Without a word I took down a slicker and handed it to him. I also handed him an enormous rubber hat.
'Get into these as quickly as you can,' I said. 'The chap's desperately in need of us.'
I had gotten my own slicker down from the rack and was forcing my arms through its sticky sleeves. In a moment we were both pushing our way through the fog.
The fog was like a living thing. Its long fingers reached up and slapped us relentlessly on the face. It curled about our bodies and ascended in great, grayish spirals from the tops of our heads. It retreated before us, and as suddenly closed in and enveloped us.
Dimly ahead of us we saw the lights of a few lonely farms. Behind us the sea drummed, and the foghorns sent out a continuous, mournful ululation. The collar of Howard's slicker was turned up over his ears, and from his long nose moisture dripped. There was grim decision in his eyes, and his jaw was set.
For many minutes we plodded on in silence, and it was not until we approached Mulligan Wood that he spoke.
'If necessary,' he said, 'we shall enter the wood.'
I nodded. 'There is no reason why we should not enter the wood,' I said. 'It isn't a large wood.'
'One could get out quickly?'
'One could get out very quickly indeed. My God, did you hear that?'
The shrieks had grown horribly loud.
'He is suffering,' said Howard. 'He is suffering terribly. Do you suppose — do you suppose it's your crazy friend?'
He had voiced a question which I had been asking myself for some time.
'It's conceivable,' I said. 'But we'll have to interfere if he's as mad as that. I wish I'd brought some of the neighbors with me.'
'Why in heaven's name didn't you?' Howard shouted. 'It may take a dozen men to handle him.' He was staring at the tall trees that towered before us, and I didn't think he really gave Henry Wells so much as a thought.
'That's Mulligan Wood,' I said. I swallowed to keep my heart from rising to the top of my mouth. 'It isn't a big wood,' I added idiotically.
'Oh, my God!' Out of the fog there came the sound of a voice in the last extremity of pain. 'They're eating up my brain. Oh, my God!'
I was at that moment in deadly fear that I might become as mad as the man in the woods. I clutched Howard's arm.
'Let's go back,' I shouted. 'Let's go back at once. We were fools to come. There is nothing here but madness and suffering and perhaps death.'
'That may be,' said Howard, 'but we're going on.'
His face was ashen beneath his dripping hat, and his eyes were thin blue slits.
'Very well,' I said grimly. 'We'll go on.'
Slowly we moved among the trees. They towered above us, and the thick fog so distorted them and merged them together that they seemed to move forward with us. From their twisted branches the fog hung in ribbons. Ribbons, did I say? Rather were they snakes of fog— writhing snakes with venomous tongues and leering eyes. Through swirling clouds of fog we saw the scaly, gnarled boles of the trees, and every bole resembled the twisted body of an evil old man. Only the small oblong of light cast by my electric torch protected us against their malevolence.
Through great banks of fog we moved, and every moment the screams grew louder. Soon we were catching fragments of sentences, hysterical shoutings that merged into prolonged wails. 'Colder and colder and colder… they are eating up my brain. Colder! Ah-h-h!'
Howard gripped my arm. 'We'll find him,' he said. 'We can't turn back now.'
When we found him he was lying on his side. His hands were clasped about his head, and his body was bent double, the knees drawn up so tightly that they almost touched his chest. He was silent. We bent and shook him, but he made no sound.
'Is he dead?' I choked out. I wanted desperately to turn and run. The trees were very close to us.
'I don't know,' said Howard. 'I don't know. I hope that he is dead.'
I saw him kneel and slide his hand under the poor devil's shirt. For a moment his face was a mask. Then he got up quickly and shook his head.
'He is alive,' he said. 'We must get him into some dry clothes as quickly as possible.'
I helped him. Together we lifted the bent figure from the ground and carried it forward between the trees. Twice we stumbled and nearly fell, and the creepers tore at our clothes. The creepers were little malicious hands grasping and tearing under the malevolent guidance of the great trees. Without a star to guide us, without a light except the little pocket lamp which was growing dim, we fought our way out of Mulligan Wood.
The droning did not commence until we had left the wood. At first we scarcely heard it, it was so low, like the purring of gigantic engines far down in the earth. But slowly, as we stumbled forward with our burden, it grew so loud that we could not ignore it.
'What is that?' muttered Howard, and through the wraiths of fog I saw that his face had a greenish tinge.
'I don't know,' I mumbled. 'It's something horrible. I never heard anything like it. Can't you walk faster?'
So far we had been fighting familiar horrors, but the droning and humming that rose behind us was like nothing that I had ever heard on Earth. In excruciating fright, I shrieked aloud. 'Faster, Howard, faster! For God's sake, let's get out of this!'
As I spoke, the body that we were carrying squirmed, and from its cracked lips issued a torrent of gibberish: 'I was walking between the trees looking up. I couldn't see their tops. I was looking up, and then suddenly I looked down and the thing landed on my shoulders. It was all legs — all long, crawling legs. It went right into my head. I wanted to get away from the trees, but I couldn't. I was alone in the forest with the thing on my back, in my head, and when I tried to run, the trees reached out and tripped me. It made a hole so it could get in. It's my brain it wants. Today it made a hole, and now it's crawled in and it's sucking and sucking and sucking. It's as cold as ice and it makes a noise like a great big fly. But it isn't a fly. And it isn't a hand. I was wrong when I called it a hand. You can't see it. I wouldn't have seen or felt it if it hadn't made a hole and got in. You almost see it, you almost feel it, and that means that it's getting ready to go in.'
'Can you walk, Wells? Can you walk?'
Howard had dropped Wells's legs, and I could hear the harsh intake of his breath as he struggled to rid himself of his slicker.
'I think so,' Wells sobbed. 'But it doesn't matter. It's got me now. Put me down and save yourselves.'
'We've got to run!' I yelled.
'It's our one chance,' cried Howard. 'Wells, you follow us. Follow us, do you understand? They'll burn up your brain if they catch you. We're going to run, lad. Follow us!'
He was off through the fog. Wells shook himself free, and followed like a man in a trance. I felt a horror more terrible than death. The noise was dreadfully loud; it was right in my ears, and yet for a moment I couldn't move. The wall of fog was growing thicker.
'Frank will be lost!' It was the voice of Wells, raised in a despairing shout.
'We'll go back!' It was Howard shouting now. 'It's death, or worse, but we can't leave him.'
'Keep on,' I called out. 'They won't get me. Save yourselves!'
In my anxiety to prevent them from sacrificing themselves I plunged wildly forward. In a moment I had joined Howard and was clutching at his arm.
'What is it?' I cried. 'What have we to fear?'
The droning was all about us now, but no louder.
'Come quickly or we'll be lost!' he urged frantically. 'They've broken down all barriers. That buzzing is a warning. We're sensitives— we've been warned, but if it gets louder we're lost. They're strong near Mulligan Wood, and it's here they've made themselves felt. They're experimenting now — feeling their way. Later, when they've learned, they'll spread out. If we can only reach the farm…'
'We'll reach the farm!' I shouted as I clawed my way through the fog.
