He seemed moody, and somewhat restless; yet
persisted in remaining in his kennel. Before locking up, for the night,
I moved his kennel out, away from the wall, so that I shall be able to
watch it from the small window, tonight. The thought came to me, to
bring him into the house for the night; but consideration has decided
me, to let him remain out. I cannot say that the house is, in any
degree, less to be feared than the gardens. Pepper was in the house,
and yet.... It is now two o'clock. Since eight, I have watched the kennel, from the
small, side window in my study. Yet, nothing has occurred, and I am too
tired to watch longer. I will go to bed....

During the night, I was restless. This is unusual for me; but, toward
morning, I obtained a few hours' sleep. I rose early, and, after breakfast, visited the dog. He was quiet; but
morose, and refused to leave his kennel. I wish there was some horse
doctor near here; I would have the poor brute looked to. All day, he has
taken no food; but has shown an evident desire for water--lapping it up,
greedily. I was relieved to observe this. The evening has come, and I am in my study. I intend to follow my plan
of last night, and watch the kennel. The door, leading into the garden,
is bolted, securely. I am consciously glad there are bars to the
windows....

Night:--Midnight has gone. The dog has been silent, up to the present. Through the side window, on my left, I can make out, dimly, the outlines
of the kennel. For the first time, the dog moves, and I hear the rattle
of his chain. I look out, quickly. As I stare, the dog moves again,
restlessly, and I see a small patch of luminous light, shine from the
interior of the kennel. It vanishes; then the dog stirs again, and, once
more, the gleam comes. I am puzzled. The dog is quiet, and I can see the
luminous thing, plainly. It shows distinctly. There is something
familiar about the shape of it. For a moment, I wonder; then it comes to
me, that it is not unlike the four fingers and thumb of a hand. Like a
hand! And I remember the contour of that fearsome wound on the dog's
side. It must be the wound I see. It is luminous at night--Why? The
minutes pass. My mind is filled with this fresh thing.... Suddenly, I hear a sound, out in the gardens. How it thrills through
me. It is approaching. Pad, pad, pad. A prickly sensation traverses my
spine, and seems to creep across my scalp. The dog moves in his kennel,
and whimpers, frightenedly. He must have turned 'round; for, now, I can
no longer see the outline of his shining wound. Outside, the gardens are silent, once more, and I listen, fearfully. A
minute passes, and another; then I hear the padding sound, again. It is
quite close, and appears to be coming down the graveled path. The noise
is curiously measured and deliberate. It ceases outside the door; and I
rise to my feet, and stand motionless. From the door, comes a slight
sound--the latch is being slowly raised. A singing noise is in my ears,
and I have a sense of pressure about the head--

The latch drops, with a sharp click, into the catch. The noise startles
me afresh; jarring, horribly, on my tense nerves. After that, I stand,
for a long while, amid an ever-growing quietness. All at once, my knees
begin to tremble, and I have to sit, quickly. An uncertain period of time passes, and, gradually, I begin to shake
off the feeling of terror, that has possessed me. Yet, still I sit. I
seem to have lost the power of movement. I am strangely tired, and
inclined to doze. My eyes open and close, and, presently, I find myself
falling asleep, and waking, in fits and starts. It is some time later, that I am sleepily aware that one of the candles
is guttering. When I wake again, it has gone out, and the room is very
dim, under the light of the one remaining flame. The semi-darkness
troubles me little. I have lost that awful sense of dread, and my only
desire seems to be to sleep--sleep. Suddenly, although there is no noise, I am awake--wide awake. I am
acutely conscious of the nearness of some mystery, of some overwhelming
Presence. The very air seems pregnant with terror. I sit huddled, and
just listen, intently. Still, there is no sound. Nature, herself, seems
dead. Then, the oppressive stillness is broken by a little eldritch
scream of wind, that sweeps 'round the house, and dies away, remotely. I let my gaze wander across the half-lighted room. By the great clock
in the far corner, is a dark, tall shadow. For a short instant, I stare,
frightenedly. Then, I see that it is nothing, and am, momentarily,
relieved. In the time that follows, the thought flashes through my brain, why
not leave this house--this house of mystery and terror? Then, as though
in answer, there sweeps up, across my sight, a vision of the wondrous
Sea of Sleep,--the Sea of Sleep where she and I have been allowed to
meet, after the years of separation and sorrow; and I know that I shall
stay on here, whatever happens. Through the side window, I note the somber blackness of the night. My
glance wanders away, and 'round the room; resting on one shadowy object
and another. Suddenly, I turn, and look at the window on my right; as I
do so, I breathe quickly, and bend forward, with a frightened gaze at
something outside the window, but close to the bars. I am looking at a
vast, misty swine-face, over which fluctuates a flamboyant flame, of a
greenish hue. It is the Thing from the arena. The quivering mouth seems
to drip with a continual, phosphorescent slaver. The eyes are staring
straight into the room, with an inscrutable expression. Thus, I sit
rigidly--frozen. The Thing has begun to move. It is turning, slowly, in my direction. Its face is coming 'round toward me. It sees me. Two huge, inhumanly
human, eyes are looking through the dimness at me. I am cold with fear;
yet, even now, I am keenly conscious, and note, in an irrelevant way,
that the distant stars are blotted out by the mass of the giant face. A fresh horror has come to me. I am rising from my chair, without the
least intention. I am on my feet, and something is impelling me toward
the door that leads out into the gardens. I wish to stop; but cannot. Some immutable power is opposed to my will, and I go slowly forward,
unwilling and resistant. My glance flies 'round the room, helplessly,
and stops at the window. The great swine-face has disappeared, and I
hear, again, that stealthy pad, pad, pad. It stops outside the
door--the door toward which I am being compelled.... There succeeds a short, intense silence; then there comes a sound. It
is the rattle of the latch, being slowly lifted. At that, I am filled
with desperation. I will not go forward another step. I make a vast
effort to return; but it is, as though I press back, upon an invisible
wall. I groan out loud, in the agony of my fear, and the sound of my
voice is frightening. Again comes that rattle, and I shiver, clammily. I
try--aye, fight and struggle, to hold back, _back_; but it is no use....