Whisperer in the Dark – the Sequel
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Wilmarth woke up screaming. Droplets of sweat ran down his pale face, joining together and then spreading out in different directions. Whole body trembled, and the words "we're close" thundered in his head.
The young man sat up on the bed abruptly and, being perplexed, tried to reproduce in his mind the dream that had frightened the poor man so much. Only vague images surfaced in his mind, but he knew for sure that he was somewhere in the mountains. Then a voice seemed the loud buzzing of an insect pierced his body: "We are close”.
Willmarth sat in a daze. "No, it can't be, not again…" He clutched his head convulsively with his hands and collapsed back into bed. A little over a year had passed since the events of that horrible night. For the first few months he'd struggled to find a place for himself, persecution mania had taken over what was left of his mind, spies had been found at every turn, and the flat in Arkham seemed to him like an aquarium, constantly watched over by a pair of eyes, if you could match their ugly pink sprouts to eyes, of course.