Whisperer in the Dark – the Sequel
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The young man could only nod his head in sympathy for the loss, for he knew WHO was in his flat and WHAT had happened to it. A few hours later he realised something else as well: the manuscripts had burned along with the flat – all that he had left behind after those terrible events at the Ecklie house. It was easy to guess the reason for what had happened – they had gotten to him, they were very close.
There was no time to think about it. Wilmarth did not want to spend the night in town, although neighbours and good acquaintances suggested it. But he could not go to his brother's house either – he did not have enough money. So there was only one way out: the Lang Inn. After collecting what was left of his possessions (namely, the documents he had kept in the safe and a couple of books with burned spines), and taking a shabby shotgun from a neighbour, the young man gathered his will and headed for the outskirts of town. Taking a shabby shotgun from a neighbour, the young man gathered his will and headed for the outskirts of town.
Yes, anything could happen, but he had to survive the night.
Chapter 2
Wilmarth sat on the windowsill, gazing up into the night sky. In his right hand he held a shotgun, in his left a glass of cheap whiskey from Lang's bar. The room was silent, only the ticking of the clock on the wall challenged its authority. There was shouting from downstairs – the young couple couldn't decide who would sleep against the wall and who would sleep on the edge of the bed.
Wilmarht grinned – people are willing to argue to the last minute to prove their point. How low, how down-to-earth… He turned away from the window and stared at his hands. They hadn't shaken like that in a long time. One could tell by the ripples on the golden smoothness of his temples. The young man did not know what to do next; moreover, he was not sure what would happen in the next five minutes either. On arrival at the hotel he had time to send a letter to his brother in California, hoping that he could accept it for the time being until Willmarth could work out what to do next. Continuing to teach at the university was not a good idea – THEY had to know his place of work, so… The young man bit his tongue painfully and tears came to his eyes. The poor man was really desperate.
Wandering gloomy thoughts, he looked again at the starry sky. For a moment it seemed that one of the luminous dots was suddenly approaching. Wilmarth shook his head – no, he was wrong. It was several more hours before his eyelids drooped and he fell into a restless sleep.
The next morning started surprisingly well with a letter back from his brother. The letter said that he and his wife would be happy to host Wilmarth, and the family had just moved into a house on the farm, so there was room for everyone. And until the burnt-out man decided what to do next, he could help with the household chores.
It was a great chance to escape to a secluded place. The proximity of the mountains and the warm climate were all that was needed for the nerves. So the young man paid the innkeeper and headed for the port. His ship was due to set sail in an hour, so the young man deftly made his way between the streets on the shortest route. At some point, Wilmarth realised that he was lost. He turned around and tried to find the road he had taken to his destination, but could not recognise any of the houses or streets around him. He panicked – he was known among his friends as a real expert at orienteering, knew all the places in Arkham, but now he was standing there like a lost kitten.
He looked around at several houses that looked as if they had been abandoned for decades. Broken windows and moldy tiles did not create a pleasant atmosphere.
Having assessed the situation and checked his watch (there was about 15 minutes to sail), he decided to look for signs on the houses – perhaps if he knew the name of the street he could get his bearings. He chose the least destroyed house and began to look around. There was nothing outside that looked like a sign, so he decided to go inside (the boys in the yard could pick it up and drag it inside for their games). Willmarth made his way through the pile of planks – all that was left of the former front room – and stepped inside. It smelled damp. There was a lot of stuff on the floor, and the wallpaper was peeling off the walls. He was shoveling through the piles of rubbish, the belongings of the previous tenants and the broken-down walls, hoping to find something that looked like a plank, when suddenly there was a knocking sound from above. Wilmarth listened for a moment. The knocking kept shifting. It seemed as if someone was walking on their heels.
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