-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Говард Лавкрафт
-
- Ужас Данвича
-
- Стр. 19/20
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
It
is
almost
erroneous
to
call
them
sounds
at
all
,
since
so
much
of
their
ghastly
,
infra-bass
timbre
spoke
to
dim
seats
of
consciousness
and
terror
far
subtler
than
the
ear
;
yet
one
must
do
so
,
since
their
form
was
indisputably
though
vaguely
that
of
half-articulate
words
.
They
were
loud
--
loud
as
the
rumblings
and
the
thunder
above
which
they
echoed
--
yet
did
they
come
from
no
visible
being
.
And
because
imagination
might
suggest
a
conjectural
source
in
the
world
of
non-visible
beings
,
the
huddled
crowd
at
the
mountain
's
base
huddled
still
closer
,
and
winced
as
if
in
expectation
of
a
blow
.
Ygnailh
...
ygnaiih
...
thflthkh
'n
gha
...
Yog
--
Sothoth
...
rang
the
hideous
croaking
out
of
space
.
Y'
bthnk
...
h
'
ehye
--
n'grkdl
'
lh
...
The
speaking
impulse
seemed
to
falter
here
,
as
if
some
frightful
psychic
struggle
were
going
on
.
Henry
Wheeler
strained
his
eye
at
the
telescope
,
but
saw
only
the
three
grotesquely
silhouetted
human
figures
on
the
peak
,
all
moving
their
arms
furiously
in
strange
gestures
as
their
incantation
drew
near
its
culmination
.
From
what
black
wells
of
Acherontic
fear
or
feeling
,
from
what
unplumbed
gulfs
of
extra-cosmic
consciousness
or
obscure
,
long-latent
heredity
,
were
those
half-articulate
thunder-croakings
drawn
?
Presently
they
began
to
gather
renewed
force
and
coherence
as
they
grew
in
stark
,
utter
,
ultimate
frenzy
.
Eh-y-ya-ya-yahaah
--
e
'
yayayaaaa
...
ngh
'
aaaaa
...
ngh
'
aaa
...
h
'
yuh
...
h
'
yuh
...
HELP
!
HELP
!
...
ff
--
ff
--
ff
--
FATHER
!
FATHER
!
YOG-SOTHOTH
!
...
But
that
was
all
.
The
pallid
group
in
the
road
,
still
reeling
at
the
indisputably
English
syllables
that
had
poured
thickly
and
thunderously
down
from
the
frantic
vacancy
beside
that
shocking
altar-stone
,
were
never
to
hear
such
syllables
again
.
Instead
,
they
jumped
violently
at
the
terrific
report
which
seemed
to
rend
the
hills
;
the
deafening
,
cataclysmic
peal
whose
source
,
be
it
inner
earth
or
sky
,
no
hearer
was
ever
able
to
place
.
A
single
lightning
bolt
shot
from
the
purple
zenith
to
the
altar-stone
,
and
a
great
tidal
wave
of
viewless
force
and
indescribable
stench
swept
down
from
the
hill
to
all
the
countryside
.
Trees
,
grass
,
and
under-brush
were
whipped
into
a
fury
;
and
the
frightened
crowd
at
the
mountain
's
base
,
weakened
by
the
lethal
foetor
that
seemed
about
to
asphyxiate
them
,
were
almost
hurled
off
their
feet
.
Dogs
howled
from
the
distance
,
green
grass
and
foliage
wilted
to
a
curious
,
sickly
yellow-grey
,
and
over
field
and
forest
were
scattered
the
bodies
of
dead
whippoorwills
.
The
stench
left
quickly
,
but
the
vegetation
never
came
right
again
.
To
this
day
there
is
something
queer
and
unholy
about
the
growths
on
and
around
that
fearsome
hill
Curtis
Whateley
was
only
just
regaining
consciousness
when
the
Arkham
men
came
slowly
down
the
mountain
in
the
beams
of
a
sunlight
once
more
brilliant
and
untainted
.
They
were
grave
and
quiet
,
and
seemed
shaken
by
memories
and
reflections
even
more
terrible
than
those
which
had
reduced
the
group
of
natives
to
a
state
of
cowed
quivering
.
In
reply
to
a
jumble
of
questions
they
only
shook
their
heads
and
reaffirmed
one
vital
fact
.
'
The
thing
has
gone
for
ever
,
'
Armitage
said
.
'
It
has
been
split
up
into
what
it
was
originally
made
of
,
and
can
never
exist
again
.
It
was
an
impossibility
in
a
normal
world
.
Only
the
least
fraction
was
really
matter
in
any
sense
we
know
.
It
was
like
its
father
--
and
most
of
it
has
gone
back
to
him
in
some
vague
realm
or
dimension
outside
our
material
universe
;
some
vague
abyss
out
of
which
only
the
most
accursed
rites
of
human
blasphemy
could
ever
have
called
him
for
a
moment
on
the
hills
.
'
There
was
a
brief
silence
,
and
in
that
pause
the
scattered
senses
of
poor
Curtis
Whateley
began
to
knit
back
into
a
sort
of
continuity
;
so
that
he
put
his
hands
to
his
head
with
a
moan
.
Memory
seemed
to
pick
itself
up
where
it
had
left
off
,
and
the
horror
of
the
sight
that
had
prostrated
him
burst
in
upon
him
again
.
'
Oh
,
oh
,
my
Gawd
,
that
haff
face
--
that
haff
face
on
top
of
it
...
that
face
with
the
red
eyes
an
'
crinkly
albino
hair
,
an
'
no
chin
,
like
the
Whateleys
...
It
was
a
octopus
,
centipede
,
spider
kind
o
'
thing
,
but
they
was
a
haff-shaped
man
's
face
on
top
of
it
,
an
'
it
looked
like
Wizard
Whateley
's
,
only
it
was
yards
an
'
yards
acrost
...
'
