There was an almost globular torso, with six long, sinuous limbs terminating in crab-like claws. From the upper end a subsidiary globe bulged forward bubble-like; its triangle of three staring, fishy eyes, its foot-long and evidently flexible proboscis, and a distended lateral system analogous to gills, suggesting that it was a head. Most of the body was covered with what at first appeared to be fur, but which on closer examination proved to be a dense growth of dark, slender tentacles or sucking filaments, each tipped with a mouth suggesting the head of an asp. On the head and below the proboscis the tentacles tended to be longer and thicker, and marked with spiral stripes — suggesting the traditional serpent-locks of Medusa. To say that such a thing could have an expression seems paradoxical; yet Jones felt that that triangle of bulging fish-eyes and that obliquely poised proboscis all bespoke a blend of hate, greed, and sheer cruelty incomprehensible to mankind because mixed with other emotions not of the world or this solar system. Into this bestial abnormality, he reflected, Rogers must have poured at once all his malignant insanity and all his uncanny sculptural genius. The thing was incredible — and yet the photograph proved that it existed.
Rogers interrupted his reveries.
“Well — what do you think of It? Now do you wonder what crushed the dog and sucked it dry with a million mouths? It needed nourishment — and It will need more. It is a god, and I am the first priest of Its latter-day hierarchy. Iä! Shub-Niggurath! The Goat with a Thousand Young!”
Jones lowered the photograph in disgust and pity.
“See here, Rogers, this won’t do. There are limits, you know. It’s a great piece of work, and all that, but it isn’t good for you. Better not see it any more — let Orabona break it up, and try to forget about it. And let me tear this beastly picture up, too.”
With a snarl, Rogers snatched the photograph and returned it to the desk.
“Idiot — you — and you still think It’s all a fraud! You still think I made It, and you still think my figures are nothing but lifeless wax! Why, damn you, you’re a worse clod than a wax image yourself! But I’ve got proof this time, and you’re going to know! Not just now, for It is resting after the sacrifice — but later. Oh, yes — you will not doubt the power of It then.”
As Rogers glanced toward the padlocked inner door Jones retrieved his hat and stick from a nearby bench.
“Very well, Rogers, let it be later. I must be going now, but I’ll call around tomorrow afternoon. Think my advice over and see if it doesn’t sound sensible. Ask Orabona what he thinks, too.”
Rogers actually bared his teeth in wild-beast fashion.
“Must be going now, eh? Afraid, after all! Afraid, for all your bold talk! You say the effigies are only wax, and yet you run away when I begin to prove that they aren’t. You’re like the fellows who take my standing bet that they daren’t spend the night in the museum — they come boldly enough, but after an hour they shriek and hammer to get out! Want me to ask Orabona, eh? You two — always against me! You want to break down the coming earthly reign of It!”
Jones preserved his calm.
“No, Rogers — there’s nobody against you. And I’m not afraid of your figures, either, much as I admire your skill. But we’re both a bit nervous tonight, and I fancy some rest will do us good.”
Again Rogers checked his guest’s departure.
“Not afraid, eh? — then why are you so anxious to go? Look here — do you or don’t you dare to stay alone here in the dark? What’s your hurry if you don’t believe in It?”
Some new idea seemed to have struck Rogers, and Jones eyed him closely.
“Why, I’ve no special hurry — but what would be gained by my staying here alone? What would it prove? My only objection is that it isn’t very comfortable for sleeping. What good would it do either of us?”
This time it was Jones who was struck with an idea. He continued in a tone of conciliation.
“See here, Rogers — I’ve just asked you what it would prove if I stayed, when we both know. It would prove that your effigies are just effigies, and that you oughtn’t to let your imagination go the way it’s been going lately. Suppose I do stay. If I stick it out till morning, will you agree to take a new view of things — go on a vacation for three months or so and let Orabona destroy that new thing of yours? Come, now — isn’t that fair?”
The expression on the showman’s face was hard to read. It was obvious that he was thinking quickly, and that of sundry conflicting emotions, malign triumph was getting the upper hand. His voice held a choking quality as he replied.