There are no voices in the night. No sprites emerge from nooks except critters that fly about and bite you in your sleep. My sleep is dreamless. Dreams, I think, do not dare enter the bottomless pit of my troubled slumber.

Around me and suddenly, there are smells which fill the air and turn the room sour. Foul reeks and odours bring putrefaction into my house on the backs of nightmare creatures that sing, crowing, at me; the voices in the night are come, are come.