the wind out of me. Almost stunned, I turn my head in time to see one of the cinderblocks slide down the sloping plastic and directly into my unguarded face. Even as the remaining blocks are pulled down around me, and the hole somehow grows deeper, my mind strains to interpret the events as anything but grotesque slapstick. It is not until I feel the surface beneath me begin to pitch and writhe and I hear that insane, inhuman howl that my mind goes black. *** It is the sound of distant screams that bring me back. I awake in near darkness. The plastic crackles close to my ears and inside my mouth is a raw, aching mess. When I spit out the hot blood, I feel the hard pieces of my teeth pass between my fractured lips. With great difficulty and pain I manage to stand and stumble free of the plastic, now ragged and sticky with something dark and repugnant. Again, I am on the surface. The work lights have all been upset and now only one lamp spreads
Happy Birthday Lovecraft!
its light in a crude fan across the ground. More of the black mess is pooled around my feet. Judging by the spatter and the horrible pain down my right side, it seems that I was expelled from the pit with great force. Tad is nowhere to be seen. The light stops at the opening in the ground. Barely above the ringing rising in my ears, I can make out a man’s baleful cries echoing out of the blackness. When it suddenly stops, coldness creeps over me and my insides tighten. I collect my tools and leave. *** Several oral surgeries later and still in a shoulder cast, I return to the scene as it is being bulldozed. I question a worker who says that they had to truck in extra fill to stabilize the foundation. As I press him further I ask him if he or any of his buddies were having trouble sleeping or were experiencing excessive hunger; before he walks away he laughs and says, “Who in the hell doesn’t?”
Dedicated to the late, great H.P. Lovecraft