Meeting Yore

Like a goblin from a crypt... green with long nails... yellow and rotten with age.  We see this hideous being and shiver.  It hobbles towards us and sniffs around our ears.  We think of nothing at all.  Strangely... nothing crosses our mind.  The smell is overwhelming but the truth is very real.  There is a beast in front of us, around us and getting to know us.  What is he trying to smell... what does she want to know?  Fear keeps us in place.  Fight appears to have won (you're sticking around after all) as the bladder takes flight and embarrassment trickles down our leg.

We are facing it because we have no choice.  Our other alternative is merely a pitch black abyss - which may be where this thing sniffing at our lobes, our neck and our collarbone is from.  We stand still.  Maybe it will just go away.

Instead, it caresses our exposed arm.  We should have worn a sweater tonight.  This is the first and only clear thought that runs through the caverns of our minds thus far. It takes our arm, lifts it slightly and slithers behind us.  Now the thing is sniffing the back of our neck.  The thing is right behind us and continues to lift our arm.  It steps out, ever so slightly so it can reach our fingers and adjust them for it's unholy and evil purposes.  The sniffing has grown less intrusive and more calm.  It has decided our future... and we have nothing we can do about it.

The sweat on our brow, the chill running through our body and the realization that our pointer finger is now fully extended.  Held up gently by that yellow, rotting, broken up bit of nail at the end of this thing's finger. 

We ask what it wants - but only internally.  We receive the answer at the tip of both our finger and the end of the grotesque nail that holds it up.  We see the light.  Like the end of a needle.  Tiny but real.  This thing we disdain, this thing we grew cold over and scared of is merely pointing us the way to go.  Ugly and real... it sees that we see and drops our arm suddenly. 

Away... back to where it came.  A few crunches and cracks under foot.  It was awful - but it was merely a guide... and we will call it Yore.