Жах у музеї
Chapter 2
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!...”
