Harry looked toward the house. Here it came! Another spirit form, a shape with spreading arms that bore the appearance of a living creature.
Thoughts of ghosts and huge vampires dominated Harry’s brain. The creatures were too large for bats; their visibility in the darkness gave them an eerie quality.
Harry laughed, rather mirthlessly. The sound of his own laugh seemed melancholy. Then came the sigh of the wind, through the trees.
But was it the sound of the wind? For with it came another soaring phantom, that seemed to flit toward the black tower. Its ghostlike arms were extended, as though reaching toward an unseen object. Like the others, it vanished in the gloom.
Ghosts?
Harry had always laughed away the thought. But here was grim reality. Silent, creepy, clutching creatures that floated with spectral motion.
LITTLE wonder that strange tales had been carried to the village. The natives of this region were hard-headed individuals. They were not easily convinced by groundless reports.
Harry realized that he should have listened more closely to the stories which he had heard.
Death Island!
Harry thought of the massacred whites; of the murdered man who had died in that house. Was it because of those events that these monstrous creatures had chosen this place as their habitation?