ponderous and proboscidian Chaugnar Faugn, and Beh-Moth the Devourer… you will converse with the Whisperer in Darkness… you will know the meaning of the Affair that shambleth in the stars, and will behold the hunters from Beyond… you will learn the very source of those Hounds of Tindalos who dwell in a chaotic, nebular universe at the very rim of space, and who are in league with those Outer Ones… all of these things, with which you are vaguely familiar through your readings, will you know — and much more. In the pages of the Book, which go beyond the very beginning, are revealed secrets which the wildest flights of your imagination cannot begin to comprehend… your mind, now such a puny thing, will expand to encompass that entire infinite arcanum of all matter, and you may learn in what manner the entire cosmos was spewed forth by an evil thought in the mind of a monstrous Thing in the Darkness… you will see that this cosmos which we consider infinite is but an atom in Their infinity, and you will behold the appalling position of our cosmos in that larger infinity, and the obscene rites in which it plays an integral part… you will know the histories of suns and nebulae, and yours will be the power of bodily transposition between planets, or even to galaxies so remote that their light has not yet reached Earth….”
How can I describe those few minutes — his shrill voice going relentlessly on, the book lying open there on the table between us, the flames in the fireplace throwing flickering shadows about the room; I standing there stiffly erect, one hand on the table, mind reeling, trying to grasp the great magnitude of these things he was telling me and trying to weigh, one against the other, what I dared to believe and what I feared to believe!
And all the time he was speaking his head was held in that position which made me think he was listening… listening… for what?
And his gaze as he talked was not on me, but over my shoulder at the mantel where rested the clock…. Once while he was speaking I had slid my hand forward on the table, slowly, to almost touch the book, but an almost imperceptible change in the timbre of his voice made me draw my hand back. And all during his rambling sentences — whether it was the bewildering effect of his words on my brain, or not, I shall never know — I seemed to sense more and more clearly the presence of those invisible forces lurking near by, and they, too, seemed to be waiting….
He was no longer speaking. I was not aware of when exactly he had stopped speaking; I only knew that I was no longer listening to his voice, but was listening for something else — something — I knew not what. I only knew that we were not alone in that room, and that the time had not yet come, but was near. So I listened for that which I could not quite hear, and stared again, fascinated, at the Book that lay there on the table between us….
He saw that fascination.
“Read,” he whispered fervently, bending toward me. “You know you want to read. You want to read.”
Yes, I wanted to read. More and more was that fact forcing itself upon me. What sane man could believe that this Book had such menacing connections as he had hinted? But I was past being sure that I was a sane man. If I believed this story, I was assuredly not sane; if I did not believe, why did I hesitate?
Again his whisper: “You want to read.”
His almost imploring tone caused me to recoil from the Book in horror. But the fascination had not left me, and I could not utter the emphatic “no!” that had risen to my tongue. Instead, I looked quickly, a little wildly, about the room, into the corners, anywhere except into that little man’s eyes; for I suddenly knew that to do so would be fatal.
Those unseen forces seemed to fill the room now. I could feel a definite tumult, a sort of surging to and fro, faint sounds of fury as of a mounting hostility between two opposing groups; a growing but unseen confusion of which I was the center. Into my mind flashed the thought that there was no little gray man, and no Book, and that all the seeming events of the evening were but a nightmare from which I would presently awaken. But no — here I was standing in my library beside the table with that absurd little man opposite me and that growing, unseen tumult about me. Could one think thus in nightmares, I wondered? Probably not, and therefore this was no nightmare.
Close upon this illogical chain of thought came another, with a suddenness so terrifying that I knew it had not originated in my own mind; it was one of those thoughts out of nowhere. It was simply the plain and uncompromising knowledge that this was all real, no hoax, no farce, but that I was faced with the most stupendous thing that had ever come to this Earth, and must conquer it or be conquered; I knew, too, with a sudden wild hope, that I would not be alone in fighting it. Those forces surging ever closer about me were there for a purpose, presaged something in my favor.
I turned then with a slow deliberateness and faced the tiny man who was waiting. No word was spoken as my eyes met his very black and bottomless ones….
I was lost! Too late I knew it. Everything around me vanished as those eyes grew, expanded, became two huge pools of space black and boundless beyond all imagining. I had been caught by the suddenness of it, but with a feeble instinct I fought against those eyes which seemed to draw me…. But there were no longer any eyes… my feet were no longer on the floor… I was floating serenely along somewhere a million miles out in that black space… serenely… but no — I was no longer floating now; a touch had brought me back. My feet were on the floor again and I stood close against the table. But something — some part of me — seemed still to move along against my own volition. That was funny! I wanted to laugh. It was my hand that was no longer a part of me, that was creeping, crawling, sliding like some sinuous serpent across the smooth table-top… toward the Book!
Yes, I remembered then, in a vague sort of way. There was a book on the table, a book that lay open and waiting, a book that for some terrible reason I must not touch. What was that reason? Slowly, slowly I remembered. There was a queer little man with very black eyes, who had told me an awful fact about the book, who had wanted me to read… to touch it would mean that I should read… and read… no turning back….
Ah, how fully did comprehension then flee back to me, through my rising panic, as I sought in vain to stay the hand that crept along the table there like some Judas that would betray its master! How that churning confusion about me did increase, warningly, sweeping around me in an undulating wave as if they, too, knew something of the panic that was upon me! How they closed in around me, those unseen forces, from behind, from all sides, purposeful, as if they would press me back away from the table, away from the menace of the Book! I almost heard tiny warning voices flitting past my ear, almost felt fingers tugging valiantly at my own, and for a moment I thought I comprehended. These forces — rallying valiantly about me — had they once succumbed to the Book, in ages past — countless beings from all parts of the universe — come now to aline themselves with me against the forces of the Book?
I may have guessed close to the truth — 1 shall never know. Nor shall I ever know by what terrific effort I finally hurled myself away from that table. I do not remember it. I only know that I stood at last supporting myself on the back of my chair, trembling in body and weak in mind; knew that the tension of that terrible moment was gone, and that the forces which had rallied around me were once again quiet, waiting. That this was but a temporary respite in the battle I well knew, and knew too that my exhausted brain could not endure another such assault.
A half-dozen feet away the Book lay face up on the table, a menacing, mocking thing…. Opposite it, that tiny man still stood on the selfsame spot where I had first glimpsed him in the room; in those black eyes was now a luster, a bright luster of hate for those forces which had fought with me against him — those which he must have known would come. How many times had they defeated him, I wondered! Had each of them once been a guardian of the Book as he was now? If ever he won release from the Book, would he in turn join forces with those who fought against it? Would they ever become strong enough to defeat those Outer Ones who had conceived this entire plot?
I must not waste my strength in wondering, but prepare for the assault that must surely come again. In a sudden flash of illumination I knew that I must hold on — just a little longer — hold on until twelve o’clock. That’s why he had watched the clock there on the mantel, over my shoulder! It must be very near the hour now, and if I could but hold on — stay away from that table — avoid those eyes — not be caught off guard again!
But how futile a thought! In that very instant the huge swimming blackness of those eyes again caught me with that fierce tenacity, again swept me up and away beyond all suns and stars, out into that vast darkness which cradles the universe. I was like a man drowning, who in a few brief seconds sees his entire past unfolded; but saw instead my future, a future of dark terror and torture amid the vague forms and fears of that outer place. Even as I floated serenely in that terrible darkness I could seem to see those forms, those Outer Ones, indescribably repulsive for all their vagueness, peering past me with malicious glee at some drama being enacted for them as it had been how many times before! And this time I was a part of that drama.
