The basis of all true cosmic horror is violation of the order of nature, and the profoundest violations are always the least concrete and describable.

I turn away and stare through the window at the field where the scotch broom creeps yellow as hell toward my doorstep. Six years and it has advanced from the hinterlands to the picket fence...

But optimism dribbles away when horror repeats.

There was a single window that tapered into a funnel, with eerie moonlight passing through it, reflecting directly off the globe like a mirror. For a moment, as I rose I saw something glimmering within....