Жах Данвіча
Chapter 7
‘Itellye,Mis’Corey,they’ssuthin’abroadashadn’torterbeabroad,an’IforonethinkthatblackWilburWhateley,ascometothebadendhedeserved,isatthebottomofthebreedin’ofit. Hewa’n’tallhumanhisself,Iallussaystoeverybody;an’Ithinkhean’Ol’Whateleymustaraisedsuthin’inthattherenailed-uphaouseasain’tevensohumanashewas. They’sallusbenunseenthingsaraoundDunwich—livin’things—asain’thumanan’ain’tgoodferhumanfolks.
‘Thegraoun’wasa-talkin’las’night,an’towardsmornin’Cha’nceyheheeredthewhippoorwillssolaoudinCol’SpringGlenhecouldn’tsleepnun. Thenhethoughtheheeredanotherfaint-likesaoundovertowardsWizardWhateley’s—akinderrippin’ortearin’o’wood,likesomebigboxercratewasbein’openedfuroff. Whatwiththisan’that,hedidn’tgittosleepatalltillsunup,an’nosoonerwasheupthismornin’,buthe’sgottogoovertoWhateley’san’seewhat’sthematter. HeseeenoughItellye,Mis’Corey! Thisdun’tmeannogood,an’Ithinkasallthemen-folksoughttogitupapartyan’dosuthin’. Iknowsuthin’awful’sabaout,an’feelmytimeisnigh,thoughonlyGawdknowsjestwhatitis.
‘DidyourLuthertakeaccaounto’wharthembigtracksledtew?No? Wal,Mis’Corey,eftheywasontheglenrudthissideo’theglen,an’ain’tgottoyourhaouseyet,Icalc’latetheymustgointotheglenitself. Theywoulddothat.
