They got out of the car, into the humming darkness. They took gunny
sacks and rags from the trunk compartment and soaked them in oil from
the crankcase. They wired a bundle on the extension handle of the jack,
and another on the radio aerial rod which Jerry unscrewed.
They tried to start the car once more, without success. So they turned
off the lights and left it. With one torch burning, they started up the
road for the first gate.
Dark Valley's shadowy legions closed in. There was a rustling and a
whispering all around them. There were shiny glints where none ought to
be. There was an overwhelming feeling that something frightful
waited--just beyond the edge of darkness.
"The gate," Carver said hoarsely.
Jerry unclenched his jaws and lit the second torch. The flare-up
reflected from the blank windows ahead.
"What about the wimmen? What about the kids?"
Jerry spoke jerkily, his eyes on the house. "There aren't any kids. What
we saw was something else. The women are the same as the men, the same
as the thing that killed Ed. Don't worry about them. Hold the cross in
front of you, and for God's sake hang onto it!"
The darkness swelled like a living thing. It swayed and clutched at the
torches. Somewhere a high whining began, like a keening wind.
There were sudden sounds from the house--bangings and scramblings.
Carver faltered.
"On!" Jerry said savagely, and began to run. He touched his home-made
crucifix to the wood of the porch, and with the other hand brought the
torch down. Blue sparks jumped out at him. The dry wood hissed and
blazed up furiously.
A frightful scream rang out. There was the tinkle of breaking glass.
Formless figures thudded to the ground and scuttled away on all fours,
headed up the valley.
Within minutes the farmhouse was a mass of roaring flame. Jerry backed
away from it. He saw Carver outlined against the glowing barn, which he
had fired. They came together and hurried back to the road. There they
stopped to watch the pillar of flame and smoke, boiling upward.
"It worked," Carver said.