"Come on," snapped Asman, and he walked stolidly from the office. Shakily Gowans and Williams followed at his heels.
The three men halted in the doorway of the receiving-room. Slowly their glazed eyes lost their fear, and their tense features relaxed into a grin. The weird wailing, which still continued, came from the receiver of the telephone. The exchange had put on the howler to give warning that the receiver was off the hook.
Gowans stepped quickly forward, then stopped short, uttering an exclamation. He turned to Asman and pointed at the thing at his feet.
"See! I told you so! Rigor mortis! I told you it would be premature—and violent. See—Sanders jumped clear off the table and almost to the phone. I wonder what———"
He stared at the receiver, which hung suspended from its cord.
Billy Williams, too, was staring at the receiver and at the doubled figure of Jason Sanders on the floor. Suddenly he turned on his heel and walked briskly outside to his car. He had to find out about those names and addresses at once. It couldn't be, but———
| The | Messenger |
By H. P. LOVECRAFT
The Thing, he said, would come that night at three
From the old churchyard on the hill below;
But crouching by an oak fire's wholesome glow,
I tried to tell myself it could not be.
Surely, I mused, it was a pleasantry
Devised by one who did not truly know
The Elder Sign, bequeathed from long ago,
That sets the fumbling forms of darkness free.
He had not meant it—no—but still I lit
Another lamp as starry Leo climbed
Out of the Seekonk, and a steeple chimed
Three—and the firelight faded, bit by bit.
Then at the door that cautious rattling came—
And the mad truth devoured me like a flame!
