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I've lost all critical perspective. The signs. The warnings of this house, Freudstein's house. That anguished crying. And Shelia smiled. What can I do to make her believe me? Maybe I'm insane. Yes, this is all unreal. Freudstein's house, it draws me like an infernal magnet and frightens me. How many have wandered innocently into the witing spiderweb? How many more are doomed to follow? The smell of the rooms terrifies me and lures me on. The smell of blood. How many more still to come? Onward, into the depths of this mystery, I want to know! Know the worst. Onward. Find out, find out. Freudstein, his voice, it's not his voice. Blood. Blood! Not only blood, his voice. I hear it now. I hear it. I hear it everywhere! Shelia! Do you believe me now? Do you believe me? No, no. Shelia. No! No, not the children. No.
Things like this happen all the time in the jungle. It's survival of the fittest in the jungle. The daily violence of the strong overcoming the weak.