Page:Weird Tales Volume 7 Number 4 (1926-04).djvu/84

that led through a gap in the low, disintegrating stone wall and peered into the darkness for a glimpse of the house. He could make out the faint outline of one weathered gray gable, with two blank windows staring unblinkingly in the dim light of the obscured moon.

Suddenly he gave vent to a startled, muffled exclamation. He saw, or thought he saw, the shadow of a man pass in front of one of the staring windows; a black shadow that moved silently and joined its fellows, leaving no trace behind.

“Nerves!” Cal decided. He spat out the word with disgust and started determinedly for the gray bulk of the old house.

As he approached, it gradually detached itself from the dense shadows that surrounded it, like some great squat beast emerging from its hiding place and preparing for a leap. From the direction of the house came a sudden creak, as of a rusty, long-disused door swinging on its hinges, followed by the sound of muffled footsteps.

“A door swinging in the wind, and a rat or mouse prowling around,” muttered Cal, translating the sounds to his liking. He swished through the tall grass of the dooryard, mounted the rotting stoop, and tried the front door. It was locked, and though he pressed against it with all the weight of his body the firm old oaken panels refused to give.

“I never thought to ask how to get in,” he mumbled. “Must be that you slip in a window.” He tried the first window he came to, a small, many-paned affair, and gave a little pleased grunt as it slid up easily. Propping the window open, with a piece of wood torn from the stoop, Cal threw a leg over the sill and drew himself into the room.

It was much warmer inside, and the air was thick and musty. The room itself was utterly dark, save for the dim rectangles that showed on three sides of the room where there were windows. Something moved in the room above, and Cal’s heart raced for a moment until he recognized it as the scampering of a mouse. A low-hanging willow branch tapped lightly on a window, and Cal stared around nervously until he located the source of the sound. Then, with a little nervous chuckle, he started feeling along the wall of the room until he located a torn edge of wall-paper.

With a sharp rip he tore off a big triangle of paper and crammed it into a pocket of his coat. He gave a little grant of satisfaction and started for the window.

A noise behind him caused him to wheel nervously in his tracks. He thought he saw something move for an instant, far back in the dense shadows in a far corner of the room, but though he stood as still as a stone image while his heart thumped perhaps a hundred times, he saw nothing more, and heard no sound save his own quick breathing.

Partly reassured, he backed toward the open window. As he moved, something came to life in the corner of the room he had been watching. A silent black shadow, the shadow of a man with stooping shoulders and outstretched head, passed in front of one of the windows.

The Thing came nearer, on silent feet. Cal could see it more plainly: it was huge and black, and towered over him. Here and there it glowed with patches of greenish fire, and its eyes burned out of a face that was as gray and hideous as the face of Death itself.

With a choking gasp, Cal leaped for the window. As he did so, the Thing leaped also. Something struck Cal a terrific blow just at the base of the brain. He crumpled to the floor with a groan, a mocking, high-pitched chuckle ringingin his ears.