1001 Ghost, Chiller & Lovecraft Stories
Aug 9, 2026 · 35 min · 17 segments
Akeley's letters change from panic stricken to peaceful, convincing Wilmuth that all is ok and that Akeley is sitting on world-changing information. Wilmuth lets his ambition overcome his sense of…
The unknown things, Akeley wrote in a script grown pitifully tremulous, had begun to close in on him with a wholly new degree of determination.
The nocturnal barking of the dogs whenever the moon was dim or absent was hideous now, and there had been attempts to molest him on the lonely roads he had to traverse by day.
On the 2nd of August, while bound for the village in his car, he had found a tree-trunk laid in his path at a point where the highway ran through a deep patch of woods.
while the savage barking of the two great dogs he had with him told all too well of the things which must have been lurking near.
What would have happened had the dogs had not been there, he dare not guess, but he never went out now without at least two of his faithful and powerful pack.
Other road experiences had occurred on August 5th and 6th, a shot grazing his car on one occasion, and the barking of the dogs telling of unholy woodland presences on the other.
On August 15th, I received a frantic letter which disturbed me greatly, and which made me wish Akeley could put aside his lonely reticence and call in the aid of the law.
There had been frightful happenings on the night of the 12th, bullets flying outside the farmhouse, and three of the twelve great dogs being found shot dead in the morning.
There were myriads of claw prints in the road, with the human prints of Walter Brown among them.
Akeley had started to telephone to Brattleboro for more dogs, but the wire had gone dead before he had a chance to say much.
Later he went to Brattleboro in his car and learned there that linemen had found the main cable neatly cut at a point where it ran through the deserted hills north of Newfane.
But he was about to start home with four fine new dogs and several cases of ammunition for his big-game repeating rifle.
The letter was written at the post office in Brattleboro and came through to me without delay.
My attitude toward the matter was by this time quickly slipping from a scientific to an alarmedly personal one.
I was afraid for Akeley and his remote, lonely farmhouse, and half afraid for myself because of my now definite connection with this strange hill problem.
Would it suck me in too and engulf me? In replying to his letter I urged him to seek help and hinted that I might take action myself if he did not.
I spoke of visiting Vermont in person in spite of his wishes and of helping him explain the situation to the proper authorities.
In return, however, I received only a telegram from Bellows Falls, which read thus.
Upon my replying to the telegram, I received a shaky note from Akeley with the astonishing news that he had not only never sent the wire, but had not received the letter from me to which was an obvious reply.
Hasty inquiries by him at Bellows Falls had brought out that the message was deposited by a strange sandy-haired man with a curiously thick, droning voice, though more than this he could not learn.
The unknown things, Akeley wrote in a script grown pitifully tremulous, had begun to close in on him with a wholly new degree of determination.
The nocturnal barking of the dogs whenever the moon was dim or absent was hideous now, and there had been attempts to molest him on the lonely roads he had to traverse by day.
On the 2nd of August, while bound for the village in his car, he had found a tree-trunk laid in his path at a point where the highway ran through a deep patch of woods.
while the savage barking of the two great dogs he had with him told all too well of the things which must have been lurking near.
What would have happened had the dogs had not been there, he dare not guess, but he never went out now without at least two of his faithful and powerful pack.
Other road experiences had occurred on August 5th and 6th, a shot grazing his car on one occasion, and the barking of the dogs telling of unholy woodland presences on the other.
On August 15th, I received a frantic letter which disturbed me greatly, and which made me wish Akeley could put aside his lonely reticence and call in the aid of the law.
There had been frightful happenings on the night of the 12th, bullets flying outside the farmhouse, and three of the twelve great dogs being found shot dead in the morning.
There were myriads of claw prints in the road, with the human prints of Walter Brown among them.
Akeley had started to telephone to Brattleboro for more dogs, but the wire had gone dead before he had a chance to say much.
Later he went to Brattleboro in his car and learned there that linemen had found the main cable neatly cut at a point where it ran through the deserted hills north of Newfane.
But he was about to start home with four fine new dogs and several cases of ammunition for his big-game repeating rifle.
The letter was written at the post office in Brattleboro and came through to me without delay.
My attitude toward the matter was by this time quickly slipping from a scientific to an alarmedly personal one.
I was afraid for Akeley and his remote, lonely farmhouse, and half afraid for myself because of my now definite connection with this strange hill problem.
Would it suck me in too and engulf me? In replying to his letter I urged him to seek help and hinted that I might take action myself if he did not.
I spoke of visiting Vermont in person in spite of his wishes and of helping him explain the situation to the proper authorities.
In return, however, I received only a telegram from Bellows Falls, which read thus.
Upon my replying to the telegram, I received a shaky note from Akeley with the astonishing news that he had not only never sent the wire, but had not received the letter from me to which was an obvious reply.
Hasty inquiries by him at Bellows Falls had brought out that the message was deposited by a strange sandy-haired man with a curiously thick, droning voice, though more than this he could not learn.
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