By H.P. Woodcraft
The story I’m about to tell is so horrifying, you couldn’t
believe how much sweat you could produce from sheer fear, is what I’m saying.
First of all, it was a full moon, so even though it was a spooky night (the “dead
of night” to coin a frightening phrase) you could still see and what you saw
had that sort of chilling glow
particular to stuff lit by moonlight. Plus if you looked away still out of the
corner of your eye there was a… presence,
and a luminescent one to boot.
The date was 196—, my name is J— C—, and this took place in
the town of G—, on the C— of I—, next to t— — of —. But I’ve said too much
already d— me!
What’s that!
Nothing. It’s nothing — a cat stumbling over a besotted burgher of my cursed
town. Only this and not much more — my nerves are shattered, as will yours be,
Mr or Ms Casual Reader All This Has Nothing To Do With Me Please Let Go Of My
Sleeve! Soon you’ll be laughing out the other side of your face, inwardly, with
madness, as I often do, when I think about…
The Thing From Horror!
I had been warned — I can’t say I wasn’t warned! — by the
town’s withered crone at my ankle, scratching, clawing, fixing me with her one
great eyeball, held up to my whitened-from-fear visage. Just that sight alone
would’ve made you plotz, but then, when I walked down the cellar stairs even
though everyone was yelling “don’t go
down the feckin’ stairs!” I found, in a dark and creepy, spiderweb
enshrouded corner, behind a freight crate marked, ominously, “DO NOT LOOK
BEHIND THIS CRATE,” something so awful I hesitate to describe it now — but
must!
It was an icky thing, sitting in a shaft of moonlight, all
slobbery like with gooey drool pooling on the dirt floor. It was so intensely
ugly I can’t tell you — if you saw it your eyes would pop out of your head. And
teeth? Long and daggerlike? Check. It also wore one of those hideous brown
frock coats with horrid little buttons, and it had… black socks under brown
sandals. It was just the worst thing I ever saw.
Boy, I’ll never forget it.
The End
