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(Undid revision 1367453 by Bruce Bringo (talk))
 
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It was a Tuesday, I can't remember the date but it was a few years ago now. I'd just got off work and I was stopping by the regular market. A quaint store just down the road from my place. I got all the necessities and was on my way to the counter when it caught my eye, a box of Fruit Loops. Glimmering under light from the white bulbs, at an absolute steal of a price. $2 dollars, for a 500g box, it was a miracle. A once in a lifetime deal, something humankind would ever see again. So I bought two boxes of God's cereal and headed for home.
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'''Festival'''<br />''by <span style="text-decoration: underline;">H. P. Lovecraft</span>''
   
I placed the boxes on the bench, looking over the receipt. I still couldn't believe how cheap they were. This thought stayed with me as I packed away the rest of my groceries and had dinner. I couldn't take my eyes off the boxes, they called to me, like some unattainable goal I would never reach. My mouth watered at the thought of ingesting their sugary goodness. I had a shower and went to bed, dreaming of tomorrow morning when I would be able to eat the loops.
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Story copied from the [http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Festival Wikisource].
   
A loud bump from downstairs woke me in the middle of the night. A solid but meaty thump, like flesh against wood... Except I had tile. I grabbed my 20 gauge and crept into the hall, the dark played tricks on my eyes, the shadows all casting the same fluttering shapes along the walls. I made my way down the stairs, beads of sweat forming on the back of my neck as I approached the floor.
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----
   
I saw it standing there, a horribly deformed eldritch horror. It stood as tall as my ceiling, maybe taller as it hunched over my kitchen bench. It had no legs, a snake-like body clad in leathery white skin. His body forming into a neck and head, with a giant nose and clad in an aged bicycle helmet. A singular arm hoisted a box over its gaping mouth. My Fruit Loops and one box was already empty.
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<poem>
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There is snow on the ground,
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And the valleys are cold,
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And a midnight profound
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Blackly squats o'er the wold;
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But a light on the hilltops half-seen hints of
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feastings unhallowed and old.
   
I watched on in horror as it finished my second box of loops and contorted it's horrific body to look at me. "Provide me with loops, brother." I gasped for air, it's oppressive gaze sapped the life from my legs, and the shotgun clattered to the ground. I couldn't move, I couldn't see, but I could think one thing alone. I had to acquire loops.
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There is death in the clouds,
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There is fear in the night,
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For the dead in their shrouds
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Hail the sun's turning flight.
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And chant wild in the woods as they dance
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round a Yule-altar fungous and white.
   
And so I write this tale, to tell you about the Long-Nosed Nobody. And if you see the Long-Nosed Nobody, do not fear, just provide him with LOOPS.
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To no gale of Earth's kind
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Sways the forest of oak,
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Where the thick boughs entwined
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By mad mistletoes choke,
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For these pow'rs are the pow'rs of the dark,
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from the graves of the lost Druid-folk.
   
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And mayst thou to such deeds
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Be an abbot and priest,
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Singing cannibal greeds
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At each devil-wrought feast,
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And to all the incredulous world
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shewing dimly the sign of the beast.
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</poem>
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{{CC0|1937}}
 
[[Category:HPL]]
 
[[Category:HPL]]
 
[[Category:Poetry]]
 
[[Category:Poetry]]

Latest revision as of 03:10, October 3, 2018

Festival
by H. P. Lovecraft

Story copied from the Wikisource.


There is snow on the ground,
  And the valleys are cold,
And a midnight profound
 Blackly squats o'er the wold;
But a light on the hilltops half-seen hints of
  feastings unhallowed and old.

There is death in the clouds,
  There is fear in the night,
For the dead in their shrouds
  Hail the sun's turning flight.
And chant wild in the woods as they dance
  round a Yule-altar fungous and white.

To no gale of Earth's kind
  Sways the forest of oak,
Where the thick boughs entwined
  By mad mistletoes choke,
For these pow'rs are the pow'rs of the dark,
  from the graves of the lost Druid-folk.

And mayst thou to such deeds
  Be an abbot and priest,
Singing cannibal greeds
  At each devil-wrought feast,
And to all the incredulous world
  shewing dimly the sign of the beast.



Public domain Festival is currently in the Public Domain. This text can now be legally distributed as the work was published before 1923 and the author died in 1937 therefore the 70 year extension has expired.
Community content is available under CC-BY-SA unless otherwise noted.