I am the Father of Hell, and my eyes burn brightThe Nightmare
by Nate Leved
in the Mist. Feel my wrath and hear the scrape of
my steely, slashing claws. My teeth are sharp and
I am semi-hungry. Don't let the fact that my
feet are covered with grave dirt bother you as
mine enemies shall never make it to a graveyard.
I am coming, hear my insane laughter echoing off
the crypt walls. I am here. Soon I shall pick my
teeth on a splintered thighbone of one of mine
adversaries. I hate the taste of their flesh rotting
between my teeth. Often when I am sated, I floss
with a hangman's rope and brush with the hair of
a handy corpse. I sing the song of the banshee to
the tremulous chords of the wolf pack. They know
me and follow at my heel to lap up my leavings-- but
not too closely-- the Children of The Night.
I am the nightmare that all men fear-- the one who
prowls the night in wanton lust and desire for hot
human flesh. I feast first on dainty tidbits such as
freshly plucked eyeballs, colored with fear and
aversion. I lick the sauce from the sockets, before
beginning upon cocktail fingers and toes. Then
pulling off a meaty drumstick, I feed the genitals and
the guts to my Children of the Night, giving the young
first choice. There is plenty to go around. Often
mortals have asked why the wolves follow me and
why I allow them to do so. Ours is a symbiotic
relationship. I feed them, and they clean up after me.
Simple, is it not? One cannot just leave all of those
corpses and torn parts afield, now can one?
Our relationship has endured for thousands of years
and will continue as long as there are men who cower
in the darkness, afraid for their mortal souls and of things
that go crunch in the night. There are those who teach
fear and limitation to the gullible mortals who attend the
school of mysticism on Sunday Mornings and eat stale
crackers and guzzle watered down grape juice when
they should be drinking fresh, hot blood instead. How
sad that they are throwing away their power and wasting
their seed upon a mythos of soul slavery. No matter,
they are all equal to us. They are our meat. It is just
that some shriek louder than others when the fang
approaches.
Thousands of people disappear every day or night
as the case may be. But then it has always been that
way, hasn't it? Where do you suppose they all go?
Do you really think that gray aliens scoop them up?
"Beam me up, Scotty!" Sure. No, I and my kind
are the responsible parties. We feed upon them--
we and our attendant wolves that clean up our mess
so well. We are having a party. Do you hear the
wolves howl in the night? They howl of joy. They howl
of triumph! They howl of wanton lust! They howl of
satisfaction! They are cheering me on! Hush! The
puppies are hungry. I shall not disappoint them. I do it
for the children.
Nate
