The Whisperer in Darkness Page #3

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Members of your faculty and I were

just discussing matters of science

with the esteemed Mr. Fort.

Surely, that's not a problem?

Well, no, it's just... The Arkham

Advertiser would like a few photos

of Mr. Fort and me.

And Wilmarth. They're waiting.

Well, I assure you we won't keep them waiting.

Run along now.

Well, Wilmarth? Have you seen enough?

Are you a believer now?

This could be proof!

But it's not! It's... well, it's vague. It's all just...

Open your eyes, Wilmarth. You'll never find proof,

but you might learn something.

You should go to Vermont: Unless,

of course, you prefer to keep pretending.

A pleasure to make your

acquaintance, young man.

Thank you. They really are real...

I'm sure they are.

I can't take it any more. I told my dad, I'm leaving.

I'm going to go to San Diego.

I've begged him to come with me,

but he he can't bear to leave the old family farm.

I hear San Diego's nice. Although

it has rained shrimp once or twice.

Good luck to you, son.

We'd better go before Hayes blows a gasket.

Wilmarth? Are you coming?

Yes, Wilmarth, don't you want your

picture in the paper? Commemorate this evening?

I'll be along. Let me see Mr. Akeley out.

Listen, George, I'd like to

examine these more closely.

Could I borrow them for a...

Professor, I have something else.

A phonograph recording. Of them.

Them? You recorded the hill creatures?

My father did. There's a

person's voice on it with them.

There are people, a sort of cult,

that work in collusion with the creatures.

I'll bring it to you. You can decide for yourself.

Less than an hour later, George met me at

my office and left me with a wax cylinder.

He begged me to go to

Vermont and help his father.

Whatever was going on,

it was clear that Henry Akeley believed he

was under attack, and his son was terrified.

...so let the voices of the faithful ring out.

So from the wells of night to the gulfs of space

and from the gulfs of space to the wells of night,

everthe praises of Great Cthulhu

of Tsathoggua and of Him

Who Is Not to Be Named.

Ever the praises and abundance to the

Black Goat of the Woods. I Shub Niggurath!

I Shub Niggurath! The Black Goat

of the Woods with a Thousand Young!

Down the onyx steps he comes, hearing our call

bourne on the wings of night, out beyond space,

out beyond the final gate to That

whereof Yuggoth is the youngest child,

rolling alone in the black aether

at the rim to bring us tidings...

Akeley recorded the things?

Yes. It's labelled first of May, 1928.

May Eve...

Yes. Sounds like some kind

of a ritual, don't you think?

Of course it's a ritual.

It's a wonder Akeley's still alive.

He's a tenacious man, I must admit.

You should read some of his letters, Nate.

They're... extraordinary.

OK, now that one voice, now that

sounds to me like someone from Boston,

but that other one, it hardly sounds human at all.

No matter how many times I listen to it...

Don't play it again, Albert.

Stop answering Akeley's letters.

And don't let Fort goad you

into doing something stupid.

You're hell-bent on trying to

scare me off this thing, aren't you?

You got Davenport's manuscript.

Let that be enough. Go write a book.

And stop working my side of the street!

You're an academic:

Stay indoors where you belong.

Nate, maybe I was wrong about this...

I think there may really be something there.

Akeley is living folklore!

It's worth a look, in the name of science.

Take it from me.

You don't want to know.

I took Ward's warning seriously.

I planned to abandon the matter

until Akeley wrote offering to

send me the mysterious black stone.

I was eager to compare it to the

illustrations in Davenport's manuscript,

so it was agreed that George would

bring it to Boston on his way to California.

Akeley mistrusted the post, so I was to

meet George at North Station in Boston

and he would give

it to me directly.

Remember, Professor Albert Wilmarth.

Give it straight to him and no one else.

George never met me in Boston.

Weeks went by without a word from him.

The black stone was gone, and so was George.

Henry and I had been corresponding for months.

Recently, his letters grew increasingly fearful.

Even his handwriting showed the strain as he

told of unknown things closing in around him,

so his next letter came as a complete surprise.

My dear Wilmarth,

pardon this typed letter,

but my handwriting has grown shaky of late

and I don't

feel equal to long stretches of script.

Allow me to set you at rest regarding all the

silly things I've been writing you.

I say "silly", although by

that I mean my frightened attitude

rather than my descriptions of certain phenomena.

My mistake had been in establishing

a hostile attitude toward them.

What I thought morbid and frightful

is in reality awesome and

mind-expanding and even glorious.

I chalk up my previous

attitude to man's eternal tendency

to hate and fear and shrink

from the utterly different.

Now that all is safe, I'd like

you to share in my discoveries.

Please come soon so we can discuss them.

Bring along the recordings and all my

letters to you and the Kodak prints too.

We shall need them in piecing

together the whole tremendous story.

Please come immediately.

Send me a wire and my car will

meet you at the Brattleboro station.

What do you think, Theobald?

It was such a relief,

that letter, and yet distrubing too.

The complete change of mood was peculiar.

In the end, I decided to go

to Vermont and see for myself.

I neglected to tell anyone where I was going.

I suppose I didn't want Ward to

attempt to thwart my burning curiosity.

Mr. Wilmarth, I presume?

Yes. I'm Albert Wilmarth.

P.F. Noyes, at your service.

Henry Akeley asked if I'd do him the

favor of giving you a lift up to the farm.

I thought he'd come himself.

He has not been well.

Is that all your belongings?

Allow me.

No thanks, I'll take that.

No, no, I insist.

Follow me.

Is Henry all right? His last

letter didn't say anything...

It's a sudden attack of some kind of asthma.

He said he was not up for the trip

in this weather but not to worry,

he'd be his old self again before long.

Right this way...

Get in the car.

I don't bite, Mr. Wilmarth. Get in.

You're from Miskatonic University?

Yes, that's right.

I'm in the English Department. I'm a folklorist.

And what brings you to our folksy back woods?

Henry asked me... to pay him a visit.

Well, hopefully you won't regret the trip.

Why would I?

Beastly weather like this can spoil anything.

Do you... have you ever been on the wireless?

Your voice sounds so familiar.

I get that a lot.

No, no, just a frustrating brush

with amateur dramatics in my youth.

I played Brutus in Julius Caesar once.

"Brutus is an honourable man."

Quite.

Have you set your watch back?

We're in Vermont now: We'll have none of these

new-fangled daylight-saving schemes, good sir!

I think you'll find time runs differently here.

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