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"a ghostly cathedral overgrown with grass,the kind of kirk where that camouflaged manmight deal in devilment and all things dark.My five senses inform me that Satan himselfhas tricked me in this tryst, intending to destroy me.This is a haunted house—may it go to hell.I never came across a church so cursed."With head helmeted and lance in handhe scrambled to the skylight of that strange abyss.Then he heard on the hillside, from behind a hard rockand beyond the brook, a blood-chilling noise.What! It cannoned though the cliffs as if they might crack,like the scream of a scythe being ground on a stone.What! It whined and wailed, like a waterwheel.What! It rasped and rang, raw on the ear."My God," cried Gawain, "that grinding is a greeting.My arrival is honored with the honing of an axeup there.Then let the Lord decide.'Oh well,' won't help me here.I might well lose my lifebut freak sounds hold no fear."

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