To me there was a sense of latent mystery present in this little village. Daily life had for the residents become a phantasmagoria of macabre shadow-lives; Feara Tirith now was dominated by leering, concealed rottenness as I had read in Van Hasding's journels to Harker. The shadows of the village now hinted at terrors behind the commonest shapes and objects as in the subtler and less obvious domination of Darkling infestation.

I regarded it as merciful that most persons of high intelligence scoff at these horrible mysteries. If intelligent, curious minds were ever placed in fullest contact with the secrets preserved by Darklings and the Umberlexicon, the resultant abnormalities would soon not only wreck the world, but threaten the very integrity of the space-time continuum.

All this reflection is morbid, but my keen logic and deep sense of dry humour offset it to a small degree. I was satisfied to let my notions remain as half-formulated and forbidden visions to be lightly played with. Madness coupled with shear panic would come in handy only when trapped in the hellish revelation that once again the Time Machine and the Umberlexicon had led me to a corrupted location which was too insidious to escape.