It was there; the precursor of man. The original Ameri-can, whose homeland this was before Passamaquoddy or Cheyenne. Its eyes, if it had eyes, were on him.
His body shook. His teeth chattered.
He could hear the noise of its anatomy: ticking, crack-ling, sobbing.
It shifted a little in the dark.
The sound of its movement was awesome. Like a mountain sitting up.
Kaufman’s face was raised to it, and without thinking about what he was doing or why, he fell to his knees in the shit in front of the Father of Fathers.
Every day of his life had been leading to this day, every moment quickening to this incalculable moment of holy terror.
Had there been sufficient light in that pit to see the whole, perhaps his tepid heart would have burst. As it was he felt it flutter in his chest as he saw what he saw. It was a giant. Without head or limb. Without a feature that was analogous to human, without an organ that made sense, or senses. If it was like anything, it was like a shoal of fish. A thousand snouts all moving in unison, budding, blossoming and withering rhythmically. It was iridescent, like mother of pearl, but it was sometimes deeper than any colour Kaufman knew, or could put a name to.
That was all Kaufman could see, and it was more than he wanted to see. There was much more in the darkness, flickering and flapping.
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Leave your mind open, receptive to the demons message.