let’s play a fun game called “we’re just friends but I’d fuck you if you asked”
The day had come again, when as a child
I saw—just once—that hollow of old oaks,
Grey with a ground-mist that enfolds and chokes
The slinking shapes which madness has defiled.
It was the same—an herbage rank and wild
Clings round an altar whose carved sign invokes
That Nameless One to whom a thousand smokes
Rose, aeons gone, from unclean towers up-piled.
I saw the body spread on that dank stone,
And knew those things which feasted were not men;
I knew this strange, grey world was not my own,
But Yuggoth, past the starry voids—and then
The body shrieked at me with a dead cry,
And all too late I knew that it was I!
Fungi from Yuggoth
By H. P. Lovecraft.
IV. Recognition(via madness-and-gods)
I’ve told this story three times now. Once to the police. Once to a jury. And once to my psychiatrist. This will be the last time I tell it.
We’ve always lived at 423 Stockholm Street, ever since I was a baby. So, there really wasn’t ever a time when I didn’t hear it. And as far back as I can remember, I’ve always known that there was another room on the other side of my wall.
I found this at my front door, as though somebody had just left it there. My friends say I should throw it away because it’s just a piece of rubbish. And it couldn’t possibly come from him. I know it’s true.