I
Me traslado de mi first home Wilbur when it had not been a month since his untimely death. I did not without some misgivings, for I too liked the solitude of the mountain valley of the Aylesbury Pike. But it seemed quite logical that the property of my favorite cousin had fallen on me. When he was not yet owned by Wharton, the house had been uninhabited for a long time. Had not been used since the grandson of a farmer who had built went to the city of Kingston, on the coast, and my cousin bought one heir disgusted with the kind of life he had in this sad and weary land. Was somewhat unexpected, as they used to do things the Akeley: impulsively.
Wilbur had been a student of archeology and anthropology for many years. He had graduated from the Miskatonic University in Arkham, and immediately spent three years in Mongolia, Tibet, Sinkiang, and three in South America, Central America and the southwestern United States. He had come personally to give an answer to a proposition that made him to join the faculty of Miskatonic University, but instead, he bought the old estate of the Wharton and went to repair it, threw all wings except one, and gave the central structure is an even stranger than que había adquirido a lo largo de las veinte décadas de su existencia. Pero ni siquiera yo tuve plena conciencia del alcance de estas reformas hasta que tomé posesión de la casa.
Fue entonces cuando me di cuenta de que Wilbur sólo había dejado sin alterar uno de los laterales de la casa, había reconstruido por completo la fachada y la parte posterior, y había acondicionado una habitación en el desván del ala sur de la planta baja. La casa había sido en principio de una planta, con un enorme desván, que sirvió en su época para llenarse de todo tipo de bártulos de la vida rural de Nueva Inglaterra. En parte había sido construida con troncos; and that type of construction Wilbur had left as is, demonstrating respect for my cousin by the craftsmanship of our ancestors of these lands had Akeley family in America nearly two hundred years when Wilbur decided to leave their travel and settle in place of origin. The year, if I remember correctly, was 1921: not lived there more than three years, so it was in 1924-April 16, when I moved home to take care of it as preparing a will.
The house was more or less as he had left. Not consistent with the New England landscape, as though traces of the past in its foundations stone and logs, as in the chimney, had been renovated so that seemed the result of several generations. Most of these reforms had Wilbur for your convenience, but there was a change that made me wonder, and that Wilbur had never given any explanation: it was the installation in the southern part of the attic, a large round window , with a curious opaque glass, which had simply said it was a valuable antique, discovered and learned during his stay in Asia. He referred to it once as "the glass of Leng" and another spoke of "their origin is possibly due to the Hyades." Neither references I clarified anything, but if I must be honest, neither have these vagaries of my cousin cared enough to find out more.
wanted Soon, however, done so. Then I discovered, once installed in the house, all my cousin's life seemed to unfold, not in the central room downstairs, as expected, since they were the most equipped in terms of comfort, but about the room with sloping ceilings. This was where he had his pipes, his favorite books, their records, and more comfortable furniture. It was also here where he worked, studying the manuscripts related to his profession and where he was surprised, while consulting volumes of the Library of Miskatonic University, coronary disease ended his life.
or adapted my lifestyle to their stuff, or adapt things to my way of life. I chose the latter. As a first step was to restore the proper disposal of the house and live again in the rooms on the floor, because, in truth, I felt all along that the attic repelled me. Partly true, because I remembered the presence of my dead cousin, who never again take his favorite spot in the house, but also because the room was totally weird me and cold. I was rejected as a physical force could not understand, though perhaps this rejection was consistent with my attitude towards the room that did not understand, as I never could understand my cousin Wilbur.
reforms he wanted to do was not entirely easy. I soon realized that the old 'den' for my cousin printed character to the whole house. Some think that the houses take on something of the character of their owners, if the old house had become something of the character of Wharton, who had lived there for so long, without a doubt my cousin had been erased, as amended, for now seemed to speak faithfully of the presence of Wilbur Akeley. It was both an oppressive feeling as uncomfortable conviction of not being alone, being watched closely by something that was unknown to me.
responsible for these fantasies was the loneliness of the house itself, but it seemed to me that my cousin's favorite room was a living thing that awaited his return, like an animal that has not realized that death has made an appearance and the owner who hopes to never return. Perhaps because of this obsession that I paid a quarter more attention than it actually deserved. She had taken away some things as, for example, a comfy chair, but something prompted me to return it to its place as an obligation under several convictions, and often conflicting, that this chair, for example, could be made for someone with a different constitution to mine and it was uncomfortable to me, or that the light was not so good down as up, so it also returned to the attic was removed books from their shelves.
Undoubtedly, the characteristics of the room were totally different from the rest of the house. The house of my cousin was in general quite common, with the exception that room. The plant floor was full of comfort, but seemed to have been little used, except for the kitchen. The room, however, was well furnished, but in a different way, hard to explain. It was as if the room is undoubtedly a studio built by a man for his own use, had been used by countless individuals, each of which had left something of themselves within these walls, but without any identifying mark. However, I knew that my cousin had been a hermit's life, with the exception of their output to Ia Miskatonic University in Arkham and the Widener Library in Boston. Had not traveled, or receiving visitors. On the few occasions when I stopped in his house for work many times I was around, but always behaved politely, seemed to be wishing that I leave. And that never stayed there more than fifteen minutes.
In fact, the atmosphere that hung in the attic made me forget the desire to change. The bottom floor was enough for me, gave me a nice home, and it was not difficult to dispense with the attic and the reforms he planned to do there, to almost forget about it and consider it unimportant. They also frequently went out several days and nights, and did not hurry to reform the house. The Testament my cousin had been officially endorsed, and the house registered in my name, so nothing threatening my property.
Iodine would have been well, since I had already forgotten the unfulfilled plans for the attic, had it not been for the small incidents that began to disturb me. At first, without any consequence, they were little things that almost went unnoticed. I remember the first one happened a month short of being there, and was so insignificant that for several weeks, I can not relate to subsequent events occurred. I heard the noise one night, reading by the fireplace on the ground floor, and it was probably nothing more than a cat or some similar animal scratching at the door to let him enter. But he heard so clearly that I got to look at the front door and rear door and found no trace of any cat. The animal had disappeared into the night. I called several times but got no answer or hear a sound. I had not had time to sit, when he began again to scratch the door. I tried at least half a dozen times, but I could not see the cat, until both the things that bothered me, having seen it, I probably would have killed him.
By itself, this incident was trivial, and nobody would think twice about it. Would a cat who knew my cousin, and me not knowing he had scared? Maybe. I thought no more about it. However, there had been a week when a similar incident occurred, but with a marked difference from the first. This time, instead of cat scratches, the sound was something that slipped in the dark, and that gave me a chill, as if a giant snake or an elephant's trunk rozase on windows and doors. Following the sound, my reaction was the same as last time. I heard, but saw nothing, heard and found nothing, only the sounds elusive. "A cat? Any snake? Or what?
Besides the cat and the snake, who would soon return, other new incidents occurred. Sometimes listening to what seemed the sound of the hooves of a beast, or the footprints of a gigantic animal, or bird pecks on the windows, or sliding of a large body, or aspiring sound of lips. What could infer from all this? Mine thought they were hallucinations and rule out any explanation, since the sounds appear at any time, at all hours of the night and day. Had there been any animal of any size door or window, I should have seen before they disappeared into the forest of the hills surrounding the house (which had been field was now covered with aspen, birch and ash).
mysterious This cycle may not Bay was interrupted, if not for one night I opened the door to the stairs to the attic of my cousin, because the heat was on the ground floor was then cat scratching began again, and I realized that the noise coming from the doors, but from the garret window. I went upstairs, without hesitation, without stopping to think that would be a very special cat to climb to the second floor of the house and call to let him enter the round window only opening to the outside of the room. And since the window does not open, even partially, and as it was an opaque glass, I could not see anything. But I stood there listening to the noise produced by the scratch of a cat, so close as if it came across the glass.
I ran, grabbed a strong flashlight and went to the hot summer night to illuminate the wall where the window was. But now every sound ceased, and there was nothing to see except the house wall and window, so black outside and white and opaque inside. I have followed embarrassed for the rest of my life and I often think that certainly it would have been better, but it was not.
By this time I got an old aunt, a cat named "Little Sam", who had taken a prize and that my pet was doing about two years, when he was young. My aunt had received with some alarm my intentions to live alone, and finally I had sent one of her cats to make me company. "Little Sam" now, defied his name should have been called "Big Sam." Had gained much from the last time I saw him, and had become a fierce black cat, an entire copy of his species. 'Little Sam' showed me her affection with caresses, but showed a strong distrust of the house. Sometimes he slept comfortably at the foot of the chimney at other times looked like a cat possessed: howling to let him go outside. And when they sounded the strange sounds of animals that seemed intended to enter the house, "Little Sam" went mad with fear and fury, and had to let him leave immediately so she could take refuge in an old unit that had not been affected reforms by my cousin. In there he spent the night there or in the woods and did not return until dawn, when he went hungry. To which was flatly refused to ever enter the attic.
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