Deep in that dismal swamp dwelt an abysmal Thing, a monstrous being of ooze, gloating in its perfume of cadavers...
The last rays of an unseen sun had faded until the wooded swamp was a fogshrouded monochrome of somber shadows and swirling vapors. The dank chill of slime-wet air seeped coldly through the darkening gray mists. Larry Kent shivered and turned the collar of his coat higher around his neck.
Kent?s deeply tanned face was grimly intent as he tried vainly to peer ahead through the murky gloom. Hidden cells deep within his sensitive brain quivered to the stimulus of a familiar and eerie warning. Somewhere in that chill curtain of twilight fog, Fear lurked, naked and abysmal!
Larry Kent had spent too many years in the dark corners of the world to ever be mistaken in that weirdly menacing aura of incarnate terror. He had felt it in the cold stone cells of North China where shuddering coolies waited wretchedly for dawn and the headsman?s sword. He had sensed it in the sweating midnight of an African jungle kraal where close-packed blacks groveled in abject fear as Om-Jok, the Devil-God, stalked thundering through the night.