And we, from within the sigh of the trees, and the soft moss underfoot, and the calling of night birds, watched him as he watched, gazing where he should not.

We who are beyond the mortal world see many things from the edges; we hear the subtle shifts of rhythm in the beat of a blackening heart.

Here, at the edges,Whispering to you,And we’re not alone; not aloneHere, in the dark.We are behind the door, in the corners,In the room where you’ve just extinguished the light.We flicker in the shadow you cast on the wall.We are the prickle on the back of your neck.Curled, in words unspoken,We are the shiver on your uneasy flesh,The creep of the unknown on your skin.Can you feel us?Here, at the edges.From the Foreword of Cautionary Tales - by Emmanuelle de Maupassant

Good and evil exist in all of us. a moment’s temptation takes us on a wrong path. On that path may lurk foul fiends,inhuman, yet feeding, needingall our weaknesses: vanity, indolence and envy,Easy fruits for evil appetites,our flesh, a tasty afterthought,our bones flung asunder.

Crook your finger; they’ll come closer. Pull the covers tighter to your chin; in beside you they’ll creep.

Listen,listen with your eyes,and your lips.Listen with your skin, and your blood.Can you hear us,at the edges?