxiety. She grew visibly paler, her cheeks more and more sunken, and at every unexpected word I spoke she would give a nervous start. Things could not go on like this much longer, and it was only the fact that I had still not managed to see Patera that delayed our departure. Without his specific permission any thought of leaving the Dream Realm was futile. The Archive contained ten requests I had submitted, but the only replies they deigned to send were a few stilted excuses such as, 'The time in question falls within a period of feriation for the Audience Bureau', or 'The petitioner has repeatedly been advised that a respectable position in society is a sine qua non for the granting of an audience. He is recommended, therefore, to maintain an ordered way of life, the which he should . . .' etc., etc. I was seething, and determined to open my friend's eyes to the harm caused by this pernicious bureaucratic clique. 'They'll be sorry for it!'
There was another thing that weighed against our journey home: Our money was gone! Yes, simply gone! Not a single copper was left from the hundred thousand marks.
'Well, there we have it, I knew it would happen,' I said bitterly to my wife when I found out. It was not really her fault, poor thing, so I spared her any further wailing and gnashing of teeth. Theft or no theft, the money had disappeared and all we had to live on was what I could earn.
This was towards the end of our second year in the Dream Realm. Now my wife began to be tormented by fears during the daytime as well. The kitchen was at the back of our flat and looked out through a window onto the courtyard of the dairy; in the middle was a well-shaft, at the back a few stable doors.
'That well is haunted', she insisted. She claimed she had heard strange hissing and knocking noises. I had noticed nothing, but to keep her happy I decided I should have a look, and so I went. Under the pretence that I wanted to look round the dairy I knocked until a half-deaf dairyman came to the door. A juicy tip quickly cured his dull-wittedness. I could look at whatever I liked, he shouted in my ear, before returning to his cubbyhole. Left to myself, I had no difficulty in setting about my investigation.
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