iambicfemale

[iambicfemale]

The Creature at St. Peter's Point

Act I

There was talk among the townsfolk that the lighthouse keeper's dead. Course, we thought him missin'. Right 'til we found his head.

It washed upon the beach On a murky, misty morn The sun just barely up The flesh just barely torn.

We di’n’t think a thing about it, The man chose to live like this. Atop a dock, all by ‘himself. But his head- it reeked of fish.

Was bleedin' somethin' nasty. Like nothin' I'd e'er seen. I'd say it was blood in my report, but the truth is blood ain't green.

Somethin' small poured out 'is mouth, nested together in heaps. Figured those were organs, or at least that helped me sleep.

Not ten days past the Johnson's kid goes missing late at night. I filed it as a kidnapping, but that just di'n't seem right.

I left the file with the d'tectives. They knew better'n'me. They left it blank for two whole weeks, til we was missing three.

Weeks turned into months. Months became a year. Twenty four were missing, and the whole town lived in fear.

The lighthouse shown every night. Someone had took his place. I checked with the department. The who we couldn't trace.

I'd prepped me for a killer: some sick an’ fucked up foe. What I saw that night however, I barely feel I know.

The door was cover'd in somethin'. Felt like mucus caked it shut. I kicked and punched and tried the locks but quickly hit a rut.

I got out my gun to try again: shot the hinges and the knob. The door collapsed, let out an unearthly stench, and I resumed my job.