didn’t like the look of the thing.
“What is it?” Mason asked behind me.
I picked up the — the — whatever it was. Then I got a severe shock, for it began to slip through my hand! It was being pulled away from me, and as I stared the end slipped through my fingers and whipped into the darkness. I craned out the window.
“There’s somebody outside!” I flung over my shoulder. “I saw — ”
I felt a hand seize me, shove me aside. “Shut that window,” Hayward gasped. He slammed it down, locked it. And I heard a gasping inarticulate cry from Mason.
He was standing in the open doorway, glaring out. His face was changing, becoming transfigured with amazement and loathing.
From outside the portal came a shrill, mewing cry — and a blast of great winds. Sand swirled in through the doorway. I saw Mason stagger back, his arm flung up before his eyes.
Hayward leaped for the door, slammed it. I helped the now shuddering Mason to a chair. It was terrible to see this usually imperturbable man in the grip of what could only be called panic. He dropped into the seat, glaring up at me with distended eyes. I gave him my flask; his fingers were white as they gripped it. He took a hasty gulp. His breathing was rapid and uneven.
Hayward came up beside me, stood looking down at Mason, pity in his face.
“What the devil’s the matter?” I cried. But Mason ignored me, had eyes only for Hayward.
“G-God in heaven,” he whispered. “Have I — gone mad, Hayward?'
Hayward shook his head slowly. “I’ve seen them, too.”
“Bill,” I said sharply. “What’s out there? What did you see?”
He only shook his head violently, trying to repress the violent paroxysms of trembling that were shaking him.
I swung about, went to the door, opened it. I don’t know what I expected to see — some animal, perhaps — a mountain lion or even a huge snake of some kind. But there was nothing there — just the empty white beach.
It was true there was a disk-shaped area of disturbed sand nearby, but I could make nothing of that. I heard Hayward shouting at me to close the door.
I shut it. “There’s nothing there,” I said.
“It — must have gone,” Mason managed to get out. “Give me another drink, will you?”
I handed him my flask. Hayward was fumbling in his desk. “Look here,” he said after a moment, coming back with a scrap of yellow paper. He thrust it at Mason, and Bill gasped out something incoherent. “That’s it,” he said, getting his voice under control. “That’s the — the thing I saw!”
I peered over his shoulder, scrutinizing the paper. It bore a sketch in pencil, of something that looked as if it had emerged from a naturalist’s nightmare. At first glance I got the impression of a globe, oddly flattened at the top and bottom, and covered with what I thought at first was a sparse growth of very long and thick hairs. Then I saw that they were appendages, slender tentacles. On the rugose upper surface of the thing was a great faceted eye, and below this a puckered orifice that corresponded, perhaps, to a mouth. Sketched hastily by Hayward, who was not an artist, it was nevertheless powerfully evocative of the hideous.
“That’s the thing,” Mason said. “Put it away! It was all — shining, though. And it made that — that sound.”
“Where did it go?” Hayward asked.
“I — don’t know. It didn’t roll away — or go into the ocean. I’m sure of that. All I heard was that blast of wind, and sand blew in my eyes. Then — well, it was gone.”
I shivered.
“It’s cold,” Hayward said, watching me. “It always gets cold when they come.” Silently he began to kindle a fire in the stone fireplace.
“But such things can’t exist!” Mason cried out in sudden protest. Then in tones of despair: “But I saw it, I saw it!”
“Get hold of yourself, Bill,” I snapped.
“I don’t give a damn what you think, Gene,” he cried. “I saw something out there that — why, I’ve always laughed at such things — legends, dreams — but, God! when one sees it — oh, I’m not trying to fool you, Gene. You’ll probably see the thing yourself before long.” He finished with a curious note of horror in his voice.
I knew he wasn’t lying. Still — “Are you sure it wasn’t a — a mirage?” I asked. “The spray, perhaps — an optical illusion?”
Hayward broke in. “No, Gene.” He faced us, grim lines bracketing his mouth. 'It’s no illusion. It’s the stark, hideous truth. Even now I sometimes try to make myself believe I’m dreaming some fantastic, incredible nightmare from which I'll eventually awaken. But no. I–I couldn’t stand it any longer — alone. The things have been here for two days now. There are several of them — five or six, perhaps more. That’s why I sent you the wire.”
“Five or six of what?” I demanded, but Mason interrupted me quickly.
“Can’t we get out? My car is down the road a bit.'
“Don’t you think I’ve tried?” Hayward cried. “I’m afraid to. I’ve my car too. As a matter of fact, I did start for Santa Barbara last night. I thought I might get away under cover of dark. But the noises — those sounds they make — got louder and louder, and I had the feeling, somehow, that they were getting ready to drop on me. I flagged a man and paid him to send you the wire.”
“But what are they?” Mason burst out. “Have you no idea? Such things don’t just appear. Some hybrid form of life from the sea, perhaps — some unknown form of life — ”
Hayward nodded. “Exactly. An unknown form of life. But one totally alien, foreign to mankind. Not from the sea, Bill, not from the sea. From another dimension — another plane of existence.”
This was too much for me. “Oh, come, Hayward,” I said. “You can’t really mean — why, it’s against all logic.”
“You didn’t see it,” Mason said, glaring at me. “If you’d seen that frightful, obscene thing, as I did — ”
“Look here,” cut in Hayward abruptly. “I–I shouldn’t have brought you into this. Seeing what it’s done to Bill has made me realize — you’re still free to go, you know. Perhaps it would be better — ”
I shook my head. I wasn’t going to run from a cry in the night, an odd-looking vine, an optical illusion. Besides, I knew what an effort it had cost Hayward to get out those words of renunciation. But before I could speak, a strange, shrill cry came from outside the house. Hayward glanced quickly at the window. He had pulled the shade down.
His face was grave. “I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “You mustn’t leave the house tonight. Tomorrow, perhaps — ’’
He turned to his desk, picked up a small pillbox. Mutely he extended his hand, on which he had dropped a few round, blackish pellets.
I picked one up, sniffed at it curiously. I felt an odd tickling sensation in my nostrils, and suddenly, for no apparent reason, thought of a childhood incident long buried in the past — nothing important, merely a clandestine visit to an apple orchard with two youthful chums. We had filled two gunny sacks —
Why should I remember this now? I had entirely forgotten that boyhood adventure — at least, I hadn’t thought of it in years.
Hayward took the pellet from me rather hastily, watching my face. “That was the beginning,” he said after a pause. “It’s a drug. Yes,” he went on at our startled expressions. “I’ve been taking it. Oh, it’s not hashish or opium — I wish it were! It’s far worse — I got the formula from Ludvig Prinn’s De Vermis Mysteriis. ”
“What?” I was startled. “Where did you — ”
Hayward coughed. “As a matter of fact, Gene, I had to resort to a little bribery. The book’s kept in a vault in the Huntington Library, you know, but I–I managed to get photostatic copies of the pages I needed.”
“What’s it all about, this book?” Mason asked, impatiently.
“Mysteries of the Worm,' I told him. “I’ve seen it mentioned in dispatches at the paper. It’s one of the tabooed references — we’ve got orders to delete it from any story in which it appears.”
“Such things are kept hushed up,” Hayward said. “Scarcely anyone in California knows that such a book exists in the Huntington Library. Books like that aren’t for general knowledge. You see, the man who wrote it was
