by Joel R. Hunt
I cannot describe the sound that emanated from the moors all those years ago, nor speculate of its cause. All I can state with certainty is that it did not belong to this world.
The sound haunted my dreams for years. At last, starved of sleep, I came to hear it even in waking, echoing through my halls.
It was a relief to be committed to Arkham Sanitorium. The asylum became my blessed, silent refuge.
Yet my respite did not last.
The doctors here have no human voice.
When their mouths open, I hear only the sound from the moors.
Joel R. Hunt