The Mind Creative
On the third morning of the
wanderers’ stay in Ulthar, Menes
could not find his kitten; and as he
sobbed aloud in the market-place
certain villagers told him of the old
man and his wife, and of sounds
heard in the night. And when he
heard these things his sobbing gave
place to meditation, and finally to
prayer. He stretched out his arms
toward the sun and prayed in a
tongue no villager could understand;
though indeed the villagers did not try very hard to understand,
since their attention was mostly taken up by the sky and the odd
shapes the clouds were assuming. It was very peculiar, but as the
little boy uttered his petition there seemed to form overhead the
shadowy, nebulous figures of exotic things; of hybrid creatures
crowned with horn-flanked discs. Nature is full of such illusions to
impress the imaginative.
That night the wanderers left Ulthar, and were never seen again.
And the householders were troubled when they noticed that in all
the village there was not a cat to be found. From each hearth the
familiar cat had vanished; cats large and small, black, grey,
striped, yellow, and white. Old Kranon, the burgomaster, swore
that the dark folk had taken the cats away in revenge for the killing
of Menes’ kitten; and cursed the caravan and the little boy. But
Nith, the lean notary, declared that the old cotter and his wife
were more likely persons to suspect; for their hatred of cats was
notorious and increasingly bold. Still, no one durst complain to
the sinister couple; even when little Atal, the innkeeper’s son,
vowed that he had at twilight seen all the cats of Ulthar in that
accursed yard under the trees, pacing very slowly and solemnly
in a circle around the cottage, two abreast, as if in performance
of some unheard-of rite of beasts. The villagers did not know how
much to believe from so small a boy; and though they feared that
the evil pair had charmed the cats to their death, they preferred
not to chide the old cotter till they met him outside his dark and
repellent yard.
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