discerned that even the dog’s bite marks were healed. “That’s amazin’. I carn’t thank yew enough, Wilbur.”
“Warn’t nuthin’,” he said, then loped toward the desk. But something caught his eye on the big table.
“Oh, I see ye took a look at the Necronomicon. ”
“Huh?”
“The big book with the hinges,” he clarified, regarding the creepy tome she’d peeked at.
“Wal, yeah,” she confessed. “Hope ya en’t mad—”
“Naw.” He flipped to a few age-fattened pages. “Probably nuthin’ in it ye’d understant no ways, nor be interested in.”
Sary was relieved that he didn’t consider her “peek” a trespass into his privacy. “My mother teached me ta read a little, but I couldn’t make hardly nothin’ aout’a all them fancy words. I just thought it was a Bible.”
“Wal, it ‘tis in a manner.” Wilbur’s peculiarly dark eyes remained focused on the pages he scanned. “Been somethin’ I study quite a bit. Only problem is there be some flawed incantations.”
Sary cast a querying glance. “What’s that mean?”
Hinges creaked when he closed the prodigious book. “My grandsire tolt me that when this heer copy be translated inta English, someone monkeyed with the words—on purpose probably—so’s ta take away the book’s...what was that word he used? Efficacy, I think. Ee-yuh. The monkeyin’ took off the book’s efficacy, which means some’a its best parts wun’t work.”
By now, Sary’s not-terribly-formidable intellect had lost all comprehension as to what the giant man might mean; but, so not to feel stupid, she merely gave a nod, and said, “Oh.”
Next, Wilbur’s large-pored face glanced frustratedly to the map pinned to the wall.
That college in Arkham, Sary recalled. And sumpthin’ wrote on it abaout books...
“So’s naow I got ta go back to Miskatonic and get me another look at the unflawed copy they got thar.”
“Go back? Yew mean ya already been?”
“Ee-yuh. Onct.” In his tone, there came a negative inference regarding the excursion. “But the man runs the library thar, he en’t much. Armitage be his name. Treated me like I be scum’n sent me aout.”
Sary felt badly for her friend’s frustration, but all she could offer was, “Wal, then, ain’t it likely he’ll send ya aout again?”
Wilbur’s look to her might have been called desperate and pleading. But of her question, he added nothing.
Her generally unfired libido still raged betwixt her thighs, yet other questions battled with it, questions she burned to ask. Like: what was Wilbur keeping in the big house, and why had he deposited the dead dog in it? What could account for the extensiveness of the interior planks, timbers, wall- and door-frames, etc. that had been piled outside? And—
What be them weird white ball-things in the crook of the bush?
Better judgment prevailed, however, not typical of her. Why ask stuff that don’t be none’a my business? And in a moment, she felt her eyelids droop; a drowse was coming on with promptitude.
Wilbur had taken a seat at the big desk with all the slots. “I’ll jess be a little while heer,” and then he appeared—pen in hand—to devote his attention to the sheets of paper Sary had seen, those filled with writing whose words were constituted in an alphabet she’d never seen. But this was all she remembered observing before her fatigue pulled her down on the cot...
In the sweet, scintillant darkness behind her sleeping mind’s eye, she dreamed of Wilbur lying beside her, kissing her...
Some time later, when her eyes fluttered open, she could tell by the tiny windows that the sun had moved considerably. She yawned and sat back up, surprised. “Why, I must’a been asleep.”
“Ee-yuh,” Wilbur replied. He remained scribbling at the monumental desk. “Ye needed it. ‘Baout an hour ye was out, I’d say.”
She felt energized now, in her mind, but also in her nerves. That dream, short and incomplete as it had been,
“Warn’t nuthin’,” he said, then loped toward the desk. But something caught his eye on the big table.
“Oh, I see ye took a look at the Necronomicon. ”
“Huh?”
“The big book with the hinges,” he clarified, regarding the creepy tome she’d peeked at.
“Wal, yeah,” she confessed. “Hope ya en’t mad—”
“Naw.” He flipped to a few age-fattened pages. “Probably nuthin’ in it ye’d understant no ways, nor be interested in.”
Sary was relieved that he didn’t consider her “peek” a trespass into his privacy. “My mother teached me ta read a little, but I couldn’t make hardly nothin’ aout’a all them fancy words. I just thought it was a Bible.”
“Wal, it ‘tis in a manner.” Wilbur’s peculiarly dark eyes remained focused on the pages he scanned. “Been somethin’ I study quite a bit. Only problem is there be some flawed incantations.”
Sary cast a querying glance. “What’s that mean?”
Hinges creaked when he closed the prodigious book. “My grandsire tolt me that when this heer copy be translated inta English, someone monkeyed with the words—on purpose probably—so’s ta take away the book’s...what was that word he used? Efficacy, I think. Ee-yuh. The monkeyin’ took off the book’s efficacy, which means some’a its best parts wun’t work.”
By now, Sary’s not-terribly-formidable intellect had lost all comprehension as to what the giant man might mean; but, so not to feel stupid, she merely gave a nod, and said, “Oh.”
Next, Wilbur’s large-pored face glanced frustratedly to the map pinned to the wall.
That college in Arkham, Sary recalled. And sumpthin’ wrote on it abaout books...
“So’s naow I got ta go back to Miskatonic and get me another look at the unflawed copy they got thar.”
“Go back? Yew mean ya already been?”
“Ee-yuh. Onct.” In his tone, there came a negative inference regarding the excursion. “But the man runs the library thar, he en’t much. Armitage be his name. Treated me like I be scum’n sent me aout.”
Sary felt badly for her friend’s frustration, but all she could offer was, “Wal, then, ain’t it likely he’ll send ya aout again?”
Wilbur’s look to her might have been called desperate and pleading. But of her question, he added nothing.
Her generally unfired libido still raged betwixt her thighs, yet other questions battled with it, questions she burned to ask. Like: what was Wilbur keeping in the big house, and why had he deposited the dead dog in it? What could account for the extensiveness of the interior planks, timbers, wall- and door-frames, etc. that had been piled outside? And—
What be them weird white ball-things in the crook of the bush?
Better judgment prevailed, however, not typical of her. Why ask stuff that don’t be none’a my business? And in a moment, she felt her eyelids droop; a drowse was coming on with promptitude.
Wilbur had taken a seat at the big desk with all the slots. “I’ll jess be a little while heer,” and then he appeared—pen in hand—to devote his attention to the sheets of paper Sary had seen, those filled with writing whose words were constituted in an alphabet she’d never seen. But this was all she remembered observing before her fatigue pulled her down on the cot...
In the sweet, scintillant darkness behind her sleeping mind’s eye, she dreamed of Wilbur lying beside her, kissing her...
Some time later, when her eyes fluttered open, she could tell by the tiny windows that the sun had moved considerably. She yawned and sat back up, surprised. “Why, I must’a been asleep.”
“Ee-yuh,” Wilbur replied. He remained scribbling at the monumental desk. “Ye needed it. ‘Baout an hour ye was out, I’d say.”
She felt energized now, in her mind, but also in her nerves. That dream, short and incomplete as it had been,
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