The Dunwich Horror by H. P. Lovecraft (the reader ebook .txt) đ
III.
Meanwhile Old Whateley continued to buy cattle without measurably increasing the size of his herd. He also cut timber and began to repair the unused parts of his house - a spacious, peak-roofed affair whose rear end was buried entirely in the rocky hillside, and whose three least-ruined ground-floor rooms had always been sufficient for himself and his daughter.
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âThen fur ahead where Bishopâs Brook goes under the rud he heerd a awful creakinâ anâ straininâ on the bridge, anâ says he could tell the saound oâ wood a-startinâ to crack anâ split. Anâ all the whiles he never see a thing, only them trees anâ bushes a-bendinâ. Anâ when the swishinâ saound got very fur off - on the rud towards Wizard Whateleyâs anâ Sentinel Hill - Luther he had the guts ter step up whar heâd heerd it fust anâ look at the graound. It was all mud anâ water, anâ the sky was dark, anâ the rain was wipinâ aout all tracks abaout as fast as could be; but beginninâ at the glen maouth, whar the trees hed moved, they was still some oâ them awful prints big as barâls like he seen Monday.â
At this point the first excited speaker interrupted.
âBut that ainât the trouble naow - that was only the start. Zeb here was callinâ folks up anâ everybody was a-listeninâ in when a call from Seth Bishopâs cut in. His haousekeeper Sally was carryinâ on fit to kill - sheâd jest seed the trees a-bendinâ beside the rud, anâ says they was a kind oâ mushy saound, like a elephant puffinâ anâ treadinâ, a-headinâ fer the haouse. Then she up anâ spoke suddent of a fearful smell, anâ says her boy Chaâncey was a-screaminâ as haow it was jest like what he smelt up to the Whateley rewins Monday morninâ. Anâ the dogs was barkinâ anâ whininâ awful.
âAnâ then she let aout a turrible yell, anâ says the shed daown the rud had jest caved in like the storm bed blowed it over, only the wind wâanât strong enough to dew that. Everybody was a-listeninâ, anâ we could hear lots oâ folks on the wire a-gaspinâ. All to onct Sally she yelled again, anâ says the front yard picket fence hed just crumbled up, though they waânât no sign oâ what done it. Then everybody on the line could hear Chaâncey anâ old Seth Bishop a-yellinâ tew, anâ Sally was shriekinâ aout that suthinâ heavy hed struck the haouse - not lightninâ nor nothinâ, but suthinâ heavy againâ the front, that kepâ a-launchinâ itself agin anâ agin, though ye couldnât see nothinâ aout the front winders. Anâ then⊠anâ thenâŠâ
Lines of fright deepened on every face; and Armitage, shaken as he was, had barely poise enough to prompt the speaker.
âAnâ thenâŠ. Sally she yelled aout, âO help, the haouse is a-cavinâ in⊠anâ on the wire we could hear a turrible crashinâ anâ a hull flock oâ screaming⊠jes like when Elmer Fryeâs place was took, only wussâŠâ
The man paused, and another of the crowd spoke.
âThatâs all - not a saound nor squeak over the âphone arter that. Jest still-like. We that heerd it got aout Fords anâ wagons anâ rounded up as many able-bodied men-folks as we could git, at Coreyâs place, anâ come up here ter see what yew thought best ter dew. Not but what I think itâs the Lordâs jedgment fer our iniquities, that no mortal kin ever set aside.â
Armitage saw that the time for positive action had come, and spoke decisively to the faltering group of frightened rustics.
âWe must follow it, boys.â He made his voice as reassuring as possible. âI believe thereâs a chance of putting it out of business. You men know that those Whateleys were wizards - well, this thing is a thing of wizardry, and must be put down by the same means. Iâve seen Wilbur Whateleyâs diary and read some of the strange old books he used to read; and I think I know the right kind of spell to recite to make the thing fade away. Of course, one canât be sure, but we can always take a chance. Itâs invisible - I knew it would be - but thereâs powder in this long-distance sprayer that might make it show up for a second. Later on weâll try it. Itâs a frightful thing to have alive, but it isnât as bad as what Wilbur would have let in if heâd lived longer. Youâll never know what the world escaped. Now weâve only this one thing to fight, and it canât multiply. It can, though, do a lot of harm; so we mustnât hesitate to rid the community of it.
âWe must follow it - and the way to begin is to go to the place that has just been wrecked. Let somebody lead the way - I donât know your roads very well, but Iâve an idea there might be a shorter cut across lots. How about it?â
The men shuffled about a moment, and then Earl Sawyer spoke softly, pointing with a grimy finger through the steadily lessening rain.
âI guess ye kin git to Seth Bishopâs quickest by cuttinâ across the lower medder here, wadinâ the brook at the low place, anâ climbinâ through Carrierâs mowinâ anâ the timber-lot beyont. That comes aout on the upper rud mighty nigh Sethâs - a leetle tâother side.â
Armitage, with Rice and Morgan, started to walk in the direction indicated; and most of the natives followed slowly. The sky was growing lighter, and there were signs that the storm had worn itself away. When Armitage inadvertently took a wrong direction, Joe Osborn warned him and walked ahead to show the right one. Courage and confidence were mounting, though the twilight of the almost perpendicular wooded hill which lay towards the end of their short cut, and among whose fantastic ancient trees they had to scramble as if up a ladder, put these qualities to a severe test.
At length they emerged on a muddy road to find the sun coming out. They were a little beyond the Seth Bishop place, but bent trees and hideously unmistakable tracks showed what had passed by. Only a few moments were consumed in surveying the ruins just round the bend. It was the Frye incident all over again, and nothing dead or living was found in either of the collapsed shells which had been the Bishop house and barn. No one cared to remain there amidst the stench and tarry stickiness, but all turned instinctively to the line of horrible prints leading on towards the wrecked Whateley farmhouse and the altar-crowned slopes of Sentinel Hill.
As the men passed the site of Wilbur Whateleyâs abode they shuddered visibly, and seemed again to mix hesitancy with their zeal. It was no joke tracking down something as big as a house that one could not see, but that had all the vicious malevolence of a daemon. Opposite the base of Sentinel Hill the tracks left the road, and there was a fresh bending and matting visible along the broad swath marking the monsterâs former route to and from the summit.
Armitage produced a pocket telescope of considerable power and scanned the steep green side of the hill. Then he handed the instrument to Morgan, whose sight was keener. After a moment of gazing Morgan cried out sharply, passing the glass to Earl Sawyer and indicating a certain spot on the slope with his finger. Sawyer, as clumsy as most non-users of optical devices are, fumbled a while; but eventually focused the lenses with Armitageâs aid. When he did so his cry was less restrained than Morganâs had been.
âGawd almighty, the grass anâ bushes is aâmovinâ! Itâs a-goinâ up - slow-like - creepinâ - up ter the top this minute, heaven only knows what fur!â
Then the germ of panic seemed to spread among the seekers. It was one thing to chase the nameless entity, but quite another to find it. Spells might be all right - but suppose they werenât? Voices began questioning Armitage about what he knew of the thing, and no reply seemed quite to satisfy. Everyone seemed to feel himself in close proximity to phases of Nature and of being utterly forbidden and wholly outside the sane experience of mankind.
X.
In the end the three men from Arkham - old, white-bearded Dr Armitage, stocky, iron-grey Professor Rice, and lean, youngish Dr Morgan, ascended the mountain alone. After much patient instruction regarding its focusing and use, they left the telescope with the frightened group that remained in the road; and as they climbed they were watched closely by those among whom the glass was passed round. It was hard going, and Armitage had to be helped more than once. High above the toiling group the great swath trembled as its hellish maker repassed with snail-like deliberateness. Then it was obvious that the pursuers were gaining.
Curtis Whateley - of the undecayed branch - was holding the telescope when the Arkham party detoured radically from the swath. He told the crowd that the men were evidently trying to get to a subordinate peak which overlooked the swath at a point considerably ahead of where the shrubbery was now bending. This, indeed, proved to be true; and the party were seen to gain the minor elevation only a short time after the invisible blasphemy had passed it.
Then Wesley Corey, who had taken the glass, cried out that Armitage was adjusting the sprayer which Rice held, and that something must be about to happen. The crowd stirred uneasily, recalling that his sprayer was expected to give the unseen horror a moment of visibility. Two or three men shut their eyes, but Curtis Whateley snatched back the telescope and strained his vision to the utmost. He saw that Rice, from the partyâs point of advantage above and behind the entity, had an excellent chance of spreading the potent powder with marvellous effect.
Those without the telescope saw only an instantâs flash of grey cloud - a cloud about the size of a moderately large building - near the top of the mountain. Curtis, who held the instrument, dropped it with a piercing shriek into the ankle-deep mud of the road. He reeled, and would have crumbled to the ground had not two or three others seized and steadied him. All he could do was moan half-inaudibly.
âOh, oh, great Gawd⊠that⊠thatâŠâ
There was a pandemonium of questioning, and only Henry Wheeler thought to rescue the fallen telescope and wipe it clean of mud. Curtis was past all coherence, and even isolated replies were almost too much for him.
âBiggerân a barn⊠all made oâ squirminâ ropes⊠hull thing sort oâ shaped like a henâs egg biggerân anything with dozens oâ legs like hogsheads that haff shut up when they step⊠nothinâ solid abaout it - all like jelly, anâ made oâ sepârit wrigglinâ ropes pushed clost together⊠great bulginâ eyes all over it⊠ten or twenty maouths or trunks a-stickinâ aout all along the sides, big as stove-pipes an all a-tossinâ an openinâ anâ shuttinâ⊠all grey, with kinder blue or purple rings⊠anâ Gawd it Heaven - that haff face on topâŠâ
This final memory, whatever it was, proved too much for poor Curtis; and he collapsed completely before he could say more. Fred Farr and Will Hutchins
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