Chapter 1
Wilmarth woke up screaming. Droplets of sweat ran down his pale face, joining together and then spreading out in different directions. Whole body trembled, and the words "we're close" thundered in his head.
The young man sat up on the bed abruptly and, being perplexed, tried to reproduce in his mind the dream that had frightened the poor man so much. Only vague images surfaced in his mind, but he knew for sure that he was somewhere in the mountains. Then a voice seemed the loud buzzing of an insect pierced his body: "We are close”.
Willmarth sat in a daze. "No, it can't be, not again…" He clutched his head convulsively with his hands and collapsed back into bed. A little over a year had passed since the events of that horrible night. For the first few months he'd struggled to find a place for himself, persecution mania had taken over what was left of his mind, spies had been found at every turn, and the flat in Arkham seemed to him like an aquarium, constantly watched over by a pair of eyes, if you could match their ugly pink sprouts to eyes, of course.
He moved to Arkham after graduating from university. He liked the atmosphere of the bustling city, and the proximity to the river gave him an excuse to walk around more. But most of all he liked wandering just beyond Lang's Inn, where a strip of woods began. Wandering among the trees, he felt a sense of freedom, and the place gave him strength. The sight of nature in its natural beauty seemed to indicate to Wilmart that his place was here on Earth, not in the depths of the universe on some Yuggot.
It was a hot July day, so after stomping on the jetty in the blazing sun and realising that he could no longer look at the dazzling river, he decided to go to his favourite spot to take a break from the summer heat under the wide canopy of trees. When he reached the spot, he sat down on a large fallen tree and exposed his face to the sunlight scattered across the leaves, letting it flow freely from his nose to his chin and back again. There was, as always, no one around, just him, the forest, the chirping of birds and…
Walter listened. The chirping of the birds… it wasn't there. There was nothing at all. No, there was Walter, there was the forest, but there was perfect silence, as if someone had covered the whole world with a pillow. The young man jumped up abruptly and looked around. The scary thoughts were in the back of his head at first, and then gradually moved to his legs, making them tense. He knew WHEN that silence would come, and he knew WHO would follow. The young man rushed towards the hotel, although he was not much liked there for often 'scaring away customers with his strange gait', it was better than facing them.
