A Lovecraftian Landscape

It arrived midday on a Wednesday, suddenly appearing as if dropped off in bulk.  I examined the hideous mass and estimated its volume at eight cubic yards.  It was dark, mysterious, smelling of ancient days.  Though this neighborhood hales itself as Old Farm, this mass reached back further in time with the notes of earth and decay.   As I circled this phenomena, steam rose from its center, a type of exhale; a warmth emanating from its heart in contrast with the cool, spring breeze.  It was exerting its presence.  Though an old one, it was becoming known.

I was concerned not only for the appearance of this mass but also for its impact, considerably impairing my ability to extract my horseless carriage from its stall.  Being a man of action I knew something must be done, and it must be done by me.  As one eats the elephant one bite at a time and walks a mile one step at a time, I began a long and laborious endeavor.  With square shovel and wheelbarrow, I set about to destroy the beast, taking it apart bit by bit, scattering the pieces of carcass across my land.

Each thrust of the shovel met resistance.  As one's boot become mired in the bog on a wet morning, so too I had to fight with every withdrawal, a low sucking sound protesting the incremental loss.  I worked till sundown unsure of my progress.  An ocean minus a teaspoon of water is still an ocean.  A beach losing a few grains of sand is still a beach.  A forest less one tree is still a forest.  How could I end the day not knowing if my efforts made any difference?

The moderate weather allowed me to sleep with windows open that night, but dread came with gust of wind.  The musk from the creature penetrated my bed chambers as a dull, taunting laugh.  "Fool that you are to try and defeat me," it seemed to whisper.  The light of the full moon glistened over its almost moist appearance.  Before long, I shut my window and closed my curtains hoping to forget about my nemesis and for a few brief moments quench my exhaustion.

My energy was renewed in the morning, but my spirits quickly diminished as I surveyed what remained.  Had it grown?  Where was the fruit of my labors from the previous day?  It was not that I couldn't see progress but rather that the task loomed twice as large in my mind from the size I swore it bore at sundown.  Distraught but not defeated, I resumed my toil.  With each load I looked for a new place to deposit a portion of this invader:  along each side of the house, along the back and size fences, even in carved depressions within the front, back, and side yards.  There was no end to this beast, and so there seemed no end to its demise.

Throughout that second day, through another restless night, and into the third morning I suffered through this cruel fate.  Finally, when all manner of hope seemed lost, I looked up and realized that at last I had the upper hand.  The mass was now a mere remnant with just a few more fragments to disperse.  At sun's greatest height, I saw this enemy reduced to a brown smear, reminiscent of the trace of carrion long since abandoned by birds of prey.

A sense of accomplishment and triumph filled my afternoon and evening.  I enjoyed a well-deserved rest and a most-satisfying meal.  Indeed it seemed as if my victory heightened all of my senses for the remainder of the day:  the sounds of nature sang of my endurance; the taste of every morsel of food celebrated my being; the wine and brandy were my spoils as victor.  It was a wonderful end to this three day ordeal.

Settling into my bed for the night, I opened my windows to relish in my reclaimed environment.  Yet, to my horror, the fragrance carried in the breeze was not of meadow or flowers.  It was the dead, decaying odor of my adversary.  The light of the still full moon proved that the smear was still just a smear, but then my eye caught sight of something else.  Along the walkway, along the house, and throughout the yard I saw it:  the product of my own work.  The beast was no long a heaving mass isolated to one portion of my property.  Foolishly thinking I was master of my destiny, able to affect my fate, I had in reality played into the hand of the true master.  I heard its voice coming through window, "There is no escape."  My own doings were my undoing.  I am surrounded.  I am decay.  To dust I shall return.