And I ask myself, what if H.P. Lovecraft wrote children's songs...?
SCENE:
New England, 1922.
SETTING:
A figure is frantically knocking at a cottage door.
Strange, squamous, shadowy tendrils pick at his coattails.
A dank and briny mist rolls in).
In his clenched fist he holds a tattered piece of paper on which is written a Yellow Sign, now smudged.
The moon is shining too brightly, casting a nacreous shimmer over his pale, filthy skin and half-crazed eyes.
LUBIN:
Peter? Petey? Petey, my friend...lend me your pen so I can write something down.
My candle is dead, I have no more fire, OPEN THE DOOR, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!"
BY THE LIGHT OF THE MOON, PETER ANSWERS AS LUBIN FURIOUSLY RATTLES THE DOORKNOB.
PETER:
"I'M *IN BED*! Go knock at the neighbour's next door,
I'm pretty sure she's in there, because someone's definitely getting all fired up in the kitchen.
LUBIN STARTS SHAMBLES PAINFULLY OVER THE LAWN. THE TENDRILS FOLLOW, TRIPPING HIS LEGS AND PULLING MORE INSISTENTLY AT HIS COATTAILS.
LUBIN BEGINS KNOCKING ON THE NEIGHBOUR'S DOOR.
A STARTLED, PANICKY VOICE ANSWERS.
NEIGHBOUR:
"Ia! Ia! Who's knocking that way?"
LUBIN: (hysterical, now)
"OPEN THE DOOR, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!"
AS THE SCENE FADES, GLOWING MOONLIT TENDRILS DRAG LUBIN AWAY.
NARRATOR:
"Even under the cold, unfeeling gaze of the moon, we find little clarity.
We seek writing implements...
We seek fire...
But in seeking, we have no knowledge of what it is that we have found...
And the only thing left is to mercifully close the door this unfortunate soul has opened...
* * *
...well, they'd probably look nothing like that, but y'know, a guy can dream, can't he?
