Something is Rising.

The Thing That Knocked at Thistle Bay

 

The fog rolled in thick on the town's only street, Too thick for the lampposts, too thick for my feet, And I sat in my house with my cat, Mr. Prynne, When we heard it. A knock. And the knocking came IN.

 

It came through the door without turning the knob! It wore a tall hat and it burbled and throbbed, And it smiled a smile that was seven smiles wide — Far more than a mouth ought to hold on one side.

 

"I'm the Fhtagn-Fhtoo! And I've come here for you! For you and your town and your cat, Mr. Prynne, too! I bring you such games! I bring wonders galore! I bring you the Sea and what sleeps on its floor!"

 

"No thank you," I said. "We are fine, we are fed. We do not want wonders. We're going to bed." But the Fhtagn-Fhtoo laughed, and its laugh, I confess, Made the wallpaper peel and the clocks run in S.

 

It reached in its hat, which was deeper than deep — So deep that the deepness made Mr. Prynne weep — And it pulled out a box with a lid made of night, And it said with its smiles, "Would you like a small bite?

 

"Would you look at it here? Would you look at it there? Would you look at it under your grandmother's chair? Would you look at it once? Would you look at it twice?" And I said, "I would NOT." But my eyes weren't so wise.

 

For my eyes took a peek. Just a peek. Just a bit. Just a sliver of look at the thing in the pit Of that box made of black, where the angles went wrong, Where the corners bent inward and hummed a low song.

 

And I saw...