A Re-Interpretation by Jonathon David Hawkins
(Originally written by H.P. Lovecraft)
slis slice in the knife ashes mud out the blood quiets wights sources might her muscles carving will feed your gullet starving drips drips her lifeblood slips what white she has my dear the better to feed you with red meat man meat food the gods eat blood to blood flesh to flesh more of the same the tastiest game will keep your body whole hooked and skinned their skulls staved in gray pudding for your gruel cut and carve my little Methuselah of the hills eat on feed yourself feed your starving stomach hungrier day by day by month by month by year by year by decade by decade growing and as lasting as the hills which wrap this house in shadowed green feed your body with the meat feed your mind with the gray feed me with the shadows of your soul my little Tantalus my hungry little giant live in loneliness live in solitude live poor live long live for the food live for me live in the woods live in the silence live in the shadows away from the gallows hunt these rutted roads my little toad and snap the noisome flies the meat my boy the meat the bone free of their load afore the blood goes cold yes hook the worm before she ceases to squirm but wait! there's a bump down below as her heart pumps like bellows a rat on the floor as the sow breathes no more put your ear to the boards and hear the vermin that threatens your meat hoards no not a rat but a mouse entering the cats house oh a rabbit a rabbit come into your den mirror mirror on the wall who is the hunter of them all check the beard clear from gore and gristle and blood and bone walk careful walk quiet you rabbits will scare and run from the wolf so sneaky and quiet but steps make a riot oh yes oh yes your boots may boom the mouse has shut himself in the book room caught in the snare another hart to prepare in the skinning room above yes yes go on my little ragmedallion feed feed feed feed feed me more feed you more do as I say and live days without number calm calm my little giant don’t fumble so in your excitement the prey is in your reach open the door yes the door and gaze upon the dinner that waits in this room the room of books the room of the book the book that brought you to me the rabbit frights the rabbit starts you scare him talk to him my little hungry one welcome to my parlor said the spider to the fly one invite the doe to your meal ...
"Ketched in the rain be ye?"
yes! good! continue you on draw him in as the serpent the mouse see how his mind calms...
"Glad ye was nigh the haouse en’ hed the sense ta come right in. I calc’late I was asleep, else I’d a heerd ye — I ain’t as young as I uster be, an’ I need a paowerful sight o’ naps naowadays. Trav’lin fur? I hain’t seed many folks ‘long this rud sence they tuk off the Arkham stage."
good good he listens he answers his voice barely shaken I be not mistaken that here is our next dinner talk talk draw him near draw him near the frightened deer...
"Glad ta see ye, young Sir — new faces is scurce arount here, an’ I hain’t got much ta cheer me up these days. Guess yew hail from Bosting, don’t ye? I never ben thar, but i kin tell a taown man when I see ‘im — we hed one fer destrick schoolmaster in ‘eighty-four, but he quit suddent and no one never heerd on ‘im sence —"
no no no one but us suddenly ours was he suddenly taken was he and teach him we yes yes his gray was tasty joy in the hunt joy in the taking of the body of the son of man but keep talking keep talking toy with the mouse for in your house is he and in your house he shall stay until the time is ripe speak speak oh yes he listen has he caught no clue that he draws your hunger forth what now he questions questions the book the wonderful book the book that brought us together answer him answer him let the mouse see what he faces...
"Oh, that Afriky book? Cap’n Ebenezer Holt traded me thet in ‘sixty-eight — him as was kilt in the war."
look he starts he knows the name but still he has no clue the words reach his ears yet he kens not the years and thus he fears no evil talk on talk on...
"Ebeneezer was a Salem merchantman for years, an’ picked up a sight o’ queer stuff in every port. He got this in London, I guess — he uster like to buy things at the shops. I was up ta his haouse onct, on the hill, tradin’ hosses, when I see this book I relished the picters, so he give it on a swap. ‘Tis a queer book — here, leave me git on my spectacles —"
oh yes don your eyes so that you may see see the book that brought us together me your urge me your hunger me your guiding voice oh yes open the book the wonderful book and give the rabbit a show how many hints will be dropped before the heart knows he know will be stopped oh read have him him read the olden tongue one so young from Arkham comes he a professor he be have him read from the tract so sacred...
"Ebenezer cud read a leetle o’ this — ‘tis Latin — but I can’t. I had two er three schoolmasters read me a bit, and Passon Clark, him they say got draownded in the pond — kin you maken anything outen it?"
look at him nod the proud little sod as his tongue brings out the words his pride in his gray that will soon come our way the olden tongue we don’t know but the pictures do show all that we need to ken the pictures the pictures the picture the picture the image that brought you to me...
"Queer haow picters kin set a body thinkin’. Take this un here near the front. Hev yew ever seed trees like thet, with big leaves a floppin’ over an’ daown? And them men — them can’t be niggers — they dew beat all. Kinder like Injuns, I guess, even ef they be in Afriky. Some o’ these here critters looks like monkeys, or half critters and half men —
"But naow I’ll show ye the best un — over here nigh the middle —"
yes yes the round about path draws him slowly close the need the need oh the wonderful need to show this boy the picture the page turn the page to the part creased so caring from your fond reverence and deference to that which brought us together in this place but drains the blood from his tender little face my pet my ancient pet let him know our secret his ears may it sear as his our draws near for the rabbit who will feed our craving...
"What d’ye think o’ this — ain’t never see the like hereabouts, eh? When I see this I telled Eb Holt, ‘That’s suthin ta stir ye up an’ make yer blood tickle.’ When I read in Scripter about slayin’ — like them Midianites was slew — I kinder think things but I ain’t got no picter of it. Here a body kin see all they is to it — I s’pose ‘tis sinful, but ain’t we all born an’ livin’ in sin? — Thet feller bein’ chopped up gives me a tickle every time i look at ‘im — I hev ta keep lookin at ‘im — see whar the butcher cut off his feet? That’s his head on thet bench, with one arm side of it, an t’other arm’s on the other side o’ the meat block."
oh the rabbit does start as the secret reveals and wishes he to dart to not be our meal as his suspicions grow but though his heart do know his mind still deny so still he stays as his scared body sways go on my Tantalus go on...
"As I says, ‘tis queer haow picters sets ye thinkin’. D’ye know, young Sir, I’m right sot on this un here. Arter I got the book off Eb I uster look at it a lot, especial when I’d heerd Passon Clark rant o’ Sundays in his big wig. Onct I tried suthin’ funny — here, young Sir, don’t get skeert — all I done was ter look at the picter afore I kilt the sheep for market — killin’ sheep was kinder more fun arter lookin’ at it —"
the ecstasy the memory of the moment we came to meet...
"Killin’ sheep was kinder more fun — but d’ye know, ‘twan’t quite satisfyin’. Queer haow a cravin’ gits a holt on ye — As ye love the Almighty, young man, don’t tell nobody, but I swar ter Gawd thet picter begun to make me hugry fer victuals I couldn’t raise nor buy — her, set still, what’s ailin’ ye? — I didn’t do nothin’, only I wondered haow ‘twud be ef I did — They say meat make blood an’ flesh, an’ gives ye new life, so I wondered ef ‘twudn’t make a man live longer an’ longer ef ‘twas more the same —"
an interruption oh my did truly slip our minds the sow above hooked and gutted her gullet wide open her dying heart pumping till the red blood puddled the floor till worked through the wood like water through fingers a drip and a splatter oh what does it matter the red stain on the page below his twitching hand the red puddle above his shaking head as he shivers as one soon dead and shuts his eyes in the face of our holy grace drip and a splatter what does it matter now he sees now he cease