Ужас в музее

           Therewasapaddingorshuffling,asofgreatwetpawsonasolidsurface. Somethingwasapproaching. Intohisnostrils,fromthecracksinthatnightmareplankdoor,pouredanoisomeanimalstenchlikeandyetunlikethatofthemammalcagesatthezoologicalgardensinRegent’sPark. 

           HedidnotknownowwhetherRogerswastalkingornot. Everythingrealhadfadedaway,andhewasastatueobsessedwithdreamsandhallucinationssounnaturalthattheybecamealmostobjectiveandremotefromhim. Hethoughtheheardasniffingorsnortingfromtheunknowngulfbeyondthedoor,andwhenasuddenbaying,trumpetingnoiseassailedhisearshecouldnotfeelsurethatitcamefromthetightlyboundmaniacwhoseimageswamuncertainlyinhisshakenvision. Thephotographofthataccursed,unseenwaxthingpersistedinfloatingthroughhisconsciousness. Suchathinghadnorighttoexist. Haditnotdrivenhimmad? 

           Evenashereflected,afreshevidenceofmadnessbesethim. Something,hethought,wasfumblingwiththelatchoftheheavypadlockeddoor. Itwaspattingandpawingandpushingattheplanks. Therewasathuddingonthestoutwood,whichgrewlouderandlouder. Thestenchwashorrible. Andnowtheassaultonthatdoorfromtheinsidewasamalign,determinedpoundinglikethestrokesofabattering-ram. Therewasanominouscracking—asplintering—awellingfoetor—afallingplank—ablackpawendinginacrab-likeclaw.... 

           “Help!Help!Godhelpme!...Aaaaaaa!...”