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There is a place uplifted nine thousand feet in purest air where one of the most ancient tracks in the world runs from India into Tibet. It leaves Simla of the Imperial councils by a stately road; it passes beyond, but now narrowing, climbing higher beside the khuds or steep drops to the precipitous valleys beneath, and the rumor of Simla grows distant and the way is quiet, for, owing to the danger of driving horses above the khuds. And presently the deodars darken the way with a solemn presence. Breath most austerely pure begins to coalesce in the gradually chilling air. Terrible things happen in this place. Dark, inscrutable, and ultimately eldritch things. It is the place of. . . . THE NINTH VIBRATION