IX.
Friday morning Armitage, Rice, and Morgan set out by motor
for Dunwich, arriving at the village about one in the afternoon. The day
was pleasant, but even in the brightest sunlight a kind of quiet dread
and portent seemed to hover about the strangely domed hills and the deep,
shadowy ravines of the stricken region. Now and then on some mountain top
a gaunt circle of stones could be glimpsed against the sky. From the air
of hushed fright at Osborn's store they knew something hideous had happened,
and soon learned of the annihilation of the Elmer Frye house and family.
Throughout that afternoon they rode around Dunwich, questioning the natives
concerning all that had occurred, and seeing for themselves with rising
pangs of horror the drear Frye ruins with their lingering traces of the
tarry stickiness, the blasphemous tracks in the Frye yard, the wounded
Seth Bishop cattle, and the enormous swaths of disturbed vegetation in
various places. The trail up and down Sentinel Hill seemed to Armitage
of almost cataclysmic significance, and he looked long at the sinister
altar-like stone on the summit.
At length the visitors, apprised of a party of State Police
which had come from Aylesbury that morning in response to the first telephone
reports of the Frye tragedy, decided to seek out the officers and compare
notes as far as practicable. This, however, they found more easily planned
than performed; since no sign of the party could be found in any direction.
There had been five of them in a car, but now the car stood empty near
the ruins in the Frye yard. The natives, all of whom had talked with the
policemen, seemed at first as perplexed as Armitage and his companions.
Then old Sam Hutchins thought of something and turned pale, nudging Fred
Farr and pointing to the dank, deep hollow that yawned close by.
'Gawd,' he gasped, 'I telled 'em not ter go daown into
the glen, an' I never thought nobody'd dew it with them tracks an' that
smell an' the whippoorwills a-screechin' daown thar in the dark o' noonday...'
A cold shudder ran through natives and visitors alike,
and every ear seemed strained in a kind of instinctive, unconscious listening.
Armitage, now that he had actually come upon the horror and its monstrous
work, trembled with the responsibility he felt to be his. Night would soon
fall, and it was then that the mountainous blasphemy lumbered upon its
eldritch course.
Negotium perambuians in tenebris... The old librarian
rehearsed the formulae he had memorized, and clutched the paper containing
the alternative one he had not memorized. He saw that his electric flashlight
was in working order. Rice, beside him, took from a valise a metal sprayer
of the sort used in combating insects; whilst Morgan uncased the big-game
rifle on which he relied despite his colleague's warnings that no material
weapon would be of help.
Armitage, having read the hideous diary, knew painfully
well what kind of a manifestation to expect; but he did not add to the
fright of the Dunwich people by giving any hints or clues. He hoped that
it might be conquered without any revelation to the world of the monstrous
thing it had escaped. As the shadows gathered, the natives commenced to
disperse homeward, anxious to bar themselves indoors despite the present
evidence that all human locks and bolts were useless before a force that
could bend trees and crush houses when it chose. They shook their heads
at the visitors' plan to stand guard at the Frye ruins near the glen; and,
as they left, had little expectancy of ever seeing the watchers again.
There were rumblings under the hills that night, and the
whippoorwills piped threateningly. Once in a while a wind, sweeping up
out of Cold Spring Glen, would bring a touch of ineffable foetor to the
heavy night air; such a foetor as all three of the watchers had smelled
once before, when they stood above a dying thing that had passed for fifteen
years and a half as a human being. But the looked-for terror did not appear.
Whatever was down there in the glen was biding its time, and Armitage told
his colleagues it would be suicidal to try to attack it in the dark.
Morning came wanly, and the night-sounds ceased. It was
a grey, bleak day, with now and then a drizzle of rain; and heavier and
heavier clouds seemed to be piling themselves up beyond the hills to the
north-west. The men from Arkham were undecided what to do. Seeking shelter
from the increasing rainfall beneath one of the few undestroyed Frye outbuildings,
they debated the wisdom of waiting, or of taking the aggressive and going
down into the glen in quest of their nameless, monstrous quarry. The downpour
waxed in heaviness, and distant peals of thunder sounded from far horizons.
Sheet lightning shimmered, and then a forky bolt flashed near at hand,
as if descending into the accursed glen itself. The sky grew very dark,
and the watchers hoped that the storm would prove a short, sharp one followed
by clear weather.
It was still gruesomely dark when, not much over an hour
later, a confused babel of voices sounded down the road. Another moment
brought to view a frightened group of more than a dozen men, running, shouting,
and even whimpering hysterically. Someone in the lead began sobbing out
words, and the Arkham men started violently when those words developed
a coherent form.
'Oh, my Gawd, my Gawd,' the voice choked out. 'It's a-goin'
agin, an' this time by day! It's aout - it's aout an' a-movin' this very
minute, an' only the Lord knows when it'll be on us all!'
The speaker panted into silence, but another took up his
message.
'Nigh on a haour ago Zeb Whateley here heered the 'phone
a-ringin', an' it was Mis' Corey, George's wife, that lives daown by the
junction. She says the hired boy Luther was aout drivin' in the caows from
the storm arter the big bolt, when he see all the trees a-bendin' at the
maouth o' the glen - opposite side ter this - an' smelt the same awful
smell like he smelt when he faound the big tracks las' Monday mornin'.
An' she says he says they was a swishin' lappin' saound, more nor what
the bendin' trees an' bushes could make, an' all on a suddent the trees
along the rud begun ter git pushed one side, an' they was a awful stompin'
an' splashin' in the mud. But mind ye, Luther he didn't see nothin' at
all, only just the bendin' trees an' underbrush.
'Then fur ahead where Bishop's Brook goes under the rud
he heerd a awful creakin' an' strainin' on the bridge, an' says he could
tell the saound o' wood a-startin' to crack an' split. An' all the whiles
he never see a thing, only them trees an' bushes a-bendin'. An' when the
swishin' saound got very fur off - on the rud towards Wizard Whateley's
an' Sentinel Hill - Luther he had the guts ter step up whar he'd heerd
it fust an' look at the graound. It was all mud an' water, an' the sky
was dark, an' the rain was wipin' aout all tracks abaout as fast as could
be; but beginnin' at the glen maouth, whar the trees hed moved, they was
still some o' them awful prints big as bar'ls like he seen Monday.'
At this point the first excited speaker interrupted.
'But that ain't the trouble naow - that was only the start.
Zeb here was callin' folks up an' everybody was a-listenin' in when a call
from Seth Bishop's cut in. His haousekeeper Sally was carryin' on fit to
kill - she'd jest seed the trees a-bendin' beside the rud, an' says they
was a kind o' mushy saound, like a elephant puffin' an' treadin', a-headin'
fer the haouse. Then she up an' spoke suddent of a fearful smell, an' says
her boy Cha'ncey was a-screamin' as haow it was jest like what he smelt
up to the Whateley rewins Monday mornin'. An' the dogs was barkin' an'
whinin' awful.
'An' then she let aout a turrible yell, an' says the shed
daown the rud had jest caved in like the storm bed blowed it over, only
the wind w'an't strong enough to dew that. Everybody was a-listenin', an'
we could hear lots o' folks on the wire a-gaspin'. All to onct Sally she
yelled again, an' says the front yard picket fence hed just crumbled up,
though they wa'n't no sign o' what done it. Then everybody on the line
could hear Cha'ncey an' old Seth Bishop a-yellin' tew, an' Sally was shriekin'
aout that suthin' heavy hed struck the haouse - not lightnin' nor nothin',
but suthin' heavy again' the front, that kep' a-launchin' itself agin an'
agin, though ye couldn't see nothin' aout the front winders. An' then...
an' then...'
Lines of fright deepened on every face; and Armitage,
shaken as he was, had barely poise enough to prompt the speaker.
'An' then.... Sally she yelled aout, "O help, the haouse
is a-cavin' in... an' on the wire we could hear a turrible crashin' an'
a hull flock o' screaming... jes like when Elmer Frye's place was took,
only wuss...'
The man paused, and another of the crowd spoke.
'That's all - not a saound nor squeak over the 'phone
arter that. Jest still-like. We that heerd it got aout Fords an' wagons
an' rounded up as many able-bodied men-folks as we could git, at Corey's
place, an' come up here ter see what yew thought best ter dew. Not but
what I think it's the Lord's jedgment fer our iniquities, that no mortal
kin ever set aside.'
Armitage saw that the time for positive action had come,
and spoke decisively to the faltering group of frightened rustics.
'We must follow it, boys.' He made his voice as reassuring
as possible. 'I believe there's 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. I've seen Wilbur
Whateley's 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 can't be sure, but we can always take a chance.
It's invisible - I knew it would be - but there's powder in this long-distance
sprayer that might make it show up for a second. Later on we'll try it.
It's a frightful thing to have alive, but it isn't as bad as what Wilbur
would have let in if he'd lived longer. You'll never know what the world
escaped. Now we've only this one thing to fight, and it can't multiply.
It can, though, do a lot of harm; so we mustn't hesitate to rid the community
of it.
'We 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 don't
know your roads very well, but I've an idea there might be a shorter cut
across lots. How about it?'
The men shuffled about a moment, and then Earl Sawyer
spoke softly, pointing with a grimy finger through the steadily lessening
rain.
'I guess ye kin git to Seth Bishop's quickest by cuttin'
across the lower medder here, wadin' the brook at the low place, an' climbin'
through Carrier's mowin' an' the timber-lot beyont. That comes aout on
the upper rud mighty nigh Seth's - a leetle t'other side.'
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 Whateley's 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 monster's
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 Armitage's aid. When he did so his cry was less restrained than Morgan's
had been.
'Gawd almighty, the grass an' bushes is a'movin'! It's
a-goin' up - slow-like - creepin' - up ter the top this minute, heaven
only knows what fur!'
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 weren't? 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.
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