I soon saw that he was heading for the ravine. Undoubtedly he had traveled this route before, because he seemed very sure of his direction and seemed to be heading for a certain point. I lost him in the dark for a moment, hurried forward, bumped into the low-hanging branches of a tree and scratched my face. When I reached the ravine he had disappeared entirely, but I could hear him faintly as he climbed down some path near by. I searched for a few minutes; finally finding it, I descended.
Rather, I skidded, rolled and tumbled down that steep path in the dark, arriving at the bottom by the simple expedient of plunging head first the last five feet. I arose and brushed off my clothes. By that time, Lyle Wilson had disappeared entirely. I couldn’t hear a sound, couldn’t even guess which direction he’d taken. And if the night were dark before, it was positively Stygian at the bottom of this ravine.
As disgruntled as I was puzzled, I tried to climb back up the path. But I couldn’t. I stood there for a minute, nursing my bruises and cursing myself for a fool. Then I remembered that the ravine became shallower until it led out by the edge of the graveyard a quarter of a mile away. The only thing to do was to follow it in that direction. After all, I decided, I might come upon Wilson again.
But I didn’t see him. Once I stopped, thinking I heard the sound of metal striking on metal, but I didn’t hear it again. I proceeded in the dark, avoiding small clumps of bushes and trees as best I could. It wasn’t until I was almost at the graveyard that I remembered—suddenly, disturbingly—something Eb Corey had said; about the youngest Munroe boy who had been playing in the ravine, and had run home to tell his mother he’d seen his lost brother’s face, “with a lot of others.”
At the thought of it, I hurried my steps. I cut across a corner of the graveyard to the house. Looking up at the window of the rear room, I saw no light there. Thinking Bruce must be asleep, I went around the house, entered the front door a bit breathlessly, and hurried upstairs.
I had intended to waken Bruce, if necessary, to tell him of Lyle Wilson’s nocturnal excursion, for it might mean something to him. I pushed open the door and entered his room, and moved through the darkness to the table and the dimly-seen oil lamp. I searched in my pocket for a match, while with the other hand I fumbled for the lamp.
“Damn!” My searching fingers had found the lamp all right, and I had burned them on the still hot glass chimney. Bruce must have turned it off no more than a few minutes before. I finally managed to light it again, and as the shadows flickered about the room, I saw that Bruce wasn’t there at all, nor had his bed been slept in. Perhaps he had stepped out for a breath of air.
On the table one of the heavy tomes lay open, which I recognized as Monstres and Their Kynde. Beside it was a soft-leaded pencil. Then I noticed that Bruce apparently had been checking certain passages with the pencil, very lightly on the crisp yellowish pages.
I decided to wait for him, so drew up a chair and began to read those passages which Bruce had so painstakingly marked. Now, after twelve years, I cannot precisely remember those excerpts; but I do know they were in a quaint old English spelling, and the first paragraph to strike my eye was almost as follows:
These be nott manifest, but They do wait in patience for a tyme that ys nott yet. Of a hydeous potency be ye blackeness wherein They dwell, for They do nott always sleep. They be remote one from another; nonetheless They do have a devious yntercourse. Beneath that far Northe, in ye ancient tymes yclept Hyperborea, do They wait. Afar in ye East, beneath vaste plateaus, They be rumoured. In ye new darke lands across ye seas They surely be. Men of ye sea have whispered of unspeakable manifestations on strange islands. Indeede there be fearfulle rumour of ye fate of men who go down with doomed shippes. These Creatures be nameless, but assuredly must They be spawned of ancient B’Moth and Ftakhar, Lloigor and Kathuln and ye others. In silence do They await ye call of those Elder Ones…
I stopped reading there, aware that this all sounded vaguely familiar. I must have read similar things in other old books of Bruce’s. I turned a few pages to see if he had checked other passages. He had.
“Some mortals there do be who revere Them, and some fewe also whom They instruct in a certain wyse. One of these was ye Eybon of that ancient Hyperborea, and there have been others.” Suddenly startled, I remembered old Zickler sitting at that very window talking a sort of gibberish to something in the tomb, which he hinted had answered him. Now I read on, suddenly eager, seeking out those passages which Bruce had marked:
There be divers ways, mostly forgotte, in whych They may be awakened; and it ys then that They become resteless and impatient for ye tyme, and provoke Their powers. One of ye ways, as sette down by Eybon in hys Booke, doth follow…
Here there was only the beginning of a long incantation of indistinguishable words. Most of it had faded away, as though from constant reference to this page. As I thought again of old Zickler sitting mumbling at this window, my interest surpassed all previous bounds. I turned back a few pages, to where Bruce had first begun marking.
So evyl They be, that ye lande whych under They lie doth become strangely polluted, and ye very soil dothe crawle, and strangely be ye thynges whych growe thereon… Alhazred in hys chronicle hath avowed: that whomesoever be attracted unto Them (by ye nefarious ynfluence whych They project when invoked), doth remain forever a parte of Them, nott dead, but newe and oddly bodied, instructing ye very grounde and adding to ye power of Them… also hath Alhazred said: evyl ye Mynde whych ys helde by no Hedde, and dyre ys ye grounde whych…
For the moment I stopped reading there, and my eyes skipped over to the next page where Bruce seemed to have underlined several of the statements, as if they were of the utmost importance. I read that passage carefully.
But Some there be amonge Them, whych wait resteless and impatient for ye tyme. ’Tis said these fewe do inherit ye Elder Power to attracte unto Them small animals; then ye cattle and smalle children; then ye weake and ye sycke; then whychever men who sleepe close to Them, upon ye whom They do project a kynde of Dreame. ’Tis also said, that whom-so-ever be thusly attracted unto Them, doth become a Part of Them (thate ys to saye, ye All-in-One whych ye Elder Ones await), and doth instruct ye Creatures and ye very grounde in whych They be. In thys wyse (when ye tyme doth come) shall They enjoy ye ultimate consummation; thusly shalle They inherit ye lande again whych once was Theirs.
That is as much as I read. I remembered old Zickler’s statement about the earth not belonging to us. I remembered Mrs. Corey’s vague hintings of people who had slept in this room, and who had dreamed and then disappeared. I remembered Bruce’s dream the previous night, of the graveyard and the tomb behind this house. For perhaps five minutes I sat there in the flickering lamplight, remembering these and other things. Suddenly I leaped to my feet, shuddering, an icy-cold wave of horror sweeping over me. Here I had been sitting waiting for Bruce to come back!
In that moment I knew what I must do. I went leaping down the stairway out into the dark night, and around to the side of the house where we had left the car. The .45 automatic that Bruce usually carried in the glove compartment was gone. So was the flashlight. Anyway, it made no difference now. I found another flashlight in my kit; the batteries were very weak, but I was thankful for it.
I went through the gap in the fence, and down that path behind the house toward the tomb. I remembered Bruce’s description of his dream, wherein something had drawn him here against his will. Nothing was drawing me, of that I was certain.