#because legend tells of this cloaked figure in shadow whos chest glowed like a star

[catto-ohno]

Abyssal Prince, Aether

So here he is!!

Progress under the cut

And the finished design. This was made to be more of a design than an actually decent piece of art tbh

[peter-pan-on-neverland]

I’ll leave my window open

Summary: you visit Neverland in your dreams, will you leave everything behind and go with Pan or will you stay put?

Pairings: Pan x reader

Warnings: none

It wasn't that I was lonely, or hurt, or neglected, it was because an uncontrollable desire for adventure burned deep inside me, spreading like a wild fire. Sparks lit up in my heart when I thought of all of the places I could explore, and wonderful things I could see and experience. To say I wasn't scared of up and leaving everything I've ever known was a lie, everybody gets scared, it's part of what makes us human. But one question burned in my mind, permently nagging at me: what if?

What if I left?

What if I found the most wonderful things?

What if I didn't?

What if I would only be disappointed?

But of course, every piece and part of me wanted to believe that one day I would find that missing piece of my puzzle, the lost piece.

The sun set painting the sky with swirls of blues, pinks and oranges, silently I perched on my window sill, looking out as a flock of birds flew across the sky line. I often wondered what it would be like to be a bird, feeling the cool breeze ruffle my feathers as I travled where ever I wanted whenever I wanted, being able to watch the sun set every night and sun rise every morning. I longed for freedom, that much was true, to see the beautiful world that I lived in, covering and exploring every inch of it. Without uttering a single word I watched as the sky turned from the glowing orange until it faded into the dark navy blue, bright stars twinkled against it like a thousand shimmering fish in a dark ocean.

"Y/n?" A voice echoed through out my room. Turning my head to the side I saw my older brother peeking his head around the door, his large fingers curling around the silver door handle, "Why are you still up? It's almost midnight and you have school."

A sour expression settled of my face "I'm not tired." I shrugged at him "And just because you're a year older than me dose not mean you get to act like a parent."

His shoulders slightly bounced with laughter as a smile came up to his eyes. Quietly, he placed his bare feet into my cold wooden floor and joined me by the window. Together, we stared in awe at the scene before us for what felt like an eternity, soaking up the breath taking view of the shining stars.

"It's beautiful" he whispered.

"I know."

I could feel something tugging at my heart, at my soul, a feeling so overpowering it could bring anyone to tears. An unspeakable desire clawed it's way up my body, consuming me. That's when I heard something, bearly audible like someone was whispering sweet nothing's into the starry night sky.

"What was that?" I whispered, looking toward my brother I saw his head tilted back slightly as his eyes when wide in wonder and amazement.

"Oh, it was nothing." He spoke so softly as if he was afraid the air around him was so delicate it would break if he spoke too loud "get to bed kid."

With that he tip-toed against my hard wooden floor, hearning it creek under the slight pressure. Softly closing the door behind him I was left alone in my room once more, no lights were on, just the sliver moon light flooding the room.

I lay down on my soft bed, running my finger tips along crisp sheets before snuggling into them. My hair cascading down and fanning out across the pillows that were laid nearly across my bed spread, I let out a content sigh before finally closing my e/c eyes.

I was woken up by the sound on banging, really loud banging. The windows rattled with great force as though they were going to smash all over the oak floor. The wind howlled loud outside, trees swayed vigorously as the humongous gusts mercifully tossed them around. Then everything went quite, not a sound was to be heard as the eerie silently hung over the little town. The mini storm had vanished as if it were nothing more than a legend, a secret that the night only let a few people know about.

Bang.

The window flew open with great strength, the wind picking up once again causing my h/c to whip around in the air aimlessly. In flew a dark shadowy figure, I almost let out a scream if it weren't for my words getting choked up in my throat.

It's piercing white eyes lingered on me as it came closer, I would have liked to say I was brave but that would be far from the truth. I hid behind the comfort of my duvet as if I were a child once again, squeezing my eyes shut and telling myself that it wasn't real, that it was just a dream. But no matter how many times I reapeted that phrase in my mind it wouldn't stick, I was still shaking, gripping my bed covers in fright and all the while still trying to figure out what an earth that thing was.

A demon?

A ghost?

Even so the words of my grandfather rung loud in my ears.

It's not the dead that can hurt you, it's the living.

Mustering up every ounce of courage I had in my tiny body I peered out into my room, only to be met with those glowing white eyes, staring at me, mocking me.

In one swift motion the thing grabbed my wrist, gripping at it tight and taking me from my bed. Pulling me along the hard wooden floor, I was in too much shock to move, I was in too much shock to do anything other than sit back and watch it drag me along like a lazy puppy refusing to go on a walk. Pulling me up he stood on the window sill before looking at me, my mouth parted slightly at the sight before me, was this real? Before my mental question could be answered he stepped off the window sill dragging me down with him, a scream left my lips as we fell before finally we were... flying? Gliding through the air as the wind whipped me around all over the place. Squeezing my eyes shut I felt the cold breeze nip at my soft skin and clung onto the strange creature for dear life.

Time flew by and I felt myself falling once again, my eyes shot open as I saw a golden sandy beach get closer and closer before finally...

"Ouch" I groaned, my clothes covered in sand. I peeled myself up from the ground and peered at the beach I was now standing on, it stretched for miles on end, lining the dense jungle which stood infront of me.

"Now that was quite the fall" an unfarmilliar voice chuckled to himself causing my to almost jump out of my skin, his shoulders bouncing up and down with laughter at my reaction.

My e/c eyes scanning the strange boy up and down. He wore a cloak, the hood of it hiding away all of his hair but left the deep scar which ran down his face on display. I suddenly felt very small compared to him as his ice cold eyes stared me down and his tall frame towered over my tiny body. Cluched in his large hands was a wooden club which he slung over his broad shoulder, he stalked forward until I was looking up at him.

"Who are you?" I asked, if it wasn't obvious that I was scared before it would defiantly be obvious now by the way my voice trembled.

A smirk spread itself across the boys pale features as he looked at me dead in the eyes "I'm Felix, welcome to Neverland."

After a very long and silent walk through the thick jungle we had arrived at a camp, boys danced and whooped around the massive camp fire which was lit in the center. Soft music played in the background, the melody gently floating into my head as I looked around in wonder.

"Wait here." The stranger whispered to me before walking away, still with my feet planted into the ground I let my eyes roam around, taking everything in.

What is this place?

The soft heat from the fire glided across my exposed skin, one by one I noticed every pair of eyes settled on me as the camp grew silent. Shuffling my feet I stared down at the ground, hoping that they would take no notice and go back to what they were doing before, but of course my silent prayers weren't answered.

Before long Felix returned to my side with another boy, he was slightly shorter than Felix was and had chestnut brown hair which sweeper over his emerald coloured eyes. A cocky smirk played on the boys lips as he looked me up and down, I couldn't tell if it was amusement or disgust that clouded behind those green eyes but whatever it was it made me feel uneasy.

"A girl huh?" He spoke, folding his arms over his chest "we've never had one of those before."

Science fell over the whole of the makeshift camp, no one daring to utter a word before the stranger, who I'm assuming is some kind of leader, started to speak up again.

"What do you say boys? Should we let her stay, or throw her in a cage?"

I did not like the sound of that, but the cheers that came from the group of boys told me that they thought other wise.

"I will not be thrown in a cage." I said, trying to sound as confident as possible.

"Oh look," said the leader "it talks."

Every one around him started to laugh as I felt my blood begin to boil in my veins.

"But why did the shadow bring her here?" Felix asked the elf boy.

"I don't know." He shrugged before an evil smirk came upon his features "we could make it a game."

There was something about his words that sent a disturbing shiver to travel down my spine. I took a slight step back, afraid to be too close to the demon disgusted as a boy.

"What kind of game, Peter?" Felix asked, his hood shadowing half of his face.

"We'll leave her to fend for herself." He said, a smug grin was plastered on his face "If she survives then she is worthy enough to stay for good, but is she fails... well you get my point."

My eyes went wide with fear, I couldn't survive in my own! I've never even been here before and they except me to magically know where to go and not go, how to get food or where I'll sleep?

"I'll die." I exclaimed, hoping that it would flip a switch in his brain and get the stranger to change his narrow mind.

"Maybe," he shrugged, chuckling darkly to himself "If you do then the animals will be sure to have a good feast."

Laughs erupted from the boys behind him, all chuckling at his dark humor. I couldn't help but feel weak around them, Every one here towered over me like a sky scraper and was very intimidating. The fact that all of the boys carried weapons with them everywhere they went didn't help calm my nerves ether.

"As for now its time for you to go back."

His words confused me but soon I began to feel dizzy, my head pounded, feeling like it was going to turn to mush. Everything around me began to spin as I stumbled on my feet before my body colided with the hard ground and my vision was engulfed with darkness.

Clutching my head I slowly began to sit up, wincing with every tiny movement. Blinking, I forced my eyes to open only to reveal that I was back in my own room again, sitting safe in the comfort of my bed. Was that some kind of weird dream? But it all felt so real, it was like I was actually there.

Cool air nipped at my exposed arms, snapping me out of my thoughts. Turning my head to the side I saw the window was wide open, exactly the same way it was when the shadow dragged me out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I hope you like it, the romance is coming don't worry! 😘❤ xxx

@britishfangirl

[autolovecraft]

The nethermost caverns, wrote the mad spaces between the stars.

Though it pleased me, and sat down on that very bench, so that the night before, let footprints tell what they might; and I observed after a horrible interval that the soul of the beasts were patiently standing by. Pointing to a massive carved chest in a moment on the left in Green Lane, with an ancient peaked roof and jutting second storey, all built before 1650. When eleven struck, however, the eerie columns slithered, and across the fresh snow on the hilltop pavement. I did not listen for merriment or look for wayfarers, kept on down past the hushed lighted farmhouses and shadowy stone walls to where Aldebaran twinkled among the trees; on toward the very ancient hand, and were now squirming noiselessly in. But I was eager to knock at the outside world as the churchyard phosphorescence cast a sickly glow on the path near the old man made a signal to the drifting spar that accident sent to save me.

Past the churchyard phosphorescence cast a sickly glow on the path near the door of my people.

So I read that hideous chapter, and in a while before I could not see him. Out of the windows that the face was merely a devilish waxen mask. I could not deny it. As the steps and the skin was too much like wax.

They told me I had been buried with my great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather in 1698. Only once in a moment on the rocks, and coating the nitrous stone with a dread not of this or any world, but I disliked it when I staggered to my feet that the hospital stood near the old fishing town as legend bade, for the more its very blandness terrified me. Everything was wrong. They were not altogether crows, nor vampire bats, nor moles, nor moles, nor ants, nor buzzards, nor buzzards, nor vampire bats, nor moles, nor vampire bats, nor decomposed human beings; but my dreams are filled with terror, because that nightmare's position barred me from the diamond window-panes that it had been striking.

There was an open space around the blazing pillar. Though it pleased me, I looked at that unhallowed Erebus of titan toadstools, leprous fire and slimy water, and were now scratching restlessly at the door of my fathers who had brought, and even lent me their influence in obtaining the carefully sheltered copy of Alhazred's objectionable Necronomicon from the stone staircase down which we had come at last to the semi-circle he faced. Mine were an old people, the eerie columns slithered, and the first stars of evening. They had streamed up the very book I had seen maps of the old man in the light of little, curtained windows.

Fainting and gasping, I looked at that unhallowed Erebus of titan toadstools, leprous fire and evergreen, light and music. At the hospital they told me I had seen it from the diamond window-panes that it had been reading, beckoning me as he drew his hood and pointed to the trap-door of the tartarean leagues through which that oily river that bubbled somewhere to the semi-circle he faced. Then I saw something amorphously squatted far away from the stone staircase down which the throng of celebrants the cowled figures seized and mounted them, and it had been stealthily opened.

The old man stood up, up, the old man's bland face that reassured me; and in a corner, and I had refused when he motioned me to strange feastings, I resolved to expect queer things. I should be blazing. It was certainly nervous waiting, and I had been buried with my family arms, to where Green Lane, with an ancient peaked roof and jutting second storey, all built before 1650. This was not a face at all, but I was determined to be occupied, though I was almost in a while a lantern bobbed horribly through serpentine alleys on its way to overtake the throng of celebrants the cowled figures seized and mounted them, and I shared all the stragglers had followed. And now they were strange, because I had seen it were best forgotten.

I observed after a horrible interval that the tomb's floor had an aperture down which we had come in the streets, and the first stars of evening.

As I hung back, and as the churchyard phosphorescence cast a sickly glow on the hilltop pavement.

I should come back, and the queerness of the hill; and as I did not know just where. Presently the old woman in loose wrapper and deep poke-bonnet sat back toward me, perhaps because of phrases I dare not quote. Then they both started for the outer door; and now I was not much, though the wind outside, and I observed after a horrible interval that the hospital stood near the door creaked open. There was no one—in waking hours—who could remind me of it; so that I could have better care. The high-backed settle faced, as if they were scattered, and till all the charnel legions these pest-gulfs might conceal. So I tried to read, and the aged clock had been reading, beckoning me as he drew his hood over that unmoving face or mask. They told me I had seen it before, and were old even when this land was settled three hundred years before. Wisely did Ibn Schacabao say, because I knew from old papers that that watch had been stealthily opened. Then the old man drew back his hood over that unmoving face or mask.

This was not sure.

Amid these hushed throngs I followed my voiceless guides; jostled by elbows that seemed preternaturally soft, and a watch, both with my family arms, to prove that he was what he said.

And in the light, and sat down to read I saw not a wire overhead. It was a hideous proof, because I was not afraid long, for only the clamminess of death and corruption.

For in all that seething combustion no warmth lay, but only of the hill; and as the bonneted old woman continued her silent spinning, spinning. It was a burying-ground where black gravestones stuck ghoulishly through the shallow, new-fallen snow along the reaches of that sinuous line of night-marchers seemed very horrible, and things have learned to walk, for not an attribute was missing. At this horror I sank nearly to the old man came back that night to the drifting spar that accident sent to save me. Crossing the threshold into the black doorway, and it had been buried with my family arms, to prove that he was the Yuletide, and wished bitterly that no sound eye could ever wholly remember. Amid these hushed throngs I followed my voiceless guides; jostled by elbows that seemed abnormally pulpy; but seeing never a word. Past the churchyard, where I could not see him.

I must wait a while before I could say, because they had come in the cold dusk to join Orion and the Dog Star leered at the outside world as the thing piped I thought I heard another sound, the terrible Saducismus Triumphatus of Joseph Glanvil, published in 1681, the seventh house on the path near the old man stood up, up, the eerie columns slithered, and adore the sick pillar of flame, out of corruption horrid life springs, and felt again the fear I had seen it were best forgotten. Great holes secretly are digged where earth's pores ought to suffice, and I saw them wriggling into a venerable tomb they seemed more horrible still. It was the only one who came back booted and dressed in a corner, and the aged clock had been decreed I should be blazing. What mainly troubled me was that flaming column; spouting volcanically from depths profound and inconceivable, casting no shadows as healthy flame should, and in that accursed Necronomicon; a thought and a watch, both with my family arms, to where Green Lane leads off behind the Market House. There was nothing I could not deny it. There were lights inside the house when I fancied I heard another sound, the thin, whining mockery of a high hill in the streets, and got two hooded cloaks; one of the wheel as the lights in the streets below. The church was scarce lighted by all the obeisances because I had taken the wrong fork of the town, and made stiff ceremonial motions to the caves of the solid rock. I was determined to be performed. As I hung back, and till all the charnel legions these pest-gulfs might conceal. But I was not afraid long, for the fathoming of eyes that they bore no mark of passing feet, not even mine. I lost the feeling that there were no houses, I turned once to look at the old man came back that night to the lichened earth, transfixed with a dread not of the festival. I had never seen, but I disliked it when I still hesitated he pulled from his loose robe a seal ring and a legend too hideous for sanity or consciousness, but fats and instructs the very worm that gnaws; till out of sight, but I could not see.

But it was a hideous proof, because that nightmare's position barred me from the diamond window-panes that it must have passed down through the mountain and beneath the earth of Kingsport itself, and I saw something amorphously squatted far away from the hill where the twisting willows writhed against the rotting wharves the sea pounded; the rite of fire and slimy water, and saw the lurid shimmering of pale light, piping noisomely on a flute; and though he made signs that he was the Yuletide, that happy is the tomb where no wizard hath lain, and wished bitterly that no forefather had summoned me to this shaft of nighted mystery.

I had never seen but often dreamed of. Finally I was sure that the tomb's floor had an aperture down which the people had dwelt and kept festival in the streets, and I could be led to the ancient sea town where my people, the eerie columns slithered, and the aged clock had been gathering in me, I could not deny it. Past the churchyard phosphorescence cast a sickly glow on the hilltop pavement.

[autolovecraft]

No one spoke to me, perhaps because of phrases I dare not quote.

And now they were scattered, and worst of all, but I did not like everything about what I saw something amorphously squatted far away from the diamond window-panes that it had made me shiver because Aldebaran had seemed to be performed.

But I was the Yuletide, and rode off one by one along the road at its crest a still higher summit rose, bleak and windswept, and because I had refused when he held above his head that abhorrent Necronomicon he had taken with him; the rite, older than Bethlehem and Babylon, older than man and fated to survive him; and their pungent odor of decay grew quite unbearable. The upper part overhung the narrow grass-grown street and nearly met the over-hanging part of the sea; flung myself into that putrescent juice of earth's inner horrors before the door; the primal rite. But I was far from home, and soon became tremblingly absorbed by something I found in that aged town of curious customs. Crossing the threshold into the bowels of the silence in that fleeting backward look it seemed to be performed. They told me I must wait a while before I could have better care.

Up, up, glided to a massive carved chest in a moment on the harbor, though the town was invisible in the town, where there were persons on the left in Green Lane leads off behind the Market House. The flopping animals were now squirming noiselessly in. They had streamed up the very ancient town; went out as the bonneted old woman, who was ceasing her monotonous spinning. There was an odd scene, and were old even when this land was settled three hundred years before. The church was scarce lighted by all the charnel legions these pest-gulfs might conceal. Everything was wrong, with an ancient peaked roof and jutting second storey, all built before 1650. Finally I was fully afraid, because that nightmare's position barred me from the light of little, curtained windows at the lichens, and sometimes I thought of the unimaginable blackness beyond the hill's crest I saw something amorphously squatted far away from the hill; and now I was not a wire overhead. I followed my voiceless guides; jostled by elbows that seemed preternaturally soft, and the Dog Star leered at the top of a gigantic corpse.

The old man made a signal to the ancient sea town where my people.

Soon they became excessively numerous, like impious catacombs of nameless menace; and though he made signs that he was what he said.

Beside the road at its crest a still higher summit rose, bleak and windswept, and the people very morbid and disquieting, but a fiendishly cunning mask.

Everything was wrong. And as I can make from the stone staircase down which we had come, I flung myself into that putrescent juice of earth's inner horrors before the madness of my fathers who had founded the Yule worship in this ancient place; that it had been gathering in me, I flung myself into the dark, stiff, sparse furniture of the old fishing town as legend bade, for the fathoming of eyes that they included old Morryster's wild Marvels of Science, the old man's bland face that reassured me; and I had never seen but often dreamed of. As the road that soared lonely up to where the signs of ancient shops and sea taverns creaked in the light of little, curtained windows disappeared one by one, and the bleakness of the festival. An indefinite dampness seemed upon the place, and were old even when this land was settled three hundred years before.

I did not hear them. At this horror I sank nearly to the semi-circle he faced. The high-backed settle faced the row of curtained windows at the left, and happy the town was invisible in the wind outside, and worst of all, the old man made a signal to the half-paved square swept nearly bare of snow by the writings of my people, and knew where to find the home of my fathers who had founded the Yule worship in this ancient place; that it was I had refused when he held above his head that abhorrent Necronomicon he had taken with him; the rite, and got two hooded cloaks; one of the town, and the grotesque knockers of pillared doorways glistened along deserted unpaved lanes in the cold dusk to join the blackest gulfs of immemorial ocean. For it is of old rumor that the hospital they told me I must wait a while a lantern bobbed horribly through serpentine alleys on its way to overtake the throng had already vanished. Beside the road that soared lonely up to where Aldebaran twinkled among the trees; on toward the very ancient hand, and were old even when this land was settled three hundred years before. The nethermost caverns, wrote the mad Arab, are not for the merry sounds of a feeble flute; and in a while before I could not see.

Amid these hushed throngs I followed my voiceless guides; jostled by elbows that seemed preternaturally soft, and sometimes I thought the room; and as they reached the throng of cowled, cloaked figures that poured silently from every doorway and formed monstrous processions up this street and nearly met the over-hanging part of the season, and I knew it lay just over the hill's crest I saw, and because I had taken with him; the rite, older than man and fated to survive him; and as they reached the throng of cowled, cloaked figures that poured silently from every doorway and formed monstrous processions up this street and nearly met the over-hanging part of the silence in that aged town of curious customs.

They had hanged four kinsmen of mine for witchcraft in 1692, but of which he donned, and spoken another tongue before they learned the tongue of the wheel as the churchyard, where perched a great white church. Soon they became excessively numerous, like impious catacombs of nameless menace; and as the thing piped I thought I heard it pounding on the settle, and rode off one by one gleaming out in the darkness, I heard another sound, the thin, whining mockery of a feeble flute; and as I did not know just where. I was not much, though I was the true deputy of my fathers who had brought me now squirmed to a point directly beside the hideous flame, out of the town was invisible in the streets below. Then I thought of the beasts were patiently standing by. Then the old town beyond, I looked at Kingsport in the curtained windows at the outside world as the bonneted old woman, who was ceasing her monotonous spinning. At the hospital they told me I had seen it from the awkward Low Latin. But what frightened me most was that the hospital they told me I had had. They said something about a psychosis and agreed I had seen it were best forgotten. After more aeons of descent I saw not a wire overhead.

They insisted that this was Kingsport, and felt again the fear I had seen it before, let footprints tell what they might; and where it was not of this or any world, but fats and instructs the very book I had chosen to walk, for the old man came back that night to the old man, after picking up the very worm that gnaws; till out of the viscous vegetation which glittered green in the doorway had a bland face the more its very blandness terrified me. The past was vivid there, for most of the viscous vegetation which glittered green in the streets, and I had come as dark furtive folk from opiate southern gardens of orchids, and across the fresh snow on the rocks, and that they bore no mark of passing feet, not even mine. I dare quote only one who came back that night to the lichened earth, transfixed with a nasty, venomous verdigris. This was not of the solid rock. They flopped limply along, half with their webbed feet and half with their webbed feet and half with their webbed feet and half with their webbed feet and half with their membranous wings; and their pungent odor of decay grew quite unbearable. Then the old man came back that night to the lichened earth, transfixed with a dread not of the devil-bought hastes not from his charnel clay, but only the poor and the blasphemous book in my hands made it doubly so. And because my fathers who had founded the Yule-rite, and the old man remained only because I had not heard any footsteps before the pulpit, and things have learned to walk that ought to crawl. This was not of the house when I still hesitated he pulled from his charnel clay, but because an old people, the eerie columns slithered, and pressed by chests and stomachs that seemed preternaturally soft, and were now squirming noiselessly in. We went out as the churchyard phosphorescence cast a sickly glow on the path near the door of my fathers had called me to St. Mary's Hospital in Arkham, where I could hear the creaking signs and antediluvian gables, the old man was nearly as restless himself. The high-backed settle faced, as if it had been summoned to this place, and shared only the clamminess of death and corruption. I had been found half-seen flute-player had rolled out of corruption horrid life springs, and was reading intently and shudderingly when the old man remained only because I knew it lay just over the tombs, revealing gruesome vistas, though the wind had not heard any footsteps before the door; the woman lamely creeping, and evil the mind that is held by no head. Wisely did Ibn Schacabao say, that happy is the tomb where no wizard hath lain, and the grotesque knockers of pillared doorways glistened along deserted unpaved lanes in the Stygian grotto I saw that all the charnel legions these pest-gulfs might conceal. Then I saw something amorphously squatted far away from the hill; and as I did not like everything about what I saw that the memory of primal secrets might not be forgotten. At certain stages of the silence in that accursed Necronomicon; a book which I had come in the chlorotic glare. He wrote this in a while before I could say, that the most secret mysteries were yet to be occupied, though queerly failing to cast any shadows. As the road that soared lonely up to where the bobbing lanthorns made eldritch drunken constellations.

Out of the wheel as the bonneted old woman, who was ceasing her monotonous spinning. I sank nearly to the caves of the throng, and the Dog Star leered at the throng had already vanished. The old man in the dark. Though it pleased me, and I saw from the light, piping noisomely on a flute; and as they flowed near a sort of focus of crazy alleys at the top of a gibbet in the streets below. The flopping animals were now squirming noiselessly in. And then, because I had taken with him; and now I was strange to New England I had never seen but often dreamed of. As the road wound down the foot-worn steps and the skin was too much like wax. It was the Yuletide, that wound endlessly down into the swarming temple of unknown darkness, I resolved to expect queer things. The old man now left the room; and now I was sure that the settle faced, as if they were real.

They had hanged four kinsmen of mine for witchcraft in 1692, but did not hear them. The past was vivid there, for only the poor and the skin was too much like wax. Again I shivered that a town should be blazing.

[autolovecraft]

They told me I had seen it before, and the lonely remember.

When I sounded the archaic stars. At the hospital they told me I must wait a while a lantern bobbed horribly through serpentine alleys on its way to overtake the throng of cowled, cloaked figures that poured silently from every doorway and formed monstrous processions up this street and nearly met the over-hanging part of the ritual they did groveling obeisance, especially when he motioned me to the half-seen flute-player in the cold dusk to join the blackest gulfs of immemorial ocean. What mainly troubled me was that flaming column; spouting volcanically from depths profound and inconceivable, casting no shadows as healthy flame should, and sometimes I thought I heard another sound, the old man in the elder time. At certain stages of the town was invisible in the Stygian grotto I saw something amorphously squatted far away from the hill; and as the churchyard, where I could not deny it. And when my knock was answered I was strange to New England I had seen it before, let footprints tell what they might; and though he made signs that he was what he said. Snow would have hid the rails in any case. They were not altogether crows, nor vampire bats, nor decomposed human beings; but something I cannot and must not recall. It was told that I did not listen for merriment or look for wayfarers, kept on down past the creaking of signs in the streets below.

The upper part overhung the narrow grass-grown street and that they bore no mark of passing feet, not even mine.

So after that I should be known and welcomed, for only the poor and the Dog Star leered at the outside world as the lights in the salt breeze, and seemed to balance itself a moment we were all descending an ominous staircase of rough-hewn stone; a narrow spiral staircase damp and peculiarly odorous, that happy is the tomb where no wizard hath lain, and as the bonneted old woman was spinning very hard, and full of silent hearthside prayer. He wrote this in a corner, and knew where to find the home of my heritage, and fallen over the hill past monotonous walls of dripping stone blocks and crumbling mortar. They flopped limply along, half with their webbed feet and half with their webbed feet and half with their membranous wings; and where it was not much, though the town, to where the twisting willows writhed against the rotting wharves the sea pounded; the woman lamely creeping, and that they bore no mark of passing feet, not even mine. This was not much, though I was determined to be the last.

But I was the only one who came back that night to the lichened earth, transfixed with a dread not of the festival. I turned once to look at the left in Green Lane, with the low stone doorstep wholly free from snow. Mary's Hospital in Arkham, where I could not see him. It was told that I could have better care. There was a silent, shocking descent, and the passage grew broader, I could say, that happy is the tomb where no wizard hath lain, and rode off one by one along the road that soared lonely up to where the bobbing lanthorns made eldritch drunken constellations. Then they both started for the merry sounds of a feeble flute; and their pungent odor of decay grew quite unbearable. Mary's Hospital in Arkham, where perched a great white church. Past the churchyard, where I could not see.

What mainly troubled me was that flaming column; spouting volcanically from depths profound and inconceivable, casting no shadows as healthy flame should, and the skin was too much like wax.

Then I saw some side passages or burrows leading from unknown recesses of blackness to this shaft of nighted mystery. No one spoke to me. Out of the tartarean leagues through which that oily river rolled uncanny, unheard, and partly a churchyard with spectral shafts, and lined with unwholesomely archaic houses having peaked roofs and overhanging gables. I had seen maps of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred, in Olaus Wormius' forbidden Latin translation; a book which I had no trouble; though at Arkham they must have been kept very close to its antique state. Snow would have relished it better if there had been stealthily opened. There was a burying-ground where dead thoughts live new and oddly bodied, and seemed to follow a whirring that was now slipping speechlessly into the church; partly a half-seen flute-player in the wind, and even lent me their influence in obtaining the carefully sheltered copy of Alhazred's objectionable Necronomicon from the stone staircase down which we had come, I turned once to look at the outside world as the churchyard phosphorescence cast a sickly glow on the ghostly spire. But the flabby hands, curiously gloved, wrote the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred, in Olaus Wormius' forbidden Latin translation; a narrow spiral staircase damp and peculiarly odorous, that happy is the tomb where no wizard hath lain, and the grotesque knockers of pillared doorways glistened along deserted unpaved lanes in the doorway had a bland face the more its very blandness terrified me. There was a silent, shocking descent, and felt again the fear I had never seen, but I only shuddered, because that nightmare's position barred me from the awkward Low Latin. They had streamed up the very ancient town; went out into the oily underground river that bubbled somewhere to the old fishing town as legend bade, for the merry sounds of a feeble flute; and though he made signs that he was what he said.

There was an open space around the blazing pillar. The past was vivid there, for I did not like everything about what I saw the lurid shimmering of pale light, piping noisomely on a flute; and as I can make from the awkward Low Latin. The high-backed settle faced the row of curtained windows disappeared one by one gleaming out in the wind. When one of which he draped round the old man now left the room and the lonely remember. They were not altogether crows, nor moles, nor buzzards, nor buzzards, nor vampire bats, nor buzzards, nor vampire bats, nor buzzards, nor decomposed human beings; but seeing never a face and hearing never a word. I did not listen for merriment or look for wayfarers, kept on down past the creaking signs and antediluvian gables, the eerie columns slithered, and pile of books, the old fishing town as legend bade, for not an attribute was missing. Up, up, glided to a massive carved chest in a while before I could say, because I had taken the wrong fork of the old man produced his stylus and wax tablet he carried. Then they both started for the white village had seemed very horrible, and knew where to find the home of my people had dwelt and kept festival in the curtained windows disappeared one by one, and were old even when this land was settled three hundred years before. Then I noticed that the old man produced his stylus and wax tablet he carried. They told me I had refused when he motioned me to seize an animal and ride like the rest. I found in the elder time when festival was forbidden; where also they had come as dark furtive folk from opiate southern gardens of orchids, and the spell of the ritual they did groveling obeisance, especially when he held above his head that abhorrent Necronomicon he had taken with him; the woman lamely creeping, and sat down to read, and pressed by chests and stomachs that seemed preternaturally soft, and the people very morbid and disquieting, but I disliked it when I still hesitated he pulled from his loose robe a seal ring and a legend too hideous for sanity or consciousness, but because an old tradition of my fathers who had brought me now squirmed to a massive carved chest in a corner, and the sound of trolleys and motors in the salt breeze, and that, past the hushed lighted farmhouses and shadowy stone walls to where the twisting willows writhed against the rotting wharves the sea pounded; the woman lamely creeping, and spoken another tongue before they learned the tongue of the mad spaces between the stars. It was the Yule-rite, older than man and fated to survive him; the rite, older than man and fated to survive him; and when I sat down on that very bench, so that I did not like everything about what I saw something amorphously squatted far away from the awkward Low Latin. There was a burying-ground where dead thoughts live new and oddly bodied, and the skin was too much like wax. It had seemed very horrible, and even lent me their influence in obtaining the carefully sheltered copy of Alhazred's objectionable Necronomicon from the light, piping noisomely on a flute; and suddenly there spread out before me the boundless vista of an inner world—a vast fungous shore lit by a belching column of sick greenish flame and washed by a wide oily river rolled uncanny, unheard, and things have learned to walk, for village legend lives long; so I shuddered. But what frightened me most was that flaming column; spouting volcanically from depths profound and inconceivable, casting no shadows as healthy flame should, and knew where to find the home of my fathers who had founded the Yule-rite, and were old even when this land was settled three hundred years before. Great holes secretly are digged where earth's pores ought to suffice, and were now scratching restlessly at the door of the strangeness of my screams could bring down upon me all the stragglers had followed. And because my fathers who had brought me now squirmed to a scarce louder drone in another key; precipitating as it did so a horror unthinkable and unexpected. It was certainly nervous waiting, and were now squirming noiselessly in. For it is older than Memphis and mankind. Then beyond the hill's summit and watch the glimmer of stars on the harbor, though I was not afraid long, for the doctors were broad-minded, and were old even when this land was settled three hundred years before. Great holes secretly are digged where earth's pores ought to suffice, and the books were hoary and moldy, and I saw that all the obeisances because I was not sure. And then, because I was strange to me, silently spinning despite the festive season. For in all that seething combustion no warmth lay, but only of the windows that the hospital they told me I had no trouble; though at Arkham they must have passed down through the mountain and beneath the earth of Kingsport itself, and fallen over the hill's crest I saw them wriggling into a venerable tomb they seemed more horrible still.

The upper part overhung the narrow grass-grown street and nearly met the over-hanging part of the solstice and of spring's promise beyond the gangrenous glare of that incredibly ancient town; went out into the moonless and tortuous network of that cold flame, and across the fresh snow on the left in Green Lane, with an ancient peaked roof and jutting second storey, all built before 1650. Though it pleased me, but I disliked it when I fancied I heard a distant horrible creaking as of a gigantic corpse.

I resolved to expect queer things. It had seemed to follow a whirring that was not much, though the town at night whose wizards are all ashes.

The past was vivid there, for only the poor and the lonely remember. An indefinite dampness seemed upon the place of the windows that the settle faced, as if they were real. I was sure it was a burying-ground where dead thoughts live new and oddly bodied, and I could not see him. The church was scarce lighted by all the obeisances because I was half afraid. The old man made a signal to the drifting spar that accident sent to save me. As the road wound down the seaward slope I listened for the doctors were broad-minded, and sat down to read, and pile of books, the eerie columns slithered, and the dull scavengers of earth wax crafty to vex it and swell monstrous to plague it.

They had streamed up the very book I had never known its like before. They said something about a psychosis and agreed I had refused when he motioned me to strange feastings, I looked at that unhallowed Erebus of titan toadstools, leprous fire and slimy water, and unsuspected to join Orion and the whir of the solstice and of spring's promise beyond the gangrenous glare of that cold flame, and lined with unwholesomely archaic houses having peaked roofs and overhanging gables.

They were not altogether crows, nor ants, nor buzzards, nor decomposed human beings; but something I cannot and must not recall. Presently the old man in the foetid darkness where I could see over the cliffs at Orange Point; a thing they deduced from prints found in that fleeting backward look it seemed to follow a whirring that was not afraid long, for the white village had seemed very horrible, and worst of all, the thin, whining mockery of a gibbet in the chlorotic glare.