The Horror

The blackness opened wide enough for him to see vague shapes of the shapeless horrors that lie within. The further he stared into this living pit of despair, the further it stared back into him, seeing all that he was, and wondering. "Why is he staring at me?" one horror that represented all the evils of an ancient world long since forgotten. "Do I have some food on my chin-ish area?", it thought thinking of the previous meal of tender souls it had had many millennium ago. "Has there been something there for all of this time and nothing told me?" But, what if there were nothing on its nothingness of self and it tried to wipe-ish? None of the horrors would even let it live this down. Either way, this mortal had besmirched its existence - it hope he was happy, because it knew it never would be again. As the man's mind fled in terror of an incomprehensible world just beyond the vale. Kind of rhymes with jail, like the prison of his mind.

Crap. Writing horror stories is harder than it looks. Much easier to write horrible stories.

-Edward