The exclamation had broken from Rhodes; he was pointing into the gloom off to our right, a tense, expectant look on his face.
I peered with straining eyes, but I could see nothing there. A few moments passed, and still nothing was seen. I then turned to Rhodes to ask him what it was; but the words I was about to speak were never uttered. Instead, I gave something like a cry and whirled round. For a sound had come from out the fungoid growth and the darkness behind us, a sound as if of a slimy thing moving, slipping.
Nothing, however, was to be seen there, and silence, utter silence, had fallen upon the spot—silence abruptly broken by another exclamation from Milton Rhodes.
"Great Heaven!" I cried as I whirled back to the direction in which he was pointing. "They are all around us!"
"Look, Bill—look at that!"
I saw nothing for a second or two. And then, off in the darkness beyond the reach of our lights, the darkness itself was moving—yes, the very darkness itself.
"See that, Bill?"
I saw it. And the next instant I saw two great eyes, eyes that were watching us. And those eyes were moving.