That gong-like humming came down very close over our heads as I spoke,
but it was my friend's scared face that really stopped my mouth.

"Hush!" he whispered, holding up his hand. "Do not mention them more
than you can help. Do not refer to them _by name_. To name is to reveal:
it is the inevitable clue, and our only hope lies in ignoring them, in
order that they may ignore us."

"Even in thought?" He was extraordinarily agitated.

"Especially in thought. Our thoughts make spirals in their world. We
must keep them _out of our minds_ at all costs if possible."

I raked the fire together to prevent the darkness having everything its
own way. I never longed for the sun as I longed for it then in the awful
blackness of that summer night.

"Were you awake all last night?" he went on suddenly.

"I slept badly a little after dawn," I replied evasively, trying to
follow his instructions, which I knew instinctively were true, "but the
wind, of course--"

"I know. But the wind won't account for all the noises."

"Then you heard it too?"

"The multiplying countless little footsteps I heard," he said, adding,
after a moment's hesitation, "and that other sound--"