King of the Hellmouth

I was born on a faultline that tremored with a million fears. A gateway prepared to consume mankind. I am the seal, the final defence, of the thinning membrane that is the Hellmouth of Maine.
The voices inside me, scream and beg just below the surface, waiting to break free from my skin.
I form words into spells, special incantations, like intricate spider’s webs, made to bind.
But, when I’m gone, or too old to go on, who will take my place? Will another rise and fight back the hordes who wish to unleash an apocalypse upon this earth?
I hope so. But, I doubt it.

Happy Birthday!

Stephen Edwin King
Richard Bachman
John Swithen
Beryl Evans

September 21, 1947

5 thoughts on “King of the Hellmouth

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