Fungi from Yuggoth and Other Poems - H. P Lovecraft Re-reading some of my favorite horror stories, consuming the stories as if they were some strange wines that I have kept in the basement, hidden amongst vintages less divine; with such labels blackened unreadable and corks re-affixed with age-blooded wax. Why they were hidden away in such corners of my cavern, I may never know, because I never placed them there. I just discovered and drank them with great relish. My highly eccentric taste, my refined palate, simply desired such an ancient drop of vine. I hardly noticed the copper filling my nose as I drank it down. It was only, much later, that I discovered my two cats had torn themselves to shreds. My little Olthar was still trying to consume Miss Mittens, although I could not see how Olthar could breathe with Miss Mitten's whole head inside his mouth. I giggled and looked about me... my copy of Lovecraft horrors looked half-melted and was crawling up my arm like a caterpillar.
I said, "Nice."