




                           The CURSE of YIG

                         By ZEALIA BROWN REED

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
                      Weird Tales November 1929. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] In 1925 I went into Oklahoma looking for snake lore, and I came out
with a fear of snakes that will last me the rest of my life. I admit
it is foolish, since there are natural explanations for everything I
saw and heard, but it masters me none the less. If the old story had
been all there was to it, I would not have been so badly shaken. My
work as an American Indian ethnologist has hardened me to all kinds of
extravagant legendry, and I know that simple white people can beat the
redskins at their own game when it comes to fanciful inventions. But
I can't forget what I saw with my own eyes at the insane asylum in
Guthrie. I called at that asylum because a few of the oldest settlers told me
I would find something important there. Neither Indians nor white men
would discuss the snake-god legends I had come to trace. The oil-boom
newcomers, of course, knew nothing of such matters, and the red men and
old pioneers were plainly frightened when I spoke of them. Not more
than six or seven people mentioned the asylum, and those who did were
careful to talk in whispers. But the whisperers said that Dr. McNeill
could show me a very terrible relic and tell me all I wanted to know. He could explain why Yig, the half-human father of serpents, is a
shunned and feared subject in central Oklahoma, and why old settlers
shiver at the secret Indian orgies which make the autumn days and
nights hideous with the ceaseless beating of tom-toms in lonely places. It was with the scent of a hound on the trail that I went to Guthrie,
for I had spent many years collecting data on the evolution of
serpent-worship among the Indians. I had always felt, from well defined
undertones of legend and archeology, that great Quetzalcoatl--benign
snake-god of the Mexicans--had had an older and darker prototype;
and during recent months I had well-nigh proved it in a series of
researches stretching from Guatemala to the Oklahoma plains. But
everything was tantalizing and incomplete, for above the border the
cult of the snake was hedged about by fear and furtiveness. Now it appeared that a new and copious source of data was about to
dawn, and I sought the head of the asylum with an eagerness I did not
try to cloak. Dr. McNeill was a small, clean-shaven man of somewhat
advanced years, and I saw at once from his speech and manner that he
was a scholar of no mean attainments in many branches outside his
profession. Grave and doubtful when I first made known my errand, his
face grew thoughtful as he carefully scanned my credentials and the
letter of introduction which a kindly old ex-Indian agent had given me. "So you've been studying the Yig-legend, eh?" he reflected
sententiously. "I know that many of our Oklahoma ethnologists have
tried to connect it with Quetzalcoatl, but I don't think any of them
have traced the intermediate steps so well. You've done remarkable work
for a man as young as you seem to be, and you certainly deserve all the
data we can give. "I don't suppose old Major Moore or any of the others told you what
it is I have here. They don't like to talk about it, and neither do
I. It is very tragic and very horrible, but that is all. I refuse to
consider it anything super-natural. There's a story about it that I'll
tell you after you see it--a devilish sad story, but one that I won't
call magic. It merely shows the potency that belief has over some
people. I'll admit there are times when I feel a shiver that's more
than physical, but in daylight I set all that down to nerves. I'm not a
young fellow any more, alas! "To come to the point, the thing I have is what you might call a
victim of Yig's curse--a physically living victim. We don't let the
bulk of the nurses see it, although most of them know it's here. There
are just two steady old chaps whom I let feed it and clean out its
quarters--used to be three, but good old Stevens passed on a few years
ago. I suppose I'll have to break in a new group pretty soon; for the
thing doesn't seem to age or change much, and we old boys can't last
forever. Maybe the ethics of the near future will let us give it a
merciful release, but it's hard to tell. "Did you see that single ground-glass basement window over in the east
wing when you came up the drive? That's where it is. I'll take you
there myself now. You needn't make any comment. Just look through the
movable panel in the door and thank God the light isn't any stronger. Then I'll tell you the story--or as much as I've been able to piece
together." We walked downstairs very quietly, and did not talk as we threaded the
corridors of the seemingly deserted basement. Dr. McNeill unlocked
a gray-painted steel door, but it was only a bulkhead leading to a
further stretch of hallway. At length he paused before a door marked
B 116, opened a small observation panel which he could use only by
standing on tiptoe, and pounded several times upon the painted metal,
as if to arouse the occupant, whatever it might be. A faint stench came from the aperture as the doctor unclosed it, and I
fancied his pounding elicited a kind of low, hissing response. Finally
he motioned me to replace him at the peep-hole, and I did so with a
causeless and increasing tremor. The barred, ground-glass window, close
to the earth outside, admitted only a feeble and uncertain pallor; and
I had to look into the malodorous den for several seconds before I
could see what was crawling and wriggling about on the straw-covered
floor, emitting every now and then a weak and vacuous hiss. Then
the shadowed outlines began to take shape, and I perceived that the
squirming entity bore some remote resemblance to a human form laid flat
on its belly. I clutched at the door-handle for support as I tried to
keep from fainting. The moving object was almost of human size, and entirely devoid of
clothing. It was absolutely hairless, and its tawny-looking back seemed
subtly squamous in the dim, ghoulish light. Around the shoulders it was
rather speckled and brownish, and the head was very curiously flat. As it looked up to hiss at me I saw that the beady little black eyes
were damnably anthropoid, but I could not bear to study them long. They
fastened themselves on me with a horrible persistence, so that I closed
the panel gaspingly and left the creature to wriggle about unseen in
its matted straw and spectral twilight. I must have reeled a bit, for
I saw that the doctor was gently holding my arm as he guided me away. I was stuttering over and over again: "B-but for God's sake, _what is
it_?" [Illustration: "B-but--for God's sake what is it?"] Dr. McNeill told me the story in his private office as I sprawled
opposite him in an easy-chair.