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Ah, that, now that's a rather interesting tale-I mean how I came in possession of that.
I took the story from him and shoved it in my coat. Perhaps I'd read it again. My curiosity returned, and along with it a sort of fearful suspicion. Venice, Hong Kong, Miami. How had that strange mortal spotted me in all three places, and managed to see that I had spotted him!
Do you care to tell me about it? David asked gently,
When there's more time, I said, I shall tell you. Especially if I ever see that guy again, I thought. How ever did he do it
I went out in a civilized manner, actually making a little bit of deliberate noise as I closed the side door of the house.
It was close to dawn when I reached London. And for the first time in many a night, I was actually glad of my immense powers, and the great feeling of security which they conveyed. I needed no coffins, no dark hiding places, merely a room completely isolated from the rays of the sun. A fashionable hotel with heavy curtains would provide both the peace and the comfort.
And I had a little time to settle in the warm light of a lamp and begin David's Brazilian adventure, which I looked forward to, with inordinate delight.
I had almost no money with me, thanks to my recklessness and madness, so I used my considerable powers of persuasion with the clerks of venerable old Claridge's so that they accepted the number of my credit account, though I had no card to verify it, and upon my signature-Sebastian Melmoth, one of my favorite aliases-I was shown to a lovely upper suite crowded with charming Queen Anne furniture and fitted with every convenience I could wish.
I put out the polite little printed notice that I wasn't to be disturbed, left word with the desk I must not be bothered until well after sunset, then latched all the doors from the inside.
There really wasn't time to read. The morning was coming behind the heavy gray sky and the snow drifting down still in large soft wet flakes. I closed all the draperies, save one, so that I might look at the sky, and I stood there, at the front of the hotel, waiting for the spectacle of the light to come, and still a little afraid of its fury, and the pain in my skin growing a little worse from that fear, more than anything else.
David was much on my mind; I hadn't ceased to think about our conversation for a second since I'd left him. I kept hearing his voice and trying to imagine his fragmentary vision of God and the Devil in the cafe. But my position on all this was simple and predictable. I thought David in possession of the most comforting delusions. And soon he'd be gone from me. Death would have him. And all I would have would be these manuscripts of his life. I couldn't force myself to believe he would know anything more at all when he was dead.
Nevertheless it was all very surprising, really, the turn the conversation had taken, and his energy, and the peculiar things he'd said.
I was comfortable in these thoughts, watching the leaden sky and the snow piling on the sidewalks far below, when I suddenly experienced a bout of dizziness-in fact, a complete moment of disorientation, as though I were falling asleep. It was very pleasurable, actually, the subtle vibratory sensation, accompanied by a weightlessness, as though I were indeed floating out of the physical and into my dreams. Then came that pressure again which I'd felt so fleetingly in Miami-of my limbs constricting, indeed of my whole form pressing inwards upon me, narrowing me and compressing me, and the sudden frightening image of myself being forced through the very top of my head!
Why was this happening I shuddered as I had done on that lonely dark Florida beach when it happened before. And at once the feeling was dissipated. I was myself again and vaguely annoyed.
Was something going wrong with my handsome, godlike anatomy Impossible. I didn't need the old ones to assure me of such a truth. And I had not made up my mind whether I should worry about this or forget it, or indeed, try to induce it again myself, when I was brought out of my preoccupation by a knock at the door.
Most irritating.
A message for you, sir. The gentleman requested I put it in your hands.
Had to be some mistake. Nevertheless I opened the door The young man gave me an envelope. Fat, bulky. For on second I could only stare at it. I had a one-pound note still in my pocket, from the little thief I'd chomped on earlier, and I gave this to the boy, and locked the door again.
This was exactly the same kind of envelope I'd been given in Miami by that lunatic mortal who'd come running towards me across the sand. And the sensation! I'd experienced that bizarre sensation right at the moment my eyes had fallen on that creature. Oh, but this was not possible . . .
I tore open the envelope. My hands were suddenly shaking. It was another little printed short story, clipped out of a book exactly as the first one had been, and stapled at the upper-left-hand corner in precisely the same way!
I was dumbfounded! How in the hell had this being tracked me here No one knew I was here! David didn't even know I was here! Oh, there were the credit card numbers involved, but dear God, it would have taken hours for any mortal to locate me that way, even if such a thing were possible, which it really was not.
And what had the sensation to do with it-the curious vibratory feeling and the pressure which seemed to be inside my own limbs
But there was no time to consider any of this. It was almost morning!
The danger in the situation made itself immediately apparent to me. Why the hell hadn't I seen it before This being did most definitely have some means of knowing where I was-even where I chose to conceal myself during daylight! I had to get out of these rooms. How perfectly outrageous!
Trembling with annoyance, I forced myself to scan this story, which was only a few pages in length. Eyes of the Mummy was the title, author Robert Bloch. A clever little tale, but what could it possibly mean to me I thought of the Lovecraft, which had been much longer and seemed wholly different. What on earth could all this signify The seeming idiocy of it further maddened me.
But it was too late to think about it anymore. I gathered up David's manuscripts, and left the rooms, rushing out of a fire exit and going up to the roof. I scanned the night in all directions. I couldn't find the little bastard! Lucky for him. I would surely have destroyed him on sight. When it comes to protecting my daylight lair, I have little patience or restraint.
I moved upwards, covering the miles with the greatest speed I could attain. At last I descended in a snow-covered wood far, far north of London and there I dug my own grave in the frozen earth as I had done so many tunes before.
I was in a fury for having to do so. A positive fury. I'm going to kill this son of a bitch, I thought, whoever the hell he is. How dare he come stalking me, and shoving these stories in my face! Yes, I shall do that, kill him as soon as I catch him.
But then the drowsiness came, the numbness, and very soon nothing mattered . . .
Once again I was dreaming, and she was there, lighting the oil lamp, and saying, Ah, the flame doesn't frighten you anymore . . .
