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           Nahumsaidsomethin’livedinthewellthatsucksyourlifeout.Hesaiditmustbesome’atgrowedfromaroundballlikeoneweallseeninthemeteorstonethatfellayearagoJune.Sucksan’burns,hesaid,an’isjestacloudofcolourlikethatlightouttharnow,thatyecanhardlyseean’can’ttellwhatitis.Nahumthoughtitfeedsoneverythinglivin’an’gitsstrongerallthetime.Hesaidheseenitthislastweek.Itmustbesomethin’fromawayoffintheskylikethemenfromthecollegelastyearsaysthemeteorstonewas.Thewayit’smadean’thewayitworksain’tlikenowayo’God’sworld.It’ssome’atfrombeyond.”

           Sothemenpausedindecisivelyasthelightfromthewellgrewstrongerandthehitchedhorsespawedandwhinniedinincreasingfrenzy.Itwastrulyanawfulmoment;withterrorinthatancientandaccursedhouseitself,fourmonstroussetsoffragments—twofromthehouseandtwofromthewell—inthewoodshedbehind,andthatshaftofunknownandunholyiridescencefromtheslimydepthsinfront.Ammihadrestrainedthedriveronimpulse,forgettinghowuninjuredhehimselfwasaftertheclammybrushingofthatcolouredvapourintheatticroom,butperhapsitisjustaswellthatheactedashedid.Noonewilleverknowwhatwasabroadthatnight;andthoughtheblasphemyfrombeyondhadnotsofarhurtanyhumanofunweakenedmind,thereisnotellingwhatitmightnothavedoneatthatlastmoment,andwithitsseeminglyincreasedstrengthandthespecialsignsofpurposeitwassoontodisplaybeneaththehalf-cloudedmoonlitsky.