Lovecraft

He

Author's Note: Based on He, written in 1924. 

I met him while walking on a sleepless night

Searching for peace of mind in Babylonian New York

He was dressed in the fashion of centuries past

A handsome old man standing under the moonlight

He asked me to walk and speak with him

And so we did, down the labyrinthine streets

We walked to his house, decorated archaically

Furnished with antique furniture, stately and elegantly

My host pointed to several unusual artifacts

And proceeded to tell me a story of a squire

A man lived on this very land many years ago

Who committed unspeakably dastardly acts

The man's ancestor was the squire

He bargained with the native Indians of is land

He learned their secrets and their skills

And bought from them these hills

But he learned far more than mere parlor tricks

Such as how to cast visions and see through time

And how to revive the dead to follow his will

When he finished, he slaughtered the Indians with a foul mix

I stood and stared at my host, shocked

He just smiled and led me to the window

Look, he said, see into the past

As lightning flashed and I heard thunder blast

A thousand lights danced in my sight

And the man's hands turned to frozen claws

With the wave of a hand he changed my vision

To savages worshiping in a blood red light

I let out a dreadful shriek

That set the man to tremble

You fool! He cried

You have woken them that died

My host visibly shriveled and aged

He lunged for my throat as a tapping started

Louder and louder it came, tapping, tapping

All the while the man cried and raged

Slowly a silver mist poured into the room

Lit by the eyes of all those killed by the squire

Or I should say, the man that was my host

He cried and begged before the combined ghost

I woke days later in a hospital bed

Healing from countless broken bones

What happened that night, I do not know

Only that one does not kill and expect rest for the dead