The Thing at the Table
I fear that my memories of the horrible event are blurred by the irrational red-hued tint of mine own fear. I sat, in much of the same ways one sits in the fancy of a fine morning meal, when he walked up. My eyes darter around in abject horror, pleading… pleading for humanly assistance as the thing sat down across the table from me.

The thing, if my mind remembers, sitting before me was the visage of madness like that of some cyclopean shore. His hair was stringy and black like that of a moldered corpse, combed back tight on his evil head. His mad eyes sat deep under the thick furrow of dark eyebrows. He wore a tweed suit with a sheepish, all knowing glaze across his myopic face. He sat, sat like some beast of the nether waiting to pounce on one who doesn’t believe.

“Hey.” It said to me. My stomach lurched and roiled in a fit of terror. It was talking to me! My mind was rebelling against reason. It was talking to me!

I felt my throat constrict, I swallowed hard and took a sip of water. The pain! Oh sweet gods who ne’er listen to my pleads. Oh how searing the pain!

“So,” it continued in a dronish wisp. “What have you been working on?” My mouth stammered as I felt my mind attempt to grasp some quick temperate answer .

“N…not much.” I stammered. “Did it know?” I thought. “Could it taste my fear? Was I so quickly doomed?”

“Cool.” It retorted in a hush. My mind raced for an exit. The fires of Hell would be respite over this torment! Death would be my blessing.

“I’ve wanted to talk to you about redoing my website.” These words hammered my brain. My terror was sweet and absolute and damned complete. For now my doom was known to me. It wanted a new website. I grasped the whole situation as I cast my eyes down in defeat as my mind spiraled into the coldness of oblivion. Gris Grimly wanted a new website!

For more on Gris Grimly, see Mad Creator Prod. Coming soon is my vacation with a monkey.