Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (106 page)

No,
this
was
no
dream,
or,
if
it
were,
it
was
one
of
a
kind
altogether beyond
his
experience.
Where
was
he?
And
how
had
he
come
to
step out
of
his
door
into
some
strange
place
thousands
of
miles
away
from Nesthall?

But
was
he
thousands
of
miles
or—thousands
of
years?
An
un-wontedly
quick
perception
made
him
ask
the
question
of
himself. The
land
around
him
was
flat,
after
the
dreary
nature
of
Middlesex. Fronting
him,
a
few
miles
away,
was
the
one
hill
which
he
had
seen every
day
of
his
life,
so
that
he
knew
by
heart
the
outline
of
it against
the
sky.
But
it
was
Harrow
Hill
no
more.
A
dense
forest climbed
its
slope.
And
over
all
there
brooded
an
aching
silence charged
with
terror.

Curiosity
had
in
him,
to
some
extent,
the
better
of
fear.
Cautiously he
moved
a
little
away
from
his
shop,
but
cast
continual
backward glances
at
it
to
make
sure
that
it
was
still
there,
while
he
stepped lightly
and
carefully
over
the
swampy
ground.
Away
to
the
left
were open
marshlands,
and
he
could
see
a
wide
arc
of
the
horizon.
He could
see
no
river,
but
vaguely
he
made
out
the
contours
of
what
he knew
to
be
the
Thames
Valley.
And
not
a
house
nor
any
living
thing in
sight!

He
turned
once
more
to
look
at
his
shop.
It
was
still
there,
its open
door
spilling
light
on
the
bog
grasses
which
grew
to
the
edge of
the
threshold.
And
as
he
turned
he
saw
a
low
hill
away
to
his half-left—a
hill
which
he
could
not
recognize.
He
had
taken
a
dozen steps
towards
it
when
his
heart
missed
a
beat,
and
he
heard
himself scream
out
aloud
in
an
agony
of
terror. The
hill
moved.'

It
was
not
a
slow
movement.
There
was
something
impetuous
and savage
in
this
sudden
heaving-up
of
the
huge
mound.
With
movement the
mass
took
shape
from
shapelessness.
He
saw
outlined
against the
dim
sky
a
pair
of
blunt
ears
set
on
a
flat,
brainless,
reptilian
head. Shapeless
webbed
feet
tore
at
the
ground
in
the
ungainly
lifting
of
the huge
and
beastly
carcase.
Two
dull
red
lights
suddenly
burned
at Trimmer,
and
he
realized
that
the
monster
was
staring
at
him.

As
it
stared
he
saw
the
long
slit
of
a
mouth
open,
and
a
great tongue,
a
dirty
white
in
colour,
passed
in
slobberly
expectation
over the
greenish
lips.
There
was
that
about
the
movement
which
caused the
soul
of
Trimmer
to
grow
sick
within
him.

New
terror
broke
the
spell
cast
by
the
old.
The
nerves
of
motion were
given
back
to
him.
He
turned
and
ran,
screaming
wildly,
arms outflung,
towards
the
open
door
of
his
shop.