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• Enlace al Comentario Martes, 28 Noviembre 2023 22:53 publicado por http://www.Outsourcing.Sbm.pw/user/angelikac0/

  By that noon fully three-quarters of the men and boys of Dunwich were trooping
  over the roads and meadows between the new-made Whateley ruins and Cold Spring Glen, examining in horror the
  vast, monstrous prints, the maimed Bishop cattle, the strange, noisome wreck of the farmhouse, and the bruised, matted vegetation of the fields and roadsides.
  There were more swaths and monstrous prints, but there was no longer
  any house. Two titan swaths of destruction stretched from the glen to the Frye farmyard, monstrous prints covered the bare patches of ground, and one side of the old red
  barn had completely caved in. He says Ol’ Whateley’s haouse is all blowed up, with the
  timbers scattered raound like they’d ben dynamite inside; only the
  bottom floor ain’t through, but is all covered with a kind o’
  tar-like stuff that smells awful an’ drips daown offen the aidges
  onto the graoun’ whar the side timbers is blown away.
  It smells like thunder, an’ all the bushes an’ little trees is pushed back from
  the rud like they’d a haouse ben moved along of it.
  
  He wa’n’t all human hisself, I allus says to everybody; an’ I think he an’ Ol’ Whateley must a raised
  suthin’ in that there nailed-up haouse as ain’t even so human as he was.
  
  
  They’s allus ben unseen things araound Dunwich-livin’ things-as ain’t human an’ ain’t good fer
  human folks. Below the waist, though, it was the worst; for here all human resemblance left off and sheer phantasy began.
  As the summer drew on he felt dimly that something ought to be
  done about the lurking terrors of the upper Miskatonic valley, and about the monstrous being known to the human world as Wilbur
  Whateley. Mrs. Corey, unable to extract more information, began telephoning the neighbours; thus starting on its rounds the overture of panic that
  heralded the major terrors. Mrs. Frye proposed telephoning the neighbours, and Elmer
  was about to agree when the noise of splintering wood burst in upon their deliberations.
  About two in the morning a frightful stench and the savage barking of the dogs awakened the household at Elmer Frye’s, on the eastern edge of
  Cold Spring Glen, and all agreed that they could hear a sort
  of muffled swishing or lapping sound from somewhere outside.
  They found the countryside in great agitation, both because of the growing rumblings beneath
  the domed hills, and because of the unwonted stench and the
  surging, lapping sounds which came increasingly from the great empty shell formed by Whateley’s boarded-up farmhouse.
  
  
  What's great about them is that they are fairly
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  by solar energy? The curious manuscript record or diary of Wilbur Whateley, delivered to Miskatonic
  University for translation, had caused much worry and bafflement among the experts in languages both ancient
  and modern; its very alphabet, notwithstanding a general resemblance to
  the heavily shaded Arabic used in Mesopotamia, being absolutely
  unknown to any available authority. Apparently the
  horror had descended by a route much the same as that of its ascent.
  Then, amidst the dismal moans from the stable and the daemoniac
  piping of late whippoorwills in the glen, Selina Frye
  tottered to the telephone and spread what news she could of the second phase of the horror.
  
  In the meantime a quieter yet even more spiritually
  poignant phase of the horror had been blackly unwinding itself behind the closed
  door of a shelf-lined room in Arkham. In the morning both the
  Frye and the Seth Bishop households reported excitement among the
  dogs and vague sounds and stenches from afar, while early explorers noted with horror a fresh set of the monstrous tracks in the road skirting Sentinel Hill.
  
  
  About seven o’clock Luther Brown, the hired boy at George Corey’s,
  between Cold Spring Glen and the village, rushed frenziedly back from
  his morning trip to Ten-Acre Meadow with the cows.
  The Fryes, huddled together in the sitting-room, did not
  dare to move until the last echoes died away far down in Cold Spring Glen. The whippoorwills in the glen had screamed with such
  unusual persistence that many could not sleep,
  and about 3 A.M. The truth appeared an hour later, when a hastily assembled
  group of armed men trudged out to the Frye place at the head of the glen.
  Among the others he saw Professor Warren Rice and Dr.
  Francis Morgan, men to whom he had told some of
  his conjectures and misgivings; and these two he motioned to
  accompany him inside. Professor Rice declares that he wholly lost consciousness for an instant, though he did not stumble or fall.
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