The Lurking Fear | Page 4

My chief acquaintances at Lefferts Corners had been the affable
reporters, of whom several had still remained to collect final echoes of
the tragedy. It was from these that I determined to choose a colleague,
and the more I reflected the more my preference inclined toward one
Arthur Munroe, a dark, lean man of about thirty-five, whose education,
taste, intelligence, and temperament all seemed to mark him as one not
bound to conventional ideas and experiences.

On an afternoon in early September, Arthur Munroe listened to my
story. I saw from the beginning that he was both interested and
sympathetic, and when I had finished he analysed and discussed the
thing with the greatest shrewdness and judgement. His advice,
moreover, was eminently practical; for he recommended a
postponement of operations at the Martense mansion until we might
become fortified with more detailed historical and geographical data.
On his initiative we combed the countryside for information regarding
the terrible Martense family, and discovered a man who possessed a
marvelously illuminating ancestral diary. We also talked at length with
such of the mountain mongrels as had not fled from the terror and
confusion to remoter slopes, and slope again scanned for dens and
caves, but all without result. And yet, as I have said, vague new fears
hovered menacingly over us; as if giant bat-winged gryphons looked on
transcosmic gulfs.
As the afternoon advanced, it became increasingly difficult to see; and
we heard the rumble of a thunderstorm gathering over Tempest
Mountain. This sound in such a locality naturally stirred us, though less
than it would have done at night. As it was, we hoped desperately that
the storm would last until well after dark; and with that hope turned
from our aimless hillside searching toward the nearest inhabited hamlet
to gather a body of squatters as helpers in the investigation. Timid as
they were, a few of the younger men were sufficiently inspired by our
protective leadership to promise such help.
We had hardly more than turned, however, when there descended such
a blinding sheet of torrential rain that shelter became imperative. The
extreme, almost nocturnal darkness of the sky caused us to stumble
badly, but guided by the frequent flashes of lightning and by our
minute knowledge of the hamlet we soon reached the least porous cabin
of the lot; an heterogeneous combination of logs and boards whose still
existing door and single tiny window both faced Maple Hill. Barring
the door after us against the fury of the wind and rain, we put in place
the crude window shutter which our frequent searches had taught us
where to find. It was dismal sitting there on rickety boxes in the pitchy
darkness, but we smoked pipes and occasionally flashed our pocket

lamps about. Now and then we could see the lightning through cracks
in the wall; the afternoon was so incredibly dark that each flash was
extremely vivid.
The stormy vigil reminded me shudderingly of my ghastly night on
Tempest Mountain. My mind turned to that odd question which had
kept recurring ever since the nightmare thing had happened; and again I
wondered why the demon, approaching the three watchers either from
the window or the interior, had begun with the men on each side and
left the middle man till the last, when the titan fireball had scared it
away. Why had it not taken its victims in natural order, with myself
second, from whichever direction it had approached? With what
manner of far-reaching tentacles did it prey? Or did it know that I was
the leader, and saved me for a fate worse than that of my companions?
In the midst of these reflections, as if dramatically arranged to intensify
them, there fell nearby a terrific bolt of lightning followed by the sound
of sliding earth. At the same time the wolfish wind rose to demoniac
crescendos of ululation. We were sure that the one tree on Maple Hill
had been struck again, and Munroe rose from his box and went to the
tiny window to ascertain the damage. When he took down the shutter
the wind, and rain howled deafeningly in, so that I could not hear what
he said; but I waited while he leaned out and tried to fathom Nature's
pandemonium.
Gradually a calming of the wind and dispersal of the unusual darkness
told of the storm's passing. I had hoped it would last into the night to
help our quest, but a furtive sunbeam from a knothole behind me
removed the likelihood of such a thing. Suggesting to Munroe that we
had better get some light even if more showers came, I unbarred and
opened the crude door. The ground outside was a singular mass of mud
and pools, with fresh heaps of earth from the