The Lights In The Swamp

England

1876

Day 1

North of Suffolk the trees grow tall and densely, reaching up to the empty sky. Their leafless branches calling out to the black abyss, they contort and twist fascinatingly, almost unnaturally so. The flat marshes and wetlands sprawling across the sour land like a virus, the thick, murky water seeping into every cold crack. A dangerous place for the imagination would be alone in that ancient forest. A place so solitary and austere, only the most depraved and desperate would seek to find solace in its rotted wood.

The flimsy carriage wheels rattled along the cobbled road uneasily, as if they could snap over one of the sharp, damp stones. An unnatural mist crawled through the approaching wood as the sound of hooves meeting wet stone echoed through the dead bark. The coachman squinted his eyes, the dim moonlight vaguely illuminating a small town further up the road, Royd-On-River. “what does a writer want out here upon this rotten heath.” Enquired the coachman to his passenger. A few more hooves trotted along the path before he heard his answer, “my uncle left me his old log cabin after his passing, I’m thinking I can use it to finish my novel in.” Replied the passenger. The coachman scoffed, “a cabin ay, what’d you do to deserve that?” The passenger looked down, “nothing, he wasn’t exactly left much option, we’re the only two of our family to make it past fifty. “well you won’t last much longer out here; this is a diseased land Mr Grange.”

The horses continued, their consistent hooves breaking the dim silence between each unenthused step and the cobbled stone of the road slowly turned to wet mud. Entering the town, the carriage was met with suspicion and confusion, visitors rarely travelled to this foul region. The carriage halted. “I’ll be seeing you Mr Grange” the coachman said. Howard Grange reluctantly exited on to the open, muddy street, happy to be out of the carriage but equally as indifferent to be met with so much decay. The small town of Royd-On-River marked the end of the main road, a fitting end to a dismal journey. Howard observed the surrounding town, small, detached, inadequately built structures fought against the overwhelming legions of poisoned trees, that town did not belong on such an unfriendly bog, a graveyard of mother nature. But the spirit of the land had not the strength to retaliate. Wicked networks of moss crawled up many of the buildings like veins. Howard took a deep breath of the spoiled air before mustering the gall to ask a passing townsman, “excuse me, sir, do you happen to know the way to the grange estate?” The townsman turned giving Howard a disconcerting scowl, the man’s bulbous eyes looked him up and down as to extend a loathsome welcoming. “down that path,” he indicated towards a small gap in the shrubs “follow it until you reach the opening in the wood, once your there you can see the cabin on the other side of the swamp.” Howard shot a thankful yet anxious nod towards the man before making towards the narrow trail.

He waded down the unlit passage, maybe once a somewhat pretty path may have lay there but by the time Howard got to it, nature had reduced it to but a nasty track of mud reclaimed by the countryside. He pushed through the suffocating foliage to a sprawling opening in the forest. Hundreds of yards of marshland sat still and devoid of life, the cold moonlight shimmered off its dreadful water. The stagnant liquid emitted an unnaturally foul odour of which Howards untainted nose had not smelt before. His comfortable city-based upbringing made this uneven swampland all the more alien. Howard surveyed his surroundings before proceeding. Trees wrapped around the edge of the swamp, as if the dank soil around the marsh was unhabitable. On the parallel border of the grim marsh it stood, low and dishevelled, Uncle Thomas’ cabin, the pinewood logs of the walls almost sinking into the mud. As Howard trudged around the swamp, his view of the cabin became surer. Its insipid four-wall design made for an unexciting yet strangely tranquil edition to the silent, murky countryside. Howard took note of a curious detail, wooden planks had been nailed to the inside of the windows, obscuring them completely. He came face to face with the beaten door and gently entered the old lodge.

A lantern swung dimly above the open door; Howard closed it after him. Laying his suitcase on the floorboards he examined the interior. Before him was a large living room, completely bare aside from an unlit fireplace. To the left of the living room lay a short, dim hallway, two doors on either side, and on the right end of the living room; a door stood ajar. A dark, dank cellar behind it. He unhooked the lantern and pushed open the basement door. He stood, staring hesitantly atop the staircase. The faint glow of the lantern vaguely illuminating the bottom of the stairs. Step by step Howard descended, each step groaning from the pressure beneath his exhausted boots. As he approached the bottom of the cellar it became just about visible. It was large. A rectangular chamber of stained, stoned walls, the slimy water of the adjacent swamp seeped through reedy cracks in the stone. Much like the living room it was barren, not a single object lay on its cold floor. Howard, slightly intrigued, but also to fatigued to investigate further, returned up the staircase. More exploration of the cabin led to Howards discovery of a study, one damaged desk beside an obscured window, and a bedroom with similar size and style to the study. A small bed underneath a boarded-up window facing the swamp.

He unpacked his belongings and sat gratifyingly at the desk, placing his journal on the unhallowed wood, a candle flickered by its side.

1876

April 6th

“I write this entry with great unease. This blazing pillar of wax beside me I wonder if coming here was a well-chosen act. London’s cold grasp has waned on me a copious amount, the monotony of that cities ritualistic routines has become agonising. The chimes of accursed bells counting down the hours until the sun falls past the horizon and the unkempt streets become desolate, the only time in which my mind can respite. slowly my suffocating apartment began to exhaust me, thinking of those blemished walls unsettles me now. It seemed coming all the way out here to this detached woodland cabin may have been my rescue, but as I sit here in this timber homestead, I contemplate my choice. This certainly is a more peaceful setting than the cheerless walls of my London apartment, yet I feel I weight on me here that I have not previously felt. A disconcerting heaviness that makes my eyes fall drowsy and my feet grow weary. There’s a burden one must carry when crossing through this poisoned land, a feeling as though the land itself is above you, even the denizens of this squalid place are callous and aloof, clearly, they are provoked by my being here.”

With a disgruntled sigh Howard closed his journal and crossed the hallway to the bedroom.

Day 2

Howard awoke peacefully, his eyes slowly adjusted to the dazzling rays of sunlight seeping through the gaps between the wooden boards above his head. After getting changed into his usual outdoor attire, Howard made for the small town he had briefly encountered the previous day, Royd-on-River. A solemn yet strangely melancholic trudge down the tight woodland pass later he emerged from the bushes into the sullen mediocrity of the town. Very few people could be seen passing from one moss infested building to another. Clutching his satchel Howard marched towards the general store, a small rotten structure squashed between two mightier buildings, a tall two story bar stood to its left, through its opaque windows Howard noticed the smudged silhouettes of some of the other townsfolk, sat motionless like sculptures. He pushed through the stiff door to the shop, a musty stench filled his nose, he could feel the dust particles dance in his nostrils. Howard winced before approaching the shopkeeper. An oddly kind looking man stood behind the counter, he looked almost out of place. He was tall, a clean vest wrapped around his slim torso. As Howard approached a warm smile crept along the shopkeeper’s shaven face. “Virgil”, the man announced placing a hand on his chest, “and you are?” he extended his hand towards Howard. Caught off guard by the man’s cheerful demeanour he stuttered before replying. “Howard”, he shook Virgil’s hand. “so. What’ll it be.” Inquired Virgil. “Just, um, four candles please,” Howard stammered. “ahhhh, you’re the fella up in the grange residents, aren’t you?” Howard nodded with a timid smile as Vigil scurried away to the back of the shop. “what’s the occasion” he shouted out from the backroom. “my uncle left me the cabin in his will, got the letter of inheritance a few months back, thinking the quiet will help me finish my novel.” “inheritance?” Virgil shouted back, still rummaging around in the back. “you mean to tell me your poor uncle has passed?” “ye, yes, has been for months now, you knew him?” “ahh yes, everyone here knew him, he- there we go sorry about that,” Virgil emerged from the room clutching four candles.

“last four we got, lucky you”, he said placing the candles down on the counter. “six pence please Howard”. Howard placed the appropriate amount of coins in Virgil’s kindly hands. “strange about the candles” Virgil said. “how so?” inquired Howard curiously. “well, the only times your poor uncle Thomas would come down here would be to buy candles, lord knows what for but each time he would come down he would behave more and more strange, hard to explain really. but a year or so ago he just stopped, we all assumed he left for the city, sad to hear he’s gone though.” Howard, his curiosity peaked asked “strange, what do you mean strange?” Virgil’s eyes perked with inquisitiveness, “do you not know, it was hard to ignore” he sniggered. “no, well, we never really spoke. To be completely truthful I almost overlooked his existence until his inheritance letter, I didn’t attend the funeral, nor did I know he had passed.” Howard explained. “Well, in all honesty I think that was for the best, in his finest moments he would wander the town looking as though a horse had kicked him in the balls and at his harshest he would come in a manic state, screaming of strange lights in the swamp and its mystical properties, among other tall tales. Howard, it was the ramblings of a madman. Is there anything else I can do for you?” Howard grabbed the candles and made for the door. “be seeing you”, Virgil said as Howard flung the unkempt door open and left. That was enough conversation for today.

After placing and lighting the candles in each of the rooms Howard sat, slouched on the bed. Staring down at his unsullied hands he pondered on the strange and unknowable manner of the placid countryside he had found himself in. He peered over his shoulder to the odious wooden boards covering the window, they were inelegantly nailed to the bordering oak. He leaned over the bed and clutched the top board. Wincing as the hard wood dug into the joint of his fingers, Howard ripped the board from its place, revealing the unpleasantly satisfying view of the swamp on the other side. His hands ached but he pressed on, tearing plank after plank from each window frame. As the last board was pried free Howard took a step back, he had found himself in the centre of the living room, the last ten minutes of pain staking labour felt as though it were a vivid dream. He ogled at the windows, they were polished, like looking through another pair of eyes they were. The rotted marsh that surrounded the cabin now took on a more opulent tone. Its dark greens and unchanging blackness seeped into the living room; the descending sun shimmered off the water. Howard moved hastily toward one of the windows and peered upwards to the darkening sky. The sun was setting. He looked down at his watch. Four o’clock. Howard marched outside confused and gazed upwards. The sun slowly sank over trees as the orange gold hue of the sky drained into a familiar blackness. Howard found himself lost in the rhythmic percussion of the endlessly swirling trees, his face aglow with crimson rays and a tangerine tinge. The inky blackness of the swamp emerged through the last of the suns red light as the final emissions of daylight vanished beyond the forests finger-like extensions. The cold blanket of night fell over the truly alien land.

1876

April 7th

I find myself sat here bewildered. An unexpected sensation of warmth has claimed me. My previous conceptions of this unkempt place have become a shameful echo in the back of my head. A peculiar conversation with a local figure named Virgil did what I assumed hitherto impossible; it has claimed my interest in this foreign land. A sort of baneful curiosity has arisen within me. I’m almost abashed to admit this place has conjured more intrigue than any of my writing has before and will do after. Its macabre beauty and murky history are unfamiliar to me, for the remainder of my time here I conclude it best to document rather than create.

This is my first-time outside London. It never occurred to me that this visit to a seemingly tedious countryside would lead to such mental exile. For so long I believed I would never have to leave that odious city, why would I. I confess I have not considered myself to be good at what I do, but more so I know how to put the right words in the right position to fool the right people to create the illusion of success, its why I think I found myself so unfulfilled and lonely in such a lively place. But now, out here, I feel an almost hypnotic enlightenment. I’m scared. But I like it. Something Is always better than nothing. In London I was restless, on edge, uptight, afraid of what might happen, what might not happen. I would sit down in my apartment and crack my knuckles to break the awful silence, I would pick the tips of my fingers to make sure I could still feel. Now all I’m scared of the inevitability of my return. Out here I rest just fine, maybe I’ll stay awhile longer.

Day 3

The trees danced and swirled to the gusting beat of the roaring wind. Had ever some birds resided in their thin branches; they were no more. thin rays of grey light broke through the gaps between the conjoined clouds.

A terrible wail filled the morning air.

Howard awoke with a frightened gasp, he sat upright and listened, not convinced what had just woke him was from a vivid fantasy, conjured by a dream or from the bleak expanse beyond the cabin door. He jolted in his bed, there it was again, it was no fantasy, an agonising screech trembled through the old wood. In his nightly gown Howard hurried for the front door. Without hesitation he flung it open. On the floor before lay the bloodied body of a small goat, clinging to its fading life. Squirming at the foot of the door. Howard scoured the surrounding landscape for whatever fated thing had done it, there was nothing. The swamp sat barren as it always had. He knelt to inspect the dying creature, horrified he gawked in terror at its leaking torso. Three large punctures had been inflicted on the poor beast, an endless amount of thick black blood poured from the gaping incisions onto the doorstep. Almost akin to knife wounds. No woodland predator had done this. With a final harrowing wince, the goat ceased its squirming. After a few moments of uninterrupted silence Howard clutched the creature by its lifeless legs and marched for the town.

“what do ye say of this!” a blood drenched Howard shouted, hurling the carcass into the middle of the street, it landed with a gruesome squelch in the mud. The few townsfolk who were wandering outside halted with looks of revulsion. With similar expressions the rest of the men and women in the buildings rushed out to inspect the disturbance. A crowd quickly formed around the scene. “ye country folk are sick!” Virgil pushed through the commotion to the front of the crowd. “Howard!” He shouted. “what on earth have you done!”

“This is not my doing! I awoke to find this butchered animal outside my home, my home!” He yelled. “Howard, please be calm, none of us did this,” some of the crowd nodded in agreement. “You uncivilised savages!” Howard bellowed at the townsfolk. “Howard I’m afraid you’ll need to calm down” Virgil spoke tenderly as he approached the enraged Howard, stepping over the goat on his way. “It was most likely an animal attack is all, plenty of feral creatures live out in these woods. I’ve already told you, your uncle before you struggled out there, its an unhealthy place to be alone in.” he placed a hand on Howards bloody, trembling shoulder. “I’ve got a spare room above the shop; you’re welcome to stay the night there if it’ll help.” Howards fury dissipated and his blind anger turned to more of a frightened confusion. “look at the body, its been cleanly pierced, they’re knife wounds Virgil, a man did this.”

Virgil, somewhat floored, backed away as Howard scoffed before wandering back into the wood. Muttering profanities under his breath he strode down the thin trail. Breathy whispers of wind rustled through the foliage. As Howard had almost expected he spotted the fleeting sun through the narrow branches above. The days were becoming briefer. He looked down to his watch. Instead of displaying a single time the hands had begun spinning and twitching. In the scope of the days previous events a broken watch was of small concern to Howard but the he was left slightly disturbed by the darkening sky. Perhaps he had woken up later than usual, or more likely he was just not accustomed to the facets of that peculiar place.

As he approached the upcoming swamp a strange sight caught his gaze. Through the thickets of dead leaves and wicked thorns he saw it. Howard pushed through the bushes hastily, all the while peering through gaps in astonishment. just as he emerged from the forest trail into the opening of the swamp, he stood quiet in his tracks. Before him the swamp shimmered, aglow with a flurry of dazzling, golden lights. Hundreds of them sparkled and sang in the once black water. A beautiful hymn of rhythmic chimes and echoes emanated from their roughly spherical form, they swam effortlessly though the swamp before jumping out like dolphins to breath the cool air. The hypnotising visage astounded Howard, not being able to blink he stepped forward to inspect them further, but as he did, they vanished, as if blown out like a candle. They were gone.

1876

April 8th

I sit here stunned, dumbfounded, shocked and confused yet exited. I know not the words to capture this flurry of emotions. Today I bore a sight of which my mind cannot begin to make sense of, nor understand. I began the day horrified and incensed, the bloodied body of a dying creature lay at the foot of my door, pieced by deliberate strikes yet the townsfolk deny their involvement. Before I was convinced of a grand conspiracy against me. Some sort of ploy to frighten me away I thought, but now I am not so sure. Since my arrival in this strange land I have been submerged in peculiar happenings and mysterious right out of a dream, but I had failed to see the beauty of this enchanted place until now. After a puzzling ordeal I once again took note of night falling inexplicably early, my watch was of no assistance to me in explaining this bizarre phenomenon. It appears this place exists above earthly routines, as though it is another world completely. However, the strangest event of all took place once I breached the suffocating vegetation of the surrounding forest. Virgil had once told me of how my uncle Thomas before would ramble vague descriptions of lights in the swamp, a madman’s visions I had once thought, the telling’s of a lonely old fool. Well perhaps I too have gone mad within this ancient wood. The lights were beautiful. Golden orbs of heavenly glow danced and played in the water. They sang for me a magical tune of celestial splendour. A mighty orchestra of unrepeatable din. As I approached, they vanished as mysteriously as they arrived. I must learn of their secrets, great and unfathomable as they may be.

Day 4

Hours of uncomfortable rest behind him, Howard sat up in his bed, making sure to check his watch before starting the day. 10 o’clock it read, a reasonable time. He climbed out of bed stiffly, catching a glimpse of himself in the window’s clear reflection. He was thinning, terribly so. The skin of his cheeks sinking behind the bones below his eyes, thin veins protruding from his temple.. It occurred to him then he had not eaten since he arrived, he had no urge to. Four days he had gone without a meal, yet his face suggested longer. It worried Howard not.

He exited into the hallway, enraged and puzzled at what grim imagery would meet him. Scrawled across the inside of the front door a pattern of shapes and hieroglyphs forming a circular symbol, painted in black ink. He moved closer to examine it. The circumference of the cypher littered with strange images, some resembled people, others did not. They depicted creatures of which Howard did not recognise. It was not clear what separated their body from their face, vague smudges of peculiar animals, some with trunks hanging off their uneven heads. Their torso area was completely indistinguishable from where their legs should be, instead their bottom halves devolved into an irregular gelation. Other images portrayed creatures less describable. Inside the circle of horrors and monsters was another jumbled mess of unfamiliar scrawling’s, these however, appeared more like letters than small images, letters belonging to a language Howard could not transcribe nor recall. As he inspected, the black liquid dribbled down the hard wood.

He stepped back; an overwhelming sense of dread took him over. As he reversed however, both windows to his sides crawled into his peripheral. Blackness. It was dark. The hands of his watch once again twirling erratically. Howard rushed to the marked door, flinging it open so hard it almost fell of its hinges. The cold nightly air chilling his bumpy skin. He looked to the sky, the pale moon calling out in the darkness. Howard, his eyes fixed to the black abyss began to catch the swelling of a familiar tune. He turned instinctively to the swamp. The glorious sight of those bouncing lights reflected off his hollow eyes. They beckoned him closer. But this time they did not disperse, they reached out embracing him in their warm grasp. In a dreamlike trance Howard squelched through the black mud toward the sparkling swamp, teeming with radiant globes, wonderful yet monstrous. He stopped at the edge of the water, the melancholic choir of the spherical lights ringing in his skull, deep and hypnotic. Without thought he plunged himself into the wailing water, swallowed by its blasphemous fluid.

Day 5

Howard awakened at the border of the placid swamp. The unfamiliar light of day beaming down on his damp face. As he regained consciousness he coughed up some black gunk which trickled down his soaked garments. A few moments passed before Howard could recollect the nights events.

While the experience was still vivid in his racing mind Howard scurried to the adjacent cabin, racing through the thin mud. Shaking and wet he burst through the cabin door toward the study. Trembling he began to write, the thin water of the swamp dripping onto the blank paper.

Now I know this place not to be enchanted and benevolent but instead a squalid sanctum of nightmares and elder things man should never witness.

The day turned to night without sunset and the lights came out once more. They frolicked in the swamp, hiding its hideous reality. Enthralled and thoughtless I came to them, casting myself into their watery home.

I was thrown into a shimmering black abyss, the callous liquid seeped into my clothes and into my nose and mouth, I could taste the dirt. I could not breath, every time I tried to, I would choke on the water. But It was not the swamp. The lights swam around me, bright and uncaring. My body did not exist. A cold universe wrapped around my twisting mind, I could no longer feel the beat of my own heart. Held in a dreamlike suspension I drifted aimlessly through a place untouched by man. I was suffocating but I felt no pain. I was no longer cold and wet, I was no longer in the swamp or anything similar. And in the distance, they sparkled, stars, or what appeared to be stars shone through the cold, endless dark. It was beautiful at first. As I passed nebulas and systems of planets and dead rocks I approached the stars. Before my mind could perceive them I passed them too, the twinkling orbs of glorious light flew by me and above the blackness of space I saw them. The outer gods of earth and other places far away. In their crystalline cities and dark houses they danced to the terrible moans of abominable drums and accursed flutes. The nagging chaos of their countless slaves roared beneath their endless sway. Bulbous horrors of slime and flesh constructed colourless, glass pyramids and cyclopean monuments in worship of those vile and dreadful gods, all the while those tentacled monstrosities played atop the universe.

And before my mind drowned in the nuclear madness it spat me out.

Tears trickled down Howards face, masked by the dreadful swamp water. He sat back in astonishment of what he just wrote, a horrific scripture of terrors beyond comprehension. Still dripping he shot up from his chair and through the door. He waded through the gnashing, gnawing tendrils of the forest toward the town.

Bursting through the foliage onto the main street he rushed once more to the general store. Crashing through the door into the shop he was met by Virgil’s disturbed gaze behind the counter. “Howard what on earth happened to you?” he asked worriedly. “what is that swamp, what is in it, please you must tell me you must tell me Virgil, what is that swamp?” “Howard you must relax, please, tell me what happened to you, why are you wet?” “I went in there Virgil, the swamp. I went in there, a thousand faces of horror beyond all imagination I saw.” Virgil came to Howard as he rambled, placing an arm round his shivering figure. “this is madness Howard, what you’re saying isn’t real, the invention of a troubled mind. Its what that place does to you.” Howard looked at him confused. “what do you mean, what does that place do to you?” he said, slowly calming from his scared panic.

“well it’s like I told you before Howard, you’re not the first to come here telling of monstrosities in the swamp and horrors beyond the mind. Your uncle lived for years out there, the longer he would stay the madder he would become, seems the swamp has taken its toll on you quicker. Now you go on and collect your things now, I’ll pay for someone to take you back to the city, you can’t stay out there any longer. I was afraid this would happen.” Howard nodded in compliance, before his shaken mouth could express his thanks a shriek could be heard outside.

Both men rushed out, as well as most other townsfolk. A woman could be seen screaming and wailing, clutching a bloodied child in her quivering hands. “My baby, my baby, my poor, sweet boy, who have taken you from me,” she wept. The surrounding villagers gasped in horror. Three large gashes could be seen oozing blood from the childs naked torso, dripping onto the mud. The woman stood screaming in the street as the townsfolk ogled at the nightmarish scene, confused and shocked. As Howard trembled at the sight of it, he began to feel the eyes turning to him, “he’s the one who dunnit.” Shouted one of the townsmen. “ye, everything been acting strange since he arrived.” Accused another over the continuous wails of the hysterical mother. Howard began to reverse behind the crowd as they turned to him, panicked and desperate. He looked to Virgil for help. Virgil looked back with suspicion. “please be rational!” Howard pleaded, “I did not do this you must believe me.” “Howard” Virgil said sternly, looking on from inside the forming mob of disgruntled denizens. “I think you should leave, now.” For a few moments Howard looked at Virgil betrayed and defeated.

As the mob closed in around him Howard turned and darted toward the woodland pass. He sprinted through, pushing past the bushes, dry leaves and thorns smacking him as he passed. The sound of the furious townsfolk shouted and cursing behind him, Howard breached through the tight passage and out to the other side, once again met with the mossy terrain of the swamp and its repugnant depths. Regaining his footing on the squalid mud he raced toward the cabin, tumbling over the wet marsh on his way.

He clumsily tumbled through the cabin door. Covered in mud and woodland excrement’s he slammed the door behind him, bolting every lock. After seeing to it that the door could not easily be breached, he turned, faced with the rest of the lodge painted black with identical symbols as the one on the door, they were on the roof, the floor and every surrounding wooden wall. Everywhere, the same dreadful cipher of legless abominations and anthropomorphic monsters. The same scribbling of unreadable letters at their centre.

A petrified Howard almost didn’t notice the crackling, golden hue emitting from the ajar basement door. He stubbled over to it hesitantly, all earthly sounds had been muted, even the howls of wind could no longer be heard. He gently pushed the door open. At the bottom Howard could see a sight of which he was to horrified to be puzzled by. And against his better judgement he descended the steps. Each uneasy creak of the boards rang through his bones. As he etched closer to the bottom his face was lit with a sparkling yellow glow. Hundreds of candles had been set up along the walls of that stony chamber. All shimmering and burning. And between the rows of smouldering sticks of flame lay a familiar black marking. He moved closer to it, down the hallway of candles. As he approached its image became clearer. It was certainly similar to the others, with one noticeable disparity. As he grew nearer, he began to make it out. Amongst the alien letters and ancient creatures, he saw a language he could understand in its core. His feet passed the bordering hieroglyphs on the ground as he knelt to read aloud a word he had half expected.

“Howard”

As he spoke the floor began to tremble and shake and a mighty roar bellowed from the recess of his mind, sending him convulsing and writhing atop the symbol. An unimaginable pain soared throughout every fibre of Howards frail being as his mind began to melt into madness. Blood and puss spewing from every wrenching hole. As his vision became red and blurred Howard could make out a peculiar vision descending the steps as he had just done. “well done boy, yer have made yer old uncle proud.” Thomas said, in a voice which echoed through the glowing crypt. Naked and grinning the old man approached Howards vile form. A green sludge dripped from the many mouths that riddled Thomas’ terribly wrinkled body. Bulbous bloodshot eyes wept along his arms and legs. “now the ritual is complete child, events have been set in place not you nor I can change,” he said, stroking Howards shaking head. “I know you saw them, the lights, and what lays beyond. You were scared, I was too the first time, but they asked me Howard. They asked me if I would like to live deliciously, free of my dying body, and I said yes. I ate of the lights in the swamp, consuming their knowledge and power and as I did the image become clearer, the vision of stars. A vision of gods who came to the young earth out of the sky, before there were any men, and of their heavenly larvae they would birth in the swamp.” As he spoke Howards body began to transform and evolve rapidly. A thousand generations of man flowed through him in an instant until his body was nothing but a puddle of slime, a thin tendril protruding between his fish-like eyes. Thomas chuckled in amazement as he held the new-born creature in his arms. “you are reborn, fragments of their soul exist now in you and now you are the gate, and the guardian of the gate, you are the poisoned vicar of the stars and the abysmal fire. The demon priest. The blind idiot god. Now I eat of your flesh and leave my mortal body.”

Thomas devoured the creature that Howard had become, and as the alien flesh slid down his slimy gorge, the wizened weak body Thomas had lived in for ninety-four years faded, and returned to the cosmos.