To truly understand fear is to experience something far beyond your own immediate death. Death comes for us all in the end, but terror is the sensation of being gripped by a force which comes not from the earth. At least, that is what the elders have always taught, and on this point, I believe them. The night my grandfather died was one of those moments. I hadn’t arrived in the world, and my testimony is unexceptional. Like all my friends I was told the tale only in whispered half-songs, broken fragments of repeated lore, and I worry that those with first-hand memory are leaving us nothing but a hazy cloud of wisps. Dying embers of things too horrific for plain speech. Nevertheless I will recount what I know.
Pretty neat. I keep picturing the rabbit from Monty Python, but smart money says that's not what this is.
Entrancing, tell me more…