In the meantime a yet more phase of the had been itself the closed door of a shelf-lined room in Arkham. The record or of Wilbur Whateley, delivered to Miskatonic University for translation, had much worry and among the in and modern; its very alphabet, a to the Arabic used in Mesopotamia, being unknown to any available authority. The final of the was that the text an alphabet, the of a cipher; though none of the methods of to any clue, when on the of every the might have used. The books taken from Whateley's quarters, while and in cases promising to open up new and terrible lines of among and men of science, were of no in this matter. One of them, a with an iron clasp, was in another unknown alphabet—this one of a very different cast, and Sanskrit more than anything else. The old was at length into the of Dr. Armitage, of his in the Whateley matter, and of his wide learning and skill in the formulæ of and the Middle Ages.
Armitage had an idea that the might be something used by which have come from old times, and which have many and from the of the Saracenic world. That question, however, he did not vital; since it would be to know the of the if, as he suspected, they were used as a in a modern language. It was his that, the great amount of text involved, the would have the trouble of using another speech than his own, save in special formulæ and incantations. Accordingly he the with the that the of it was in English.
Dr. Armitage knew, from the of his colleagues, that the was a and one, and that no mode of a trial. All through late August he himself with the of cryptography, upon the of his own library, and night after night the of Trithemius' Poligraphia, Giambattista Porta's De Furtivis Literarum Notis, De Vigenere's Traité Chiffres, Falconer's Cryptomenysis Patefacta, Davys' and Thicknesse's Eighteenth Century treatises, and such modern as Blair, Marten, and Klüber's Kryptographik. He his study of the books with on the itself, and in time that he had to with one of those and most of cryptograms, in which many of are like the table, and the message up with key-words only to the initiated. The older more helpful than the newer ones, and Armitage that the of the was one of great antiquity, no through a long line of experimenters. Several times he near daylight, only to be set by some obstacle. Then, as September approached, the clouds to clear. Certain letters, as used in parts of the manuscript, definitely and unmistakably; and it that the text was in English.
On the of September second the last major gave way, and Dr. Armitage read for the time a passage of Wilbur Whateley's annals. It was in truth a diary, as all had thought; and it was in a the mixed and of the being who it. Almost the long passage that Armitage deciphered, an entry November 26, 1916, proved and disquieting. It was written, he remembered, by a child of three and a who looked like a of twelve or thirteen.
Today learned the Aklo for the Sabaoth, [it ran] which did not like, it being from the hill and not from the air. That more ahead of me than I had it would be, and is not like to have much earth brain. Shot Elam Hutchins's Jack when he to bite me, and Elam says he would kill me if he dast. I he won't. Grandfather me saying the Dho last night, and I think I saw the city at the 2 magnetic poles. I shall go to those when the earth is off, if I can't through with the Dho-Hna when I it. They from the air told me at Sabbat that it will be years I can clear off the earth, and I Grandfather will be then, so I shall have to learn all the of the and all the the Yr and the Nhhngr. They from will help, but they can not take without blood. That looks it will have the right cast. I can see it a little when I make the Yoorish or the power of Ibn Ghazi at it, and it is near like them at May Eve on the Hill. The other may wear off some. I wonder how I shall look when the earth is and there are no earth beings on it. He that came with the Aklo Sabaoth said I may be transfigured, there being much of to work on.
Morning Dr. Armitage in a cold of terror and a of concentration. He had not left the all night, but sat at his table under the electric light page after page with hands as fast as he the text. He had his wife he would not be home, and when she him a from the house he of a mouthful. All that day he read on, now and then as a of the key necessary. Lunch and dinner were him, but he ate only the smallest of either. Toward the middle of the next night he off in his chair, but soon out of a of almost as as the and to man's that he had uncovered.
On the of September fourth Professor Rice and Dr. Morgan on him for a while, and and ashen-gray. That he to bed, but slept only fitfully. Wednesday—the next day—he was at the manuscript, and to take notes from the and from those he had already deciphered. In the small hours of that night he slept a little in an easy-chair in his office, but was at the again dawn. Some time his physician, Dr. Hartwell, called to see him and that he work. He refused, that it was of the most for him to complete the reading of the diary, and promising an in of time.
That evening, just as fell, he his terrible and exhausted. His wife, his dinner, him in a half-comatose state; but he was to her off with a when he saw her toward the notes he had taken. Weakly rising, he up the papers and sealed them all in a great envelope, which he in his pocket. He had to home, but was so in need of medical that Dr. Hartwell was at once. As the doctor put him to he only over and over again, "But what, in God's name, can we do?"
Dr. Armitage slept, but was the next day. He no to Hartwell, but in his moments spoke of the need of a long with Rice and Morgan. His were very indeed, that something in a boarded-up be destroyed, and to some plan for the of the entire and all animal and vegetable life from the earth by some terrible of beings from another dimension. He would that the world was in danger, since the Elder Things to it and it away from the and of into some other plane or phase of from which it had once fallen, of ago. At other times he would call for the Necronomicon and the Dæmonolatreia of Remigius, in which he of some to check the he up.
"Stop them, stop them!" he would shout. "Those Whateleys meant to let them in, and the of all is left! Tell Rice and Morgan we must do something—it's a business, but I know how to make the powder.... It hasn't been since the second of August, when Wilbur came here to his death, and at that rate...."
But Armitage had a despite his seventy-three years, and slept off his that night without any fever. He late Friday, clear of head, though sober, with a and of responsibility. Saturday he able to go over to the library and Rice and Morgan for a conference, and the of that day and the three men their in the and the most debate. Strange and terrible books were from the and from secure places of storage, and and formulæ were with and in abundance. Of there was none. All three had the of Wilbur Whateley as it on the in a room of that very building, and after that not one of them to the as a madman's raving.
Opinions were as to the Massachusetts State Police, and the negative won. There were which not be by those who had not a sample, as was clear investigations. Late at night the without having a plan, but all day Sunday Armitage was formulæ and mixing from the college laboratory. The more he on the diary, the more he was to the of any material agent in out the which Wilbur Whateley had left him—the earth-threatening which, unknown to him, was to in a hours and the Dunwich horror.
Monday was a of Sunday with Dr. Armitage, for the in hand an of and experiment. Further of the about of plan, and he that in the end a large amount of must remain. By Tuesday he had a line of action out, and he would try a to Dunwich a week. Then, on Wednesday, the great came. Tucked away in a of the Arkham Advertiser was a little item from the Associated Press, telling what a record-breaking the of Dunwich had up. Armitage, stunned, only telephone for Rice and Morgan. Far into the night they discussed, and the next day was a of on the part of them all. Armitage he would be with terrible powers, yet saw that there was no other way to the and more which others had done him.
9
Friday Armitage, Rice and Morgan set out by for Dunwich, at the village about 1 in the afternoon. The day was pleasant, but in the a of and to about the and the deep, of the region. Now and then on some top a circle of be against the sky. From the air of at Osborn's store they something had happened, and soon learned of the of the Elmer Frye house and family. Throughout that they around Dunwich, the all that had occurred, and for themselves with of the Frye with their of the stickiness, the in the Frye yard, the Seth Bishop cattle, and the of in places. The up and Sentinel Hill to Armitage of almost significance, and he looked long at the on the summit.
At length the visitors, of a party of State Police which had come from Aylesbury that in response to the telephone reports of the Frye tragedy, to out the officers and notes as as practicable. This, however, they more easily planned than performed; since no of the party be in any direction. There had been five of them in a car, but now the car empty near the in the Frye yard. The natives, all of had talked with the policemen, at as as Armitage and his companions. Then old Sam Hutchins of something and pale, Fred Farr and pointing to the dank, that close by.
"Gawd," he gasped, "I 'em not go into the glen, an' I nobody'd it with them an' that an' the a-screechin' in the dark o' noonday...."
A cold ran through and visitors alike, and every ear in a of instinctive, listening. Armitage, now that he had actually come upon the and its work, with the he to be his. Night would soon fall, and it was then that the upon its course. Negotium in tenebris.... The old the formulæ he had memorized, and the paper the ones he had not memorized. He saw that his electric was in order. Rice, him, took from a a metal of the used in insects; Morgan the big-game on which he despite his colleague's that no material would be of help.
Armitage, having read the diary, well what of a to expect, but he did not add to the of the Dunwich people by any or clues. He that it might be without any to the world of the thing it had escaped. As the gathered, the to homeward, to themselves despite the present that all and were a that trees and houses when it chose. They their at the visitors' plan to at the Frye near the glen; and as they left, had little of the again.
There were under the that night, and the threateningly. Once in a while a wind, up out of Cold Spring Glen, would a touch of to the night air; such a as all three of the had once before, when they above a thing that had passed for fifteen years and a as a being. But the looked-for terror did not appear. Whatever was there in the was its time, and Armitage told his it would be to try to attack it in the dark.
Morning came wanly, and the night-sounds ceased. It was a gray, day, with now and then a of rain; and and clouds to be themselves up the to the northwest. The men from Arkham were what to do. Seeking from the one of the Frye outbuildings, they the of waiting, or of taking the and going into the in of their nameless, quarry. The in heaviness, and of from horizons. Sheet shimmered, and then a near at hand, as if into the itself. The sky very dark, and the that the would prove a short, one by clear weather.
It was still dark when, not much over an hour later, a of voices the road. Another moment to view a group of more than a dozen men, running, shouting, and hysterically. Someone in the lead out words, and the Arkham men started when those a form.
"Oh, my Gawd, my Gawd!" the voice out; "it's a-goin' agin, an' this time by day! It's aout—it's an' a-movin' this very minute, an' only the Lord when it'll be on us all!"
The into silence, but another took up his message.
"Nigh on a ago Zeb Whateley here the 'phone a-ringin', an' it was Mis' Corey, George's wife that by the junction. She says the boy Luther was drivin' in the from the the big bolt, when he see all the trees a-bendin' at the o' the glen—opposite this—an' the same like he when he the big las' Monday mornin'. An' she says he says they was a swishin', lappin' saound, more what the bendin' trees an' make, an' all on a the trees along the pushed one side, an' they was a stompin' an' splashin' in the mud. But mind ye, Luther he didn't see nothin' at all, only the bendin' trees an' underbrush.
"Then ahead where Bishop's Brook goes under the he a creakin' an' strainin' on the bridge, an' says he tell the o' a-startin' to an' split. An' all the he see a thing, only them trees an' a-bendin'. An' when the swishin' got very off—on the Wizard Whateley's an' Sentinel Hill—Luther he had the step up he'd it an' look at the graound. It was all an' water, an' the sky was dark, an' the rain was wipin' all as fast as be; but beginnin' at the maouth, the trees moved, they was still some o' them prints big as bar'ls like he Monday."
At this point the interrupted.
"But that ain't the trouble naow—that was only the start. Zeb here was callin' up an' was a-listenin' in when a call from Seth Bishop's cut in. His Sally was carryin' on fit kill—she'd the trees a-bendin' the rud, an' says they was a o' saound, like a elephant puffin' an' treadin', a-headin' the haouse. Then she up an' spoke of a smell, an' says her boy Cha'ncey was a-screamin' as it was like what he up to the Whateley Monday mornin'. An' the dogs was all barkin' an' whinin' awful.
"An' then she let a yell, an' says the the in like the it over, only the wind wa'n't to that. Everybody was a-listenin', an' ye o' on the wire a-gaspin'. All to Sally she agin, an' says the up, though they wa'n't no o' what done it. Then on the line Cha'ncey an' ol' Seth Bishop a-yellin', tew, an' Sally was shriekin' that suthin' the haouse—not lightnin' nothin', but suthin' agin' the front, that kep' a-launchin' itself an' agin, though ye couldn't see nuthin' the winders. An' then ... an' then...."
Lines of on every face; and Armitage, as he was, had to the speaker.
"An' then ... Sally she aout, 'O help, the is a-cavin' in' ... an' on the wire we a crashin', an' a o' screamin' ... like when Elmer Frye's place was took, only wuss...."
The man paused, and another of the spoke.
"That's all—not a over the 'phone that. Jest still-like. We that it got Fords an' an' up as many able-bodied men-folks as we get, at Corey's place, an' come up here see what best dew. Not but what I think it's the Lord's our iniquities, that no set aside."
Armitage saw that the time for positive action had come, and spoke to the group of rustics.
"We must it, boys." He his voice as as possible. "I there's a of it out of business. You men know that those Whateleys were wizards—well, this thing is a thing of wizardry, and must be put by the same means. I've Wilbur Whateley's and read some of the old books he used to read, and I think I know the right of a spell to to make the thing away. Of course, one can't be sure, but we can always take a chance. It's invisible—I it would be—but there's a in this long-distance that might make it up for a second. Later on we'll try it. It's a thing to have alive, but it isn't as as what Wilbur would have let in if he'd longer. You'll know what the world has escaped. Now we've only this one thing to fight, and it can't multiply. It can, though, do a of harm; so we mustn't to the of it.
"We must it—and the way to is to go to the place that has just been wrecked. Let somebody lead the way—I don't know your very well, but I've an idea there might be a cut across lots. How about it?"
The men about a moment, and then Earl Sawyer spoke softly, pointing with a through the rain.
"I ye to Seth Bishop's by cuttin' the here, wadin' the at the low place, an' climbin' through Carrier's mowin' an' the timber-lot beyont. That comes on the upper Seth's—a t'other side."
Armitage, with Rice and Morgan, started to walk in the direction indicated; and most of the slowly. The sky was lighter, and there were that the had itself away. When Armitage took a direction, Joe Osborn him and walked ahead to the right one. Courage and were mounting; though the of the almost hill which toward the end of their cut, and among trees they had to as if up a ladder, put these to a test.
At length they on a road to the sun out. They were a little the Seth Bishop place, but trees and what had passed by. Only a moments were in the just around the bend. It was the Frye all over again, and nothing or was in either of the which had been the Bishop house and barn. No one to there the and the stickiness, but all to the line of prints leading on toward the Whateley and the altar-crowned of Sentinel Hill.
As the men passed the site of Wilbur Whateley's they visibly, and again to mix with their zeal. It was no joke something as big as a house that one not see, but that had all the of a demon. Opposite the of Sentinel Hill the left the road, and there was a fresh and visible along the marking the monster's to and from the summit.
Armitage produced a pocket of power and the green of the hill. Then he the to Morgan, was keener. After a moment of Morgan out sharply, the to Earl Sawyer and a spot on the with his finger. Sawyer, as as most non-users of are, a while; but the with Armitage's aid. When he did so his was less than Morgan's had been.
"Gawd almighty, the an' is a-movin'! It's a-goin' up—slow-like—creepin' up the top this minute, only what fer!"
Then the of panic to spread among the seekers. It was one thing to the entity, but another to it. Spells might be all right—but they weren't? Voices Armitage about what he of the thing, and no reply to satisfy. Everyone to himself in close to phases of nature and of being forbidden, and the of mankind.
10
In the end the three men from Arkham—old, white-bearded Dr. Armitage, stocky, iron-gray Professor Rice, and lean, Dr. Morgan—ascended the alone. After much patient its and use, they left the with the group that in the road; and as they they were closely by those among the was passed around. It was hard going, and Armitage had to be helped more than once. High above the group the great as its maker with snail-like deliberateness. Then it was that the were gaining.
Curtis Whateley—of the branch—was the when the Arkham party from the swath. He told the that the men were trying to to a which the at a point ahead of where the was now bending. This, indeed, proved to be true; and the party were to the minor only a time after the had passed it.
Then Wesley Corey, who had taken the glass, out that Armitage was the which Rice held, and that something must be about to happen. The uneasily, that this was to give the a moment of visibility. Two or three men their eyes, but Curtis Whateley the and his to the utmost. He saw that Rice, from the party's point of above and the entity, had an excellent of the with effect.
Those without the saw only an instant's of cloud—a cloud about the size of a large building—near the top of the mountain. Curtis, who had the instrument, it with a into the ankle-deep of the road. He reeled, and would have to the ground had not two or three others and him. All he do was half-inaudibly:
"Oh, oh, great Gawd ... that ... that...."
"Oh, oh, great Gawd ... that ... that."
There was a of questioning, and only Henry Wheeler to the and it clean of mud. Curtis was past all coherence, and were almost too much for him.
"Bigger 'n a ... all o' squirmin' ... thing o' like a hen's egg bigger'n anything, with o' like that up when they step ... nothin' solid it—all like jelly, an' o' sep'rit wrigglin' pushed together ... great bulgin' all over it ... ten or twenty or a-stickin' all along the sides, big as stovepipes, an' all a-tossin' an' openin' an' shuttin' ... all gray, with or ... an' Gawd in Heaven—that on top!..."
This final memory, it was, proved too much for Curtis, and he he say more. Fred Farr and Will Hutchins him to the and him on the grass. Henry Wheeler, trembling, the on the to see what he might. Through the were three figures, toward the as fast as the allowed. Only these—nothing more. Then noticed a noise in the behind, and in the of Sentinel Hill itself. It was the of whippoorwills, and in their there to a note of and expectancy.
Earl Sawyer now took the and reported the three as on the ridge, level with the altar-stone but at a from it. One figure, he said, to be its hands above its at intervals; and as Sawyer mentioned the the to a faint, half-musical from the distance, as if a loud were the gestures. The on that must have been a of and impressiveness, but no was in a mood for appreciation. "I he's sayin' the spell," Wheeler as he the telescope. The were wildly, and in a that of the visible ritual.
Suddenly the to without the of any cloud. It was a very phenomenon, and was marked by all. A the hills, mixed with a which came from the sky. Lightning aloft, and the looked in for the of storm. The of the men from Arkham now unmistakable, and Wheeler saw through the that they were all their arms in the incantation. From some away came the barking of dogs.
The in the quality of the increased, and the about the in wonder. A darkness, of nothing more than a of the sky's blue, pressed upon the hills. Then the again, than before, and the that it had a around the altar-stone on the height. No one, however, had been using the at that instant. The their pulsation, and the men of Dunwich themselves against some with which the surcharged.
Without came those deep, cracked, which will the memory of the group who them. Not from any were they born, for the organs of man can no such perversions. Rather would one have said they came from the itself, had not their been so the altar-stone on the peak. It is almost to call them at all, since so much of their ghastly, infra-bass spoke to seats of and terror than the ear; yet one must do so, since their was though that of half-articulate words. They were loud—loud as the and the above which they echoed—yet did they come from no visible being. And might a in the world of non-visible beings, the at the mountain's still closer, and as if in of a blow.
"Ygnaiih ... ... thflthkh'ngha ... Yog-Sothoth...." the out of space. "Y'bthnk ... h'ehye ... n'grkdl'lh...."
The speaking to here, as if some were going on. Henry Wheeler his at the telescope, but saw only the three on the peak, all moving their arms in as their near its culmination. From what black of Acherontic or feeling, from what of extra-cosmic or obscure, long-latent heredity, were those half-articulate thunder-croakings drawn? Presently they to and as they in stark, utter, frenzy.
"Eh-ya-ya-ya-yahaah ... e'yaya-yayaaaa ... ngh'aaaa ... ngh'aaaa ... h'yuh ... h'yuh ... HELP! HELP! ... ff—ff—ff—FATHER! FATHER! YOG-SOTHOTH!..."
But that was all. The group in the road, still at the English that had and from the that altar-stone, were to such again. Instead, they jumped at the report which to the hills; the deafening, source, be it earth or sky, no was able to place. A single from the to the altar-stone, and a great of and from the hill to all the countryside. Trees, grass, and were into a fury; and the at the mountain's base, by the that about to them, were almost off their feet. Dogs from the distance, green and to a curious, yellow-gray, and over and were the of whippoorwills.
The left quickly, but the came right again. To this day there is something and about the on and around that hill. Curtis Whateley was only just when the Arkham men came slowly the in the of a once more and untainted. They were and quiet, and by memories and more terrible than those which had the group of to a of quivering. In reply to a of questions they only their and one fact.
"The thing has gone for ever," Armitage said. "It has been up into what it was originally of, and can again. It was an in a normal world. Only the least was in any we know. It was like its father—and most of it has gone to him in some or our material universe; some out of which only the most of have called him for a moment on the hills."
There was a silence, and in that pause the of Curtis Whateley to into a of continuity; so that he put his hands to his with a moan. Memory to itself up where it had left off, and the of the that had him in upon him again.
"Oh, oh, my Gawd, that ... that on top of it ... that with the red an' hair, an' no chin, like the Whateleys.... It was a octopus, centipede, o' thing, but they was a haff-shaped man's on top of it, an' it looked like Wizard Whateley's, only it was yards an' yards acrost...."
He paused exhausted, as the whole group of in a not into fresh terror. Only old Zebulon Whateley, who but who had been heretofore, spoke aloud.
"Fifteen year' gone," he rambled, "I Ol' Whateley say as some day we'd a child o' Lavinny's a-callin' its father's name on the top o' Sentinel Hill...."
But Joe Osborn him to question the Arkham men anew.
"What was it, anyhaow, an' did Wizard Whateley call it o' the air it come from?"
Armitage his carefully.
"It was—well, it was mostly a of that doesn't in our part of space; a of that and and itself by other laws than those of our of Nature. We have no calling in such from outside, and only very people and very try to. There was some of it in Wilbur Whateley himself—enough to make a and a of him, and to make his out a terrible sight. I'm going to his diary, and if you men are wise you'll that altar-stone up there, and all the of on the other hills. Things like that the beings those Whateleys were so of—the beings they were going to let in to out the and the earth off to some place for some purpose.
"But as to this thing we've just sent back—the Whateleys it for a terrible part in the doings that were to come. It fast and big from the same that Wilbur fast and big—but it him it had a of the in it. You needn't ask how Wilbur called it out of the air. He didn't call it out. It was his brother, but it looked more like the father than he did."
