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- Говард Лавкрафт
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- Стр. 29/38
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According
to
the
carvings
from
which
we
had
made
our
map
,
the
desired
tunnel
mouth
could
not
be
much
more
than
a
quarter
of
a
mile
from
where
we
stood
;
the
intervening
space
showing
solid-looking
buildings
quite
likely
to
be
penetrable
still
at
a
sub-glacial
level
.
The
opening
itself
would
be
in
the
basement
--
on
the
angle
nearest
the
foothills
--
of
a
vast
five-pointed
structure
of
evidently
public
and
perhaps
ceremonial
nature
,
which
we
tried
to
identify
from
our
aerial
survey
of
the
ruins
.
No
such
structure
came
to
our
minds
as
we
recalled
our
flight
,
hence
we
concluded
that
its
upper
parts
had
been
greatly
damaged
,
or
that
it
had
been
totally
shattered
in
an
ice
rift
we
had
noticed
.
In
the
latter
case
the
tunnel
would
probably
turn
out
to
be
choked
,
so
that
we
would
have
to
try
the
next
nearest
one
--
the
one
less
than
a
mile
to
the
north
.
The
intervening
river
course
prevented
our
trying
any
of
the
more
southern
tunnels
on
this
trip
;
and
indeed
,
if
both
of
the
neighboring
ones
were
choked
it
was
doubtful
whether
our
batteries
would
warrant
an
attempt
on
the
next
northerly
one
--
about
a
mile
beyond
our
second
choice
.
As
we
threaded
our
dim
way
through
the
labyrinth
with
the
aid
of
map
and
compass
--
traversing
rooms
and
corridors
in
every
stage
of
ruin
or
preservation
,
clambering
up
ramps
,
crossing
upper
floors
and
bridges
and
clambering
down
again
,
encountering
choked
doorways
and
piles
of
debris
,
hastening
now
and
then
along
finely
preserved
and
uncannily
immaculate
stretches
,
taking
false
leads
and
retracing
our
way
(
in
such
cases
removing
the
blind
paper
trail
we
had
left
)
,
and
once
in
a
while
striking
the
bottom
of
an
open
shaft
through
which
daylight
poured
or
trickled
down
--
we
were
repeatedly
tantalized
by
the
sculptured
walls
along
our
route
.
Many
must
have
told
tales
of
immense
historical
importance
,
and
only
the
prospect
of
later
visits
reconciled
us
to
the
need
of
passing
them
by
.
As
it
was
,
we
slowed
down
once
in
a
while
and
turned
on
our
second
torch
.
If
we
had
had
more
films
,
we
would
certainly
have
paused
briefly
to
photograph
certain
bas-reliefs
,
but
time-consuming
hand-copying
was
clearly
out
of
the
question
.
I
come
now
once
more
to
a
place
where
the
temptation
to
hesitate
,
or
to
hint
rather
than
state
,
is
very
strong
.
It
is
necessary
,
however
,
to
reveal
the
rest
in
order
to
justify
my
course
in
discouraging
further
exploration
.
We
had
wormed
our
way
very
close
to
the
computed
site
of
the
tunnel
's
mouth
--
having
crossed
a
second-story
bridge
to
what
seemed
plainly
the
tip
of
a
pointed
wall
,
and
descended
to
a
ruinous
corridor
especially
rich
in
decadently
elaborate
and
apparently
ritualistic
sculptures
of
late
workmanship
--
when
,
shortly
before
8:30
P.M.
,
Danforth
's
keen
young
nostrils
gave
us
the
first
hint
of
something
unusual
.
If
we
had
had
a
dog
with
us
,
I
suppose
we
would
have
been
warned
before
.
At
first
we
could
not
precisely
say
what
was
wrong
with
the
formerly
crystal-pure
air
,
but
after
a
few
seconds
our
memories
reacted
only
too
definitely
.
Let
me
try
to
state
the
thing
without
flinching
.
There
was
an
odor
--
and
that
odor
was
vaguely
,
subtly
,
and
unmistakably
akin
to
what
had
nauseated
us
upon
opening
the
insane
grave
of
the
horror
poor
Lake
had
dissected
.
Of
course
the
revelation
was
not
as
clearly
cut
at
the
time
as
it
sounds
now
.
There
were
several
conceivable
explanations
,
and
we
did
a
good
deal
of
indecisive
whispering
.
Most
important
of
all
,
we
did
not
retreat
without
further
investigation
;
for
having
come
this
far
,
we
were
loath
to
be
balked
by
anything
short
of
certain
disaster
.
Anyway
,
what
we
must
have
suspected
was
altogether
too
wild
to
believe
.
Such
things
did
not
happen
in
any
normal
world
.
It
was
probably
sheer
irrational
instinct
which
made
us
dim
our
single
torch
--
tempted
no
longer
by
the
decadent
and
sinister
sculptures
that
leered
menacingly
from
the
oppressive
walls
--
and
which
softened
our
progress
to
a
cautious
tiptoeing
and
crawling
over
the
increasingly
littered
floor
and
heaps
of
debris
.
Danforth
's
eyes
as
well
as
nose
proved
better
than
mine
,
for
it
was
likewise
he
who
first
noticed
the
queer
aspect
of
the
debris
after
we
had
passed
many
half-choked
arches
leading
to
chambers
and
corridors
on
the
ground
level
.
It
did
not
look
quite
as
it
ought
after
countless
thousands
of
years
of
desertion
,
and
when
we
cautiously
turned
on
more
light
we
saw
that
a
kind
of
swath
seemed
to
have
been
lately
tracked
through
it
.
The
irregular
nature
of
the
litter
precluded
any
definite
marks
,
but
in
the
smoother
places
there
were
suggestions
of
the
dragging
of
heavy
objects
.
Once
we
thought
there
was
a
hint
of
parallel
tracks
as
if
of
runners
.
This
was
what
made
us
pause
again
.
It
was
during
that
pause
that
we
caught
--
simultaneously
this
time
--
the
other
odor
ahead
.
Paradoxically
,
it
was
both
a
less
frightful
and
more
frightful
odor
--
less
frightful
intrinsically
,
but
infinitely
appalling
in
this
place
under
the
known
circumstances
--
unless
,
of
course
,
Gedney
--
for
the
odor
was
the
plain
and
familiar
one
of
common
petrol
--
every-day
gasoline
.
Our
motivation
after
that
is
something
I
will
leave
to
psychologists
.
We
knew
now
that
some
terrible
extension
of
the
camp
horrors
must
have
crawled
into
this
nighted
burial
place
of
the
aeons
,
hence
could
not
doubt
any
longer
the
existence
of
nameless
conditions
--
present
or
at
least
recent
just
ahead
.
Yet
in
the
end
we
did
let
sheer
burning
curiosity
--
or
anxiety
--
or
autohypnotism
--
or
vague
thoughts
of
responsibility
toward
Gedney
--
or
what
not
--
drive
us
on
.
Danforth
whispered
again
of
the
print
he
thought
he
had
seen
at
the
alley
turning
in
the
ruins
above
;
and
of
the
faint
musical
piping
--
potentially
of
tremendous
significance
in
the
light
of
Lake
's
dissection
report
,
despite
its
close
resemblance
to
the
cave-mouth
echoes
of
the
windy
peaks
--
which
he
thought
he
had
shortly
afterward
half
heard
from
unknown
depths
below
.
I
,
in
my
turn
,
whispered
of
how
the
camp
was
left
--
of
what
had
disappeared
,
and
of
how
the
madness
of
a
lone
survivor
might
have
conceived
the
inconceivable
--
a
wild
trip
across
the
monstrous
mountains
and
a
descent
into
the
unknown
,
primal
masonry
.
But
we
could
not
convince
each
other
,
or
even
ourselves
,
of
anything
definite
.
We
had
turned
off
all
light
as
we
stood
still
,
and
vaguely
noticed
that
a
trace
of
deeply
filtered
upper
day
kept
the
blackness
from
being
absolute
.
Having
automatically
begun
to
move
ahead
,
we
guided
ourselves
by
occasional
flashes
from
our
torch
.
The
disturbed
debris
formed
an
impression
we
could
not
shake
off
,
and
the
smell
of
gasoline
grew
stronger
.
More
and
more
ruin
met
our
eyes
and
hampered
our
feet
,
until
very
soon
we
saw
that
the
forward
way
was
about
to
cease
.
We
had
been
all
too
correct
in
our
pessimistic
guess
about
that
rift
glimpsed
from
the
air
.
Our
tunnel
quest
was
a
blind
one
,
and
we
were
not
even
going
to
be
able
to
reach
the
basement
out
of
which
the
abyssward
aperture
opened
.
