Eerie empty streets, sheltered by darkness, The Parish village a cluster of Auld Shebeens, The clinking voices echo, unnaturally.

My feet drag, eyes blind to the lights, Into the rural wilderness, no moon, My feet drag into the farmer’s wilderness.

Old Tom’s house is cobwebbed like his chin, Haunting, darkened windows, eyes to the soul.

I force the derelict cottage door, expecting light, The jolly furnishings evolved into dreary remnants. No sign of Tom! Dust, webs and a hint of blood, His bed now an altar, his wrapped body rises undead.

The hammering of marching corpses fills my ears, Trapped like an arachnid’s prey I run or fly.

I am in another world, a world of melancholy, Pushing through the bodies I struggle to escape. There on the woodland lane shining lights descend, Azure demons emerge from the tree’s shadows.

Some folk from the Parish await their demi-gods, Capturing others for cruel sacrificial trauma. I am held, forced to watch the visceral mutilations, Only as greying daylight approaches can I escape. Visions of flayed men tied to Monastic ruins cling, The deceased now overrun by platoons of fearsome apes.

To our kin’s home I run, a great white house, penetrable.

I ask for sanctuary, but they are determined to surrender, I know better!

To no beast will I be a mindless slave,

I plea with them to reconsider. I am sadly ignored. Floating away I look back and see an ape covered home,

And hoards of the beasts streaming down the lane.

Can this be? An elevator in the sleepy countryside? Reluctantly I step in, I cannot resist, but I am afraid, The lift rises and rises for eons until jolting still. As the doors part in steps an inhuman, handsome man,

Dark of hair, possessed by foreign beings, consumed, He breathes out his parasite and shares it with man.

My simple life is long gone, invaded by unnatural beings,

Feelings of fear mixed with the excited rush of adrenaline.

This is the unknown, grim dimension.

The apes build below, I step into the lift and land on an unresponsive dappled mare.

Beyond the parish our familiar ocean still glows, beckoning,

Finding a wooden raft on the reef filled beach I try to leave.

The waters flow softly, not with their usual ferocity, I drift until reaching the bedraggled, stony pier, The apes, furious and furrowed are lying in wait. Two sea dragons, intelligent, olive, almost human take me,

I am strapped callously to a giant steeple bell and swung,

As Buddha lies like a giant, crippling the villagers below.