The Dunwich Romance Read Online Free Page B

to demonstrate. “Fust ye work this pump till the can up top sturt a-tricklin’ doawn. ‘Tis a real spring barrel we gots so dun’t worry none ‘baout usin’ water—in the winter we’se jess heat the water up fust. Then when ye’re ready”—his hand indicated the higher lever—“jess pull this so’s the water’ll come daown on ye.”
    “I en’t never got to warsh so fancified!” Sary celebrated. “Jess ponds or warsh tubs.”
    “Ee-yuh. ‘T’were my grandsire built it, fer me mainly, on accaount I’se got ta warsh three times daily.”
    “Three times!”
    “Ee-yuh. See...wal, suthin’ ‘baout me that give me a smell stronger’n most folks. Grandfather say I’se”—the giant paused to deliberate upon a word—“he say I best be... inconspicuous, which mean I shouldn’t be obvious ta folks hereabouts. The smell’s even wuss abaout the house—I’se surprised ye didn’t make no mention of it. Hope it en’t botherin’ ye.”
    “What? Smell?” replied Sary inattentively, for she remained rapt upon the elaborate washing instrument. “I carn’t smell. Don’t really even know what smell is ‘cept what my ma ‘splain to me. ‘Tis like tastin’ and hearin’ and seein’ only through yew’re nose. But I en’t got it ‘cos of a ‘fection when I was little.”
    Wilbur peered down. “Got ye no sense of smell, you say?”
    “Naw, none.”
    Was the tall man shivering in place, his stout lower lip trembling? Near as Sary could ascertain, the paltry information regarding her lack of an olfactory sense had left Wilbur shocked in the best of ways. Eventually he recovered from his silent jubilation. Now his hand offered a grayish lump. “Oh, and heer’s some soap—”
    “Soap!” she squealed.
    “Ee-yuh. My grandsire larn’t me haow tew make it—simple, really. Jess boil animal fat with ashes from burnt leaves, then ye cook it daown till this is left. It work fine.”
    Sary perceived the bizarre washing erection as an object of enthrallment, and the soap a delicacy.
    “Hot day like this I figger ye might have a hanker for a shower.” Wilbur’s unusual eyes seemed to sense the young woman’s intrigue. His large, long-fingered hand pulled back the curtain. “Go on, step on in, then I’ll close the cartin for yer privacery, and ye can get yourself aout’a that dress so’s I can sew it fer ye.”
    Sary’s molested face turned up with a smile of excitement; she stepped right in the tub, holding the piece of soap as if it were an exotic bauble. It had slipped her mind to close the curtain as per Wilbur’s suggestion; instead she pulled the torn gown up over her head and off, then turned obliviously naked and handed it to him.
    The giant man seemed to flinch—did he even close his eyes? She placed the gown in his hand. He bashful ‘baout seein’ a gal with no clothes on? came the curiosity. Nevertheless, she closed the curtain. Most men reveled to espy her nude; again, here was an example of his previous gentlemanliness of which most male Dunwichers had not a trace. “‘Preciate ya lettin’ me do this,” she said behind the crude curtain. “And mendin’ my gaown.”
    “‘Tis a pleasure...”
    Sary eyed the shower’s pump and lever, trying to renovate in her mind the odd, tall man’s operating instructions. The pump, she recalled. Her breasts dipped as she bent to go through the proper motions, listening to the modest gush as the sprinkling can filled over her head. Yes, it would be nice to be clean, a condition she rarely got to enjoy. Next, she eyed the lever. What he say? Pull that, then the water come daown on me? But as she reached to do so, she at once became aware of...
    Trailing down her bare shoulders and upper chest she couldn’t help but notice the countless minuscule black dots, like someone had sprinkled flecks of pepper on her. Only...
    The black “flecks” were moving.
    Indeed, as if in a mass exodus, these flecks (which only now did she realize were the