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THE WHISPERER IN DARKNESS

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Zodiac
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« on: February 27, 2007, 01:04:29 am »

IV

The unknown things, Akeley wrote in a script grown pitifully
tremulous, had begun to close in on him with a wholly new degree of
determination. The nocturnal barking of the dogs whenever the moon. was
dim or absent was hideous now, and there had been attempts to molest
him on the lonely roads he had to traverse by day. On the second of
August, while bound for the village in his car, he had found a
tree-trunk laid in his path at a point where the highway ran through a
deep patch of woods; while the savage barking of the two great dogs he
had with him told all too well of the things which must have been
lurking near. What would have happened had the dogs not been there, he
did not dare guess--but he never went out now without at least two of
his faithful and powerful pack. Other road experiences had occurred on
August fifth and sixth; a shot grazing his car on one occasion, and the
barking of the dogs telling of unholy woodland presences on the other.

On August fifteenth I received a frantic letter which disturbed me
greatly, and which made me wish Akeley could put aside his lonely
reticence and call in the aid of the law. There had been frightful
happening on the night of the 12-13th, bullets flying outside the
farmhouse, and three of the twelve great dogs being found shot dead in
the morning. There were myriads of claw-prints in the road, with the
human prints of Walter Brown among them. Akeley had started to
telephone to Brattleboro for more dogs, but the wire had gone dead
before he had a chance to say much. Later he went to Brattleboro in his
car, and learned there that linemen had found the main cable neatly cut
at a point where it ran through the deserted hills north of Newfane.
But he was about to start home with four fine new dogs, and several
cases of ammunition for his big-game repeating rifle. The letter was
written at the post office in Brattleboro, and came through to me
without delay.

My attitude toward the matter was by this time quickly slipping from
a scientific to an alarmedly personal one. I was afraid for Akeley in
his remote, lonely farmhouse, and half afraid for myself because of my
now definite connection with the strange hill problem. The thing was
reaching out so. Would it suck me in and engulf me? In replying to his
letter I urged him to seek help, and hinted that I might take action
myself if he did not. I spoke of visiting Vermont in person in spite of
his wishes, and of helping him explain the situation to the proper
authorities. In return, however, I received only a telegram from
Bellows Falls which read thus:

APPRECIATE YOUR POSITION BUT CAN DO NOTHING TAKE NO ACTION YOURSELF FOR
IT COULD ONLY HARM BOTH WAIT FOR EXPLANATION

HENRY AKELY

But the affair was steadily deepening. Upon my replying to the
telegram I received a shaky note from Akeley with the astonishing news
that he had not only never sent the wire, but had not received the
letter from me to which it was an obvious reply. Hasty inquiries by him
at Bellows Falls had brought out that the message was deposited by a
strange sandy-haired man with a curiously thick, droning voice, though
more than this he could not learn. The clerk showed him the original
text as scrawled in pencil by the sender, but the handwriting was
wholly unfamiliar. It was noticeable that the signature was
misspelled--A-K-E-L-Y, without the second "E." Certain conjectures
were inevitable, but amidst the obvious crisis he did not stop to
elaborate upon them,

He spoke of the death of more dogs and the purchase of still others,
and of the exchange of gunfire which had become a settled feature each
moonless night. Brown’s prints, and the prints of at least one or two
more shod human figures, were now found regularly among the claw-prints
in the road, and at the back of the farmyard. It was, Akeley admitted,
a pretty bad business; and before long he would probably have to go to
live with his California son whether or not he could sell the old
place. But it was not easy to leave the only spot one could really
think of as home. He must try to hang on a little longer; perhaps he
could scare off the intruders--especially if he openly gave up all
further attempts to penetrate their secrets.

Writing Akeley at once, I renewed my offers of aid, and spoke again
of visiting him and helping him convince the authorities of his dire
peril. In his reply he seemed less set against that plan than his past
attitude would have led one to predict, but said he would like to hold
off a little while longer--long enough to get his things in order and
reconcile himself to the idea of leaving an almost morbidly cherished
birthplace. People looked askance at his studies and speculations and
it would be better to get quietly off without setting the countryside
in a turmoil and creating widespread doubts of his own sanity. He had
had enough, he admitted, but he. wanted to make a dignified exit if he
could.

This letter reached me on the 28th of August, and I prepared and
mailed as encouraging a reply as I could. Apparently the encouragement
had effect, for Akeley had fewer terrors to report when he acknowledged
my note. He was not very optimistic, though, and expressed the belief
that it was only the full moon season which was holding the creatures
off. He hoped there would not be many densely cloudy nights, and talked
vaguely of boarding in Brattleboro when the moon waned. Again I wrote
him encouragingly but on September 5th there came a fresh communication
which had obviously crossed my letter in the mails; and to this I could
not give any such hopeful response. In view of its importance I believe
I had better give it in full--as best I can do from memory of the
shaky script. It ran substantially as follows:

Monday

Dear Wilmarth

A rather discouraging P. S. to my last. Last night was thickly
cloudy--though no rain--and not a bit of moonlight got through.
Things were pretty bad, and I think the end is getting near, in spite
of all we have hoped. After midnight something landed on the roof of
the house, and the dogs all rushed up to see what it was. I could hear
them snapping and tearing around, and then one managed to get on the
roof by jumping from the low ell. There was a terrible fight up there,
and I heard a frightful buzzing which I’ll never forget. And then there
was a shocking smell. About the same time bullets came through the
window and nearly grazed me. I think the main line of the hill
creatures had got close to the house when the dogs divided because of
the roof business. What was up there I don’t know yet, but I’m afraid
the creatures are learning to steer better with their space wings. I
put out the light and used the windows for loopholes, and raked all
around the house with rifle fire aimed just high enough not to hit the
dogs. That seemed to end the business, but in the morning I found great
pools of blood in the yard, besides pools of a green sticky stuff that
had the worst odour I have ever smelled. I climbed up on the roof and
found more of the sticky stuff there. Five of the dogs were killed--
I’m afraid I hit one myself by aiming too low, for he was shot in the
back. Now I am setting the panes the shots broke, and am going to
Brattleboro for more dogs. I guess the men at the kennels think I am
crazy. Will drop another note later. Suppose I’ll be ready for moving
in a week or two, though it nearly kills me to think of it.

Hastily--Akeley

But this was not the only letter from Akeley to cross mine. On the
next morning--September 6th--still another came; this time a frantic
scrawl which utterly unnerved me and put me at a loss what to say or do
next. Again I cannot do better than quote the text as faithfully as
memory will let me.
Tuesday

Clouds didn’t break, so no moon again--and going into the wane
anyhow. I’d have the house wired for electricity and put in a
searchlight if I didn’t know they’d cut the cables as fast as they
could be mended.

I think I am going crazy. It may be that all I have ever written
you is a dream or madness. It was bad enough before, but this time it
is too much. They talked to me last night--talked in that cursed
buzzing voice and told me things that I dare not repeat to you. I heard
them plainly above the barking of the dogs, and once when they were
drowned out a human voice helped them. Keep out of this, Wilmarth--it
is worse than either you or I ever suspected. They don’t mean to let me
get to California now--they want to take me off alive, or what
theoretically and mentally amounts to alive--not only to Yuggoth, but
beyond that--away outside the galaxy and possibly beyond the last
curved rim of space. I told them I wouldn’t go where they wish, or in
the terrible way they propose to take me, but I’m afraid it will be no
use. My place is so far out that they may come by day as well as by
night before long. Six more dogs killed, and I felt presences all along
the wooded parts of the road when I drove to Brattleboro today. It was
a mistake for me to try to send you that phonograph record and black
stone. Better smash the record before it’s too late. Will drop you
another line tomorrow if I’m still here. Wish I could arrange to get my
books and things to Brattleboro and board there. I would run off
without anything if I could but something inside my mind holds me back.
I can slip out to Brattleboro, where I ought to be safe, but I feel
just as much a prisoner there as at the house. And I seem to know that
I couldn’t get much farther even if I dropped everything and tried. It
is horrible--don’t get mixed up in this.

Yrs--Akeley

I did not sleep at all the night after receiving this terrible
thing, and was utterly baffled as to Akeley’s remaining degree of
sanity. The substance of the note was wholly insane, yet the manner of
expression--in view of all that had gone before--had a grimly potent
quality of convincingness. I made no attempt to answer it, thinking it
better to wait until Akeley might have time to reply to my latest
communication. Such a reply indeed came on the following day, though
the fresh material in it quite overshadowed any of the points brought
up by the letter nominally answered. Here is what I recall of the text,
scrawled and blotted as it was in the course of a plainly frantic and
hurried composition.
Wednesday

W--

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