Again his garments rustled. About a minute passed, but nothing happened to break the impenetrable darkness or my keyed-up sense of suspense.
“The Field General says to bring you in. Stand up, Stan-lee!” Oomlag ordered, at the same time grasping my right elbow with his lean, powerful fingers. As soon as I was on my feet, he faced me half way around and gave me a little shove.
“Walk straight forward until I tell you to stop!” he commanded, the gruff, guttural words being spoken close to my ear, “and do not speak a word. Say nothing until you receive my permission.”
I took a few slow, shuffling steps into the darkness, hands held before my face.
“Walk naturally!” Oomlag whispered, and there was nothing to do but obey. The floor of the cave sloped gently down, and I expected momentarily to go hurtling into some chasm. I was wholly at the mercy of this strange being, and tried to steel myself for whatever might happen. I imagine that walking the plank would be a similar sensation, the only difference being the certainty of destruction.
AFTER I had taken about a hundred steps, the floor seemed to become level. Oomlag was right behind me. I could hear the soft shuffle of his feet and rustle of his clothes. But he gave me no more spoken directions. Either I happened to be going in the right direction, or, what was more probable, I was being guided by some unknown influence. The floor continued level, and we must have walked fully five minutes in the dense blackness of the place before I noticed a little draft of warm air. At the same time I became aware of a rather high-pitched humming sound that grew louder as we moved forward. Then I began to hear more shuffling sounds, and a sort of subdued murmuring on all sides, as though a crowd of people were gathered and whispering to one another.
Suddenly Oomlag’s hand grasped my shoulder and stopped me in my tracks. Without uttering a word, we stood there, his hand still gripping my shoulder. My senses were keenly acute, and I knew, from the indistinct rustlings and murmurings I could hear, that we were surrounded by other beings.
Slowly, as the lights in a theater are gradually turned on, objects around me became visible. First I could make out several shadowy, tall figures standing about on all sides, and the outlines of two enormous white stalagmites. As the light became brighter by imperceptible degrees, I could see that it emanated from a multitude of octagonal crystals set in the walls of the cavern at regular intervals. Before me rose up a sort of throne built into a large niche in the cavern wall, and on this throne, apparently hewn from the living rock, sat one of the most preposterous-looking beings the imagination of man could conceive. The two stalagmites flanked this throne on either side, and other bizarre creatures were thronged in the space between the stalagmites and below the throne.
I shall do my best to describe the Field General commanding the hordes from Venus that are to conquer our earth in a few short years. I was sickened by the revelation that Oomlag was indeed no madman, but really one of an invincible vanguard with the world in their grasp. The Field General, as Oomlag had termed him, was a terrible thing to look upon. A tall figure, well over seven feet, with unbelievably long, skinny arms and legs, a torso like a pouter-pigeon, and above it, set on a short, thick neck, a head shaped like an ostrich egg. The head was entirely bald, covered with skin like parchment and of a most revolting ochre yellow color. The ears tapered almost to a point; the eyes, small and set close together, burned like those of a cat in the dark; the nose was very wide and flat, almost pig-like; and the mouth, thick-lipped and exceedingly wide, was doubly hideous due to the total absence of chin. In conversation later he revealed his teeth, the front four evidently filed to a point and the rest flat; all of a dark gray color. He was clothed in some sort of tight-fitting dull green garment which, together with a brick-red jacket or vest over his huge, round chest, gave him the appearance of a grotesque turnip. On his long, tapering feet he wore flat sandals held in place by thongs laced through the ends of his doublet, if I may call it that. His fingers were all long and of equal length, and he kept toying with some object resting in his lap. It looked like a bassoon without the mouthpiece.