The black night oppressed Val as he hastened along the almost blotted-out road towards the old house. He traveled swiftly now, having been over the ground in the afternoon, but he could not throw off the feeling of espionage; the knowledge that he could not shake off this thing that was following him, whether human or something other than human. He laughed to himself, softly, in derision at this unaccustomed emotion of, say, something that was not quite fear, and yet approximated it in some way.
If it were only something that one could grip with both hands, something of fighting flesh and blood, he would not have given it another thought; but it seemed to Val that it was more than that; as he looked around he could see nothing but the inky vegetation at the side of the road, above him was a dull, gray-black sky, with a faint phosphorescence in the east; and around him, all around him, hemming him in on all sides were unseen hands plucking at him to hold him back, almost-heard voices warning him to turn his face away from the old house, nebulous, smoke-like specters which he could not see, yet which he felt he could almost see.
He laughed aloud once, just to hear his voice, and to throw off this feeling; his voice sounded strange and unaccustomed in the night air, as though it be-
