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- Говард Лавкрафт
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- Тень над Иннсмутом
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- Стр. 6/41
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At
length
the
decrepit
vehicle
stared
with
a
jerk
,
and
rattled
noisily
past
the
old
brick
buildings
of
State
Street
amidst
a
cloud
of
vapour
from
the
exhaust
.
Glancing
at
the
people
on
the
sidewalks
,
I
thought
I
detected
in
them
a
curious
wish
to
avoid
looking
at
the
bus
--
or
at
least
a
wish
to
avoid
seeming
to
look
at
it
.
Then
we
turned
to
the
left
into
High
Street
,
where
the
going
was
smoother
;
flying
by
stately
old
mansions
of
the
early
republic
and
still
older
colonial
farmhouses
,
passing
the
Lower
Green
and
Parker
River
,
and
finally
emerging
into
a
long
,
monotonous
stretch
of
open
shore
country
.
The
day
was
warm
and
sunny
,
but
the
landscape
of
sand
and
sedge-grass
,
and
stunted
shrubbery
became
more
and
desolate
as
we
proceeded
.
Out
the
window
I
could
see
the
blue
water
and
the
sandy
line
of
Plum
Island
,
and
we
presently
drew
very
near
the
beach
as
our
narrow
road
veered
off
from
the
main
highway
to
Rowley
and
Ipswich
.
There
were
no
visible
houses
,
and
I
could
tell
by
the
state
of
the
road
that
traffic
was
very
light
hereabouts
.
The
weather-worn
telephone
poles
carried
only
two
wires
.
Now
and
then
we
crossed
crude
wooden
bridges
over
tidal
creeks
that
wound
far
inland
and
promoted
the
general
isolation
of
the
region
.
Once
in
a
while
I
noticed
dead
stumps
and
crumbling
foundation-walls
above
the
drifting
sand
,
and
recalled
the
old
tradition
quoted
in
one
of
the
histories
I
had
read
,
that
this
was
once
a
fertile
and
thickly-settled
countryside
.
The
change
,
it
was
said
,
came
simultaneously
with
the
Innsmouth
epidemic
of
l846
,
and
was
thought
by
simple
folk
to
have
a
dark
connection
with
hidden
forces
of
evil
.
Actually
,
it
was
caused
by
the
unwise
cutting
of
woodlands
near
the
shore
,
which
robbed
the
soil
of
the
best
protection
and
opened
the
way
for
waves
of
wind-blown
sand
.
At
last
we
lost
sight
of
Plum
Island
and
saw
the
vast
expanse
of
the
open
Atlantic
on
our
left
.
Our
narrow
course
began
to
climb
steeply
,
and
I
felt
a
singular
sense
of
disquiet
in
looking
at
the
lonely
crest
ahead
where
the
rutted
road-way
met
the
sky
.
It
was
as
if
the
bus
were
about
to
keep
on
in
its
ascent
,
leaving
the
sane
earth
altogether
and
merging
with
the
unknown
arcana
of
upper
air
and
cryptical
sky
.
The
smell
of
the
sea
took
on
ominous
implications
,
and
the
silent
driver
's
bent
,
rigid
back
and
narrow
head
became
more
and
more
hateful
.
As
I
looked
at
him
I
saw
that
the
back
of
his
head
was
almost
as
hairless
as
his
face
,
having
only
a
few
straggling
yellow
strands
upon
a
grey
scabrous
surface
.
Then
we
reached
the
crest
and
beheld
the
outspread
valley
beyond
,
where
the
Manuxet
joins
the
sea
just
north
of
the
long
line
of
cliffs
that
culminate
in
Kingsport
Head
and
veer
off
toward
Cape
Ann
.
On
the
far
misty
horizon
I
could
just
make
out
the
dizzy
profile
of
the
Head
,
topped
by
the
queer
ancient
house
of
which
so
many
legends
are
told
;
but
for
the
moment
all
my
attention
was
captured
by
the
nearer
panorama
just
below
me
.
I
had
,
I
realized
,
come
face
to
face
with
rumour-shadowed
Innsmouth
.
It
was
a
town
of
wide
extent
and
dense
construction
,
yet
one
with
a
portentous
dearth
of
visible
life
.
From
the
tangle
of
chimney-pots
scarcely
a
wisp
of
smoke
came
,
and
the
three
tall
steeples
loomed
stark
and
unpainted
against
the
seaward
horizon
.
One
of
them
was
crumbling
down
at
the
top
,
and
in
that
and
another
there
were
only
black
gaping
holes
where
clock-dials
should
have
been
.
The
vast
huddle
of
sagging
gambrel
roofs
and
peaked
gables
conveyed
with
offensive
clearness
the
idea
of
wormy
decay
,
and
as
we
approached
along
the
now
descending
road
I
could
see
that
many
roofs
had
wholly
caved
in
.
There
were
some
large
square
Georgian
houses
,
too
,
with
hipped
roofs
,
cupolas
,
and
railed
"
widow
's
walks
.
"
These
were
mostly
well
back
from
the
water
,
and
one
or
two
seemed
to
be
in
moderately
sound
condition
.
Stretching
inland
from
among
them
I
saw
the
rusted
,
grass-grown
line
of
the
abandoned
railway
,
with
leaning
telegraph-poles
now
devoid
of
wires
,
and
the
half-obscured
lines
of
the
old
carriage
roads
to
Rowley
and
Ipswich
.
The
decay
was
worst
close
to
the
waterfront
,
though
in
its
very
midst
I
could
spy
the
white
belfry
of
a
fairly
well
preserved
brick
structure
which
looked
like
a
small
factory
.
The
harbour
,
long
clogged
with
sand
,
was
enclosed
by
an
ancient
stone
breakwater
;
on
which
I
could
begin
to
discern
the
minute
forms
of
a
few
seated
fishermen
,
and
at
whose
end
were
what
looked
like
the
foundations
of
a
bygone
lighthouse
.
A
sandy
tongue
had
formed
inside
this
barrier
and
upon
it
I
saw
a
few
decrepit
cabins
,
moored
dories
,
and
scattered
lobster-pots
.
The
only
deep
water
seemed
to
be
where
the
river
poured
out
past
the
belfried
structure
and
turned
southward
to
join
the
ocean
at
the
breakwater
's
end
.
Here
and
there
the
ruins
of
wharves
jutted
out
from
the
shore
to
end
in
indeterminate
rottenness
,
those
farthest
south
seeming
the
most
decayed
.
And
far
out
at
sea
,
despite
a
high
tide
,
I
glimpsed
a
long
,
black
line
scarcely
rising
above
the
water
yet
carrying
a
suggestion
of
odd
latent
malignancy
.
This
,
I
knew
,
must
be
Devil
Reef
.
As
I
looked
,
a
subtle
,
curious
sense
of
beckoning
seemed
superadded
to
the
grim
repulsion
;
and
oddly
enough
,
I
found
this
overtone
more
disturbing
than
the
primary
impression
.
