This Era is Over

I knew a man once, young and thin. A professed lover of history, he dug his nose into books of folklore and the ancient tales of peoples long passed. Or, at least, I thought I knew him-- until, with a hoarse and fearful tone, he called me to his home.

There I found him, cramming clothes and things into a robust briefcase. His eyes were rabid with fear, and as I opened my mouth to question his agitation, he hoisted a package into my hands. Wrapped in brown tissue paper and rugged twine, it carried an impressive weight.

"Hide it, an' never open it. Bury it in a field somewhere. Plant a tree on it. But don' open it," he demanded, glancing warily about the room.

Struck dumb, I could hardly even bring myself to speak as he shrugged on his dull olive overcoat and rushed out of the apartment.

"Got a train to catch. Don' call after me."

That was the last I heard of him. Can't say I know where he went or what he did after that day. Or what he was so damn frightful of.

I think everyone has known someone like that. Maybe they never had such a close encounter with that, cruel, primal fear. Maybe they never caught a glimpse of those bloodshot eyes taking one last look over their shoulder.

But nevertheless I think everyone has known someone. Here one day, gone
the next.

Surely there is more to it, though. I think everyone has seen something, or even heard something.

The forests of the Americas often feel as though some evil thing is stirring, in the hills, in the creeks. When you stare out into the tangles, into the dark brush and see the furtive things that clamber along the forest floor-- and especially venture into the depths of the wood, you get a sense of it. Those who come across the oddly quiet clearings in the forest, who stumble into faery rings and blunder into the odd stone circles of the new world. Those who hobble up mishapen hills and peer down into valleys and glens which seem too dark to be natural.

This is to those of you who know that there is, or those of you who feel that there is but dare not explore further for fear of discovering something you were simply not meant to ever know... This is to those of you who believe that there is something out there.

You are not alone.

Something has walked across this Earth, and blighted it with each elephantine stride across the land.

This is to those of you who, gripped with an inexplicable curiosity, have pressed your ear to your wall and heard whispers. To those who have hesitated in front of the gaping maw of the subterranean underworld which haunts the dim corners of this city-- of every city across the nation-- and heard murmurs.

We believe you.

To those of you for whom the supernatural has become merely the natural, for whom the strange has become commonplace, and the unimaginable a horrible reality...

We are here to listen to you.

Call us. Share your story. We will make sure that you are heard.

Nothing is too odd. Nothing is too unheard of.

1-900-CULT.

At the top of the hour, every hour.

Together we can dive deeper.

--

The Miami Horror is no more. It has been reborn.

This will be the last you ever hear of it.

Come, join us. We have a new home for you.