Henry Kuttner

“ Then he laughed to himself, for the rat had suddenly whisked aside and disappeared into a little hole in the cellar wall. Idly he scratched a cross with his toe in the dirt before the burrow, deciding that he would set a trap there in the morning.
The rat's snout and ragged whiskers protruded cautiously. It moved forward and then hesitated, drew back. Then the animal began to act in a singular and unaccountable manner—almost as though it were dancing, Carson thought. ”

“ His publishers shook their heads and wondered why such a brilliant writer of popular fiction had suddenly become infatuated with the weird and ghastly.
"It's powerful stuff," one man told Carson, as he handed back his novel, Black God of Madness. "It's remarkable in its way, but it's morbid and horrible. Nobody would read it. Carson, why don't you write the type of novel you used to do, the kind that made you famous?"
It was then that Carson broke his vow never to speak of the Witch Room, and he poured out the entire story, hoping for understanding and belief. ”

“ It is possible to bridge that gulf. The Witch Room is such a bridge! Do you know what a whispering-gallery is?"
"Eh?" Carson said, staring. "But there's no—"
"An analogy—merely an analogy. A man may whisper a word in gallery—or a cave—and if you are standing in a certain spot a hundred feet away you will hear that whisper, although someone ten feet away will not. It's a simple trick of acoustics—bringing the sound to a focal point. And this principle can be applied to other things besides sound. To any wave impulse—even to thought!"
Carson tried to interrupt, but Leigh kept on. ”

“ Carson was on his feet, his eyes burning with a strange light. "In God's name, man, do you know what you're saying?"
Leigh laughed harshly. "God's name! The devil's name, rather—the devil that menaces Salem at this moment; for Salem is in danger, terrible danger. The men and women and children of the town Abbie Prinn cursed when they bound her to the stake—and found they couldn't burn her! ”

“ Carson snapped in a sudden blaze of anger. "All I want,is to be left alone to finish my novel. I can't work anywhere else—I don't want to, I won't—"
"I expected this," Leigh said, his voice suddenly quiet, and with a strange note of sympathy. "Man, you can't get away! You're caught in the trap, and it's too late for you to extricate yourself so long as Abbie Prinn's brain controls you through the Witch Room. And the worst part of it is that she can only manifest herself with your aid—she drains your life forces, Carson, feeds on you like a vampire." "You're mad," Carson said dully. ”

“ But until the novel is finished I intend to stay here."
Leigh rubbed his chin. "Indeed. I can understand your point of view. But—is there no other place in the house where you can work?" He watched Carson's face for a moment, and then went on swiftly.
"I don't expect you to believe me. You are a materialist. Most people are. But there are a few of us who know that above and beyond what men call science there is a greater science that is built on laws and principles which to the average man would be almost incomprehensible. ”

“ He extracted a card and offered it to Carson.
"Michael Leigh . . . occultist, eh?" Carson repeated. He drew a deep breath. The occultists, he had found, were the worst, with their dark hints of nameless things and their profound interest in the mosaic pattern on the floor of the Witch Room. "I'm sorry, Mr. Leigh, but—I'm really quite busy. ”

“ That iron disk in the Witch Room—I'm afraid of that, and what's under it. Abbie Prinn served strange gods, Carson—and I read something on the wall of that alcove that gave me a hint. Have you ever heard of Nyogtha?"
Carson shook his head impatiently. Leigh fumbled in a pocket, drew out a scrap of paper. "I copied this from a book in the Kester Library," he said, "a book called the Necronomicon, written by a man who delved so deeply into forbidden secrets that men called him mad. Read this." ”

“ Most of the lines and figures radiated from a definite point: the center of the chamber, where there was a circular disk of dead black stone perhaps two feet in diameter.
It was very silent. The sounds of the cars that occasionally went past overhead in Derby Street could not be heard. In a shallow alcove in the wall Carson caught a glimpse of markings on the walls, and he moved slowly in that direction, the beam of his light traveling up and down the walls of the niche. ”

“ It's quiet—I found I couldn't work upstairs. Too noisy. But this is ideal—somehow I find it very easy to write here. My mind feels"—he hesitated—"free; that is, disassociated with other things. It's quite an unusual feeling." ”

“ For Class A renewals records (books only) published between 1923 and 1963, check the Stanford University Copyright Renewal Database. For other renewal records of publications between 1922–1950 see the University of Pennsylvania copyright records scans. For all records since 1978, search the U.S. Copyright Office records. See also the Rutgers copyright renewal records for further information. Works published in 1937 would have had to renew their copyright in either 1964 or 1965, i.e. ”