Although, as I was exploring Acadia National Park, a place I dearly love, I did keep seeing things lurking there in forest out of the corner of my eye. As the sun would fall and the shadows grew longer and deeper while I hiked the trails, the feeling of being watched grew. I would catch movement in the trees that seemed always just beyond my view, always disappearing into the long fingers of darkness that stretched out with the setting sun.

In the evenings I sat drinking on a deck overlooking the Atlantic, the waters deep and dark, wondering what Lovecraftian horrors swam beneath the waves. Waiting there for centuries, behemoths of the deep, biding their time for when they would once more remind us, they are the old ones, and we are no match for them in our fragile cage of flesh and bone.