Emmet Telquist, the village outcast, the bitter misanthropic issue of
an infamous father and a mother who had died insane, regarded the book
as a sudden treasure, a secret storehouse of knowledge and power which
would enable him to compete with his more successful neighbors. He had always been an outsider, a misfit, the subject of vindictive
local gossip and criticism. He had always felt himself more or less
allied to inhuman laws and agencies. His uncle, the only relative he ever remembered, had been a sour,
black-hearted brooding old man who tolerated him only because of the
chores and errands which he performed. He never had had the slightest
doubt that his uncle would have disowned him utterly had he not been a
useful drudge. The bond of blood would have been meaningless to the old
man. As a matter of fact, had it not been for his sudden and somewhat
mysterious death, the scoundrel probably would have seen to it that
his nephew inherited only black memories. But since no will had been
located, Emmet Telquist had gained possession of his uncle's rambling
farm house and such meager chattels as it contained. But as he squinted eagerly at the quaint faded hand-writing of the
necromancer, Theophilis Wenn, Telquist began to believe that the
manuscript book was by far the most valuable item which his evil
relative had unintentionally put into his hands. Furthermore, a number of matters which had always puzzled him in the
past became less baffling. He had often wondered about the peculiar
behavior of his uncle--his long absences from the house, especially at
night, the muttering and mumbling which frequently came from his room,
his unexplained sources of income. With a sense of mounting suspense and expectation, he turned the pages
whereon the seventh incantation was inscribed. It was written in a
peculiar bluish-grey ink which seemed faintly phosphorescent. He did
not dare to read the words; he merely glanced at them, ascertaining
that they were what appeared to be merely a jumble of meaningless vowel
sounds frequently interspersed with the name "Nyogtha." Grinning slyly to himself, he turned back the pages and reread the
paragraph which served as an introduction and explanation of the
incantations. Well he knew what Theophilis Wenn had in mind when he
referred to the "bloodie altar of the Old Ones"! He, Emmet Telquist,
had seen such an altar. Although that had been years before when the swamp was not as nearly
impassable as it had since become, he had no doubt that he could locate
the accursed sacrificial cromlech. How well he remembered crawling
along the faint raised pathway which wound through the swamp! The
sudden, unexpected knoll, dark, somehow, even in the mid-day sunlight,
the circle of huge monoliths, the mound in the center, the enormous
flat slab on its top, rusty red with an unspeakable eldrich stain which
even the rains and winds of centuries could not blot out! He had never spoken of his discovery to anyone. The swamp was a
forbidden place--ostensibly because of rumored quicksands and poisonous
serpents. But on more than one occasion he had seen old-time villagers
cross themselves when mention was made of the area. And it was said
that even hunting dogs would abandon the pursuit of game which fled
into its fastnesses. Already anticipating the power which would ultimately be his, Emmet
Telquist began to formulate plans. He would not make the mistake of
the unfortunate Saracen sorcerer, Mal Lazal. Although he did not quite
dare to take the necessary steps to secure a human sacrifice, "a childe
or chaste maid", a sheep should be relatively easy to obtain. He could
steal one at night from any of the several village flocks. He knew all
the woods and lanes and would be safely away with his prize long before
the loss was discovered. The night before the advent of the full moon, he slipped into a nearby
pasture where sheep were grazed and made away with a fine fat ewe,
shoving and dragging it over a stone wall and then leading it off along
circuitous back roads and grass-grown lanes. The next day he paid a stealthy visit to the environs of the forbidden
swamp, exploring the rank underbrush until he discovered the start of
the faint trail down which he had stolen years before. Although it was
partially obliterated by a thick growth of sedges, vines and lush swamp
grass, there were indications that deer used it occasionally. Probably
patience would be required to force a way through, but at least the
path should not be impassable. Carefully noting its location, he returned home and completed his
preparations for the evening. Shortly before eleven o'clock he crept into the shed where he had
tethered the ewe and led it forth into the moonlight. The countryside was steeped in a bewitching silver light. He
experienced no difficulties in reaching the swamp and after some little
searching located the narrow trail. But as he plunged into the shoulder-high grass, the tether tightened
in his hand. The ewe strained against the rope, its eyes suddenly wild
with fright. Cursing, he scrambled around and kicked it brutally. It bolted forward
a few yards and stopped. Grimly determined, he tightened the tether
until it cut through the ewe's wool into its hide. He made progress by the foot and by the inch. The ewe had to be dragged
and shoved at regular intervals. And as he penetrated toward the
heart of the swamp, the increasing height and thickness of the lush
undergrowth made passage more difficult. Moonlight filtered down eerily among the trees and on all sides
treacherous pools gleamed silver-black in the shadowy darkness. Occasionally hidden watchers stared at him out of the depths and
quite often enormous toads hopped into the path and regarded him with
their amber eyes. They seemed to be devoid of fear, almost as if they
considered the swamp their special domain and deemed him incapable of
harming them. He began to imagine there was something vaguely malignant
about them. He had never seen them so large before, nor in such
numbers. But probably that was merely because they were left unmolested
in the swamp to breed and develop without encountering the artificial
obstacles which would inevitably prevail in any less shunned area. As he pushed into the heart of the swamp, the gathering silence became
oppressive. The ordinary night sounds ceased altogether and only his
own strained breathing broke the silence. The ewe became more obstinate
than ever; all his strength was required to drag it along. It appeared,
he imagined, to sense the fate which awaited it. Suddenly, so suddenly that he nearly cried aloud in astonishment, the
underbrush ended and he was standing at the base of the unhallowed
knoll. It was just as he had remembered it--huge menhirs standing in a rough
circle about a central mound upon which lay a large flat slab of a dark
hue which did not match the color of the surrounding monoliths.