Wandering gloomy thoughts, he looked again at the starry sky. For a moment it seemed that one of the luminous dots was suddenly approaching. Wilmarth shook his head – no, he was wrong. It was several more hours before his eyelids drooped and he fell into a restless sleep.

The next morning started surprisingly well with a letter back from his brother. The letter said that he and his wife would be happy to host Wilmarth, and the family had just moved into a house on the farm, so there was room for everyone. And until the burnt-out man decided what to do next, he could help with the household chores.

It was a great chance to escape to a secluded place. The proximity of the mountains and the warm climate were all that was needed for the nerves. So the young man paid the innkeeper and headed for the port. His ship was due to set sail in an hour, so the young man deftly made his way between the streets on the shortest route. At some point, Wilmarth realised that he was lost. He turned around and tried to find the road he had taken to his destination, but could not recognise any of the houses or streets around him. He panicked – he was known among his friends as a real expert at orienteering, knew all the places in Arkham, but now he was standing there like a lost kitten.

He looked around at several houses that looked as if they had been abandoned for decades. Broken windows and moldy tiles did not create a pleasant atmosphere.

Having assessed the situation and checked his watch (there was about 15 minutes to sail), he decided to look for signs on the houses – perhaps if he knew the name of the street he could get his bearings. He chose the least destroyed house and began to look around. There was nothing outside that looked like a sign, so he decided to go inside (the boys in the yard could pick it up and drag it inside for their games). Willmarth made his way through the pile of planks – all that was left of the former front room – and stepped inside. It smelled damp. There was a lot of stuff on the floor, and the wallpaper was peeling off the walls. He was shoveling through the piles of rubbish, the belongings of the previous tenants and the broken-down walls, hoping to find something that looked like a plank, when suddenly there was a knocking sound from above. Wilmarth listened for a moment. The knocking kept shifting. It seemed as if someone was walking on their heels.

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