It started, the hour of giants;
I could feel my meat shake
as they shook,
skull vibrate
when they walked,
in time, in time,
a steady forewarning,
and feet pulse
when they roared.

I was not terrified, for I was used to this;
I continued running my vacuum along the floor,
but knew that eventually I would have to go lower.

Stairs.

They lead up
to the top floor
and down
to the bottom;
I rest in between.

Stairs.

They cannot be traversed
by my dimensional assailants,
but to get paid I must clean a land
full of monsters and demons
mankind has never rarely known,
and will never know again alive.

For they are the extinct, the worst of the crop,
your last Grendals, the final Walters,
who may or may not have fled Gilead,
and they are the gremlins, the ghouls,
the very dark hearts of men who
have long since plagued any ruler,
be they president or queen.

This is the graveyard,
a magic never understood,
bleeding in the basement,
springing terrible life.

Every Tuesday and Friday
I do battle with them,
with little more
than a roaring machine.

Let's hope I come back again~