Page:Weird Tales Volume 5 Number 4 (1925-04).djvu/179

  this is to grant the truth of the superstitious rumors which Dobbs compiled from the villagers and transcribed for my sensitive finger-tips to read—unsubstantial hearsay that my materialistic mind instinctively condemns as asininity!

I wish the throbbing in my ears would stop! It is as if mad spectral players were beating a duet upon the aching drums. I suppose it is merely a reaction to the suffocating sensations I have just experienced. A few more deep drafts of this refreshing air

Something—someone is in this room! I am as sure I am no longer alone as if I could see the presence I sense so infallibly. It is an impression quite similar to one which I have had while elbowing my way through a crowded street—the definite notion that eyes were singling me out from the rest of the throng with a gaze intense enough to arrest my subconscious attention—the same sensation, only magnified a thousandfold. Who—what—can it be? After all, my fears may be groundless, perhaps it means only that Dobbs has returned. No it is not Dobbs. As I anticipated, the tattoo upon my ears has ceased and a low whisper has caught my attention the overwhelming significance of the thing has just registered itself upon my bewildered brain  I can hear!

It is not a single whispering voice, but many! Lecherous buzzing of bestial blowflies Satanic humming of libidinous bees  sibilant hissing of obscene reptiles  a whispering chorus no human throat could sing! It is gaining in volume the room rings with demoniacal chanting; tuneless, toneless and grotesquely grim  a diabolical choir rehearsing unholy litanies  pæans of Mephistophelian misery set to music of wailing souls  a hideous crescendo of pagan pandemonium

The voices that surround me are drawing closer to my chair. The chanting has come to an abrupt end and the whispering has resolved itself into intelligible sounds. I strain my ears to distinguish the words. Closer and still closer. They are clear, now—too clear! Better had my ears been blocked forever than forced to listen to their hellish mouthings

Impious revelations of soul-sickening Saturnalia ghoulish conceptions of devastating debaucheries  profane bribes of Cabirian orgies  malevolent threats of unimagined punishments

cold. Unseasonably cold! As if inspired by the cacodemoniacal presences that harass me, the breeze that was so friendly a few minutes ago growls angrily about my ears—an icy gale that rushes in from the swamp and chills me to the bone.

If Dobbs has deserted me I do not blame him. I hold no brief for cowardice or craven fear, but there are some things I only hope his fate has been nothing worse than to have departed in time!

My last doubt is swept away. I am doubly glad, now, that I have held to my resolve to write down my impressions not that I expect anyone to understand  or believe  it has been a relief from the maddening strain of idly waiting for each new manifestation of psychic abnormality. As I see it, there are but three courses that may be taken: to flee from this accursed place and spend the torturous years that lie ahead in trying to forget—but flee I cannot; to yield to an abominable alliance with forces so malign that Tartarus to them would seem but an alcove of Paradise—but yield I will not; to die—far rather would I have my body tom limb from limb than to contaminate my soul in barbarous 