sweare by ye Name of ye Nameless One to keep goode faithe. Wherefore do I now write in blood these wordes spoken to me in thys grim & silent chamber in ye dedde citie of Koth, whereto no mortal manne hath attained but mee. These same wordes now writ down by mee to be rede over my bodie at ye appointed tyme to fulfill my parte of ye bargain which I entered intoe of mine own free will & knowledge beinge of rite mynd & fiftie years of age this yeare of 1680, A.D. Here begynneth ye incantation:

"Before manne was, ye Elder ones were, & even yet their lord dwelleth amonge ye shadows to which if a manne sette his foote he maye not turn vpon his track."

The words merged into a barbaric gibberish as Conrad stumbled through an unfamiliar language--a language faintly suggesting the Phenician, but shuddery with the touch of a hideous antiquity beyond any remembered earthly tongue. One of the candles flickered and went out. I made a move to relight it, but a motion from the silent oriental stayed me. His eyes burned into mine, then shifted back to the still form on the table. The manuscript had shifted back into its archaic English:

"----And ye mortal which gaineth to ye black citadels of Koth & speaks with ye Darke Lord whose face is hidden, for a price maye he gain hys heartes desire, ryches & knowledge beyond countinge & lyffe beyond mortal span even two hundred & fiftie yeares."Again Conrad's voice trailed off into unfamiliar gutturals. Another candle went out. 

"----Let not ye mortal flynche as ye tyme draweth nigh for payment & ye fires of Hell laye hold vpon ye vytals as the sign of reckoning. For ye Prince of Darkness taketh hys due in ye end and he is not to bee cozened. What ye have promised, that shall ye deliver. _Augantha na shuba_----" 

At the first sound of those barbaric accents, a cold hand of terror locked about my throat. My frantic eyes shot to the candles and I was not surprised to see another flicker out. Yet there was no hint of any draft to stir the heavy black hangings. Conrad's voice wavered; he drew his hand across his throat, gagging momentarily. The eyes of the oriental never altered. 

"----Amonge ye sonnes of men glide strange shadows forever. Men see ye tracks of ye talones but not ye feete that make them. Over ye souls of men spread great black wingges. There is but one Black Master though men calle hym Sathanas & Beelzebub & Apolleon & Ahriman & Malik Tous----" 

Mists of horror engulfed me. I was dimly 

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