Zaman's Hill

Fungi from Yuggoth

The great hill hung close over the old town, A precipice against the main street’s end; Green, tall, and wooded, looking darkly down Upon the steeple at the highway bend. Two hundred years the whispers had been heard About what happened on the man-shunned slope— Tales of an oddly mangled deer or bird, Or of lost boys whose kin had ceased to hope.