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.