Explore "Dwellers in the Mirage" by Abraham Merritt on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I raised my head, listening,--not only with my ears but with every square inch of my skin, waiting for recurrence of the sound that had awakened me. There was silence, utter silence. No soughing in the boughs of the spruces clustered around the little camp. No stirring of furtive life in the underbrush. Through the spires of the spruces the stars shone wanly in the short sunset to sunrise twilight of the early Alaskan summer.
A sudden wind bent the spruce tops, carrying again the sound--the clangour of a beaten anvil.