His desire to understand the life around him, and the strange enity that concived him, compelled him to stay out longer throughout the cold days, coming back to the tribe that shunned him only really for his mothers presence, and shelter for the night. By the time he was 18, his isolated figure started to be seldomly seen within the tribe, and when his respected mother died, he passed into the their minds as a dark memory, never spoken off and never heard off, as if they feared what secrets entwined with the mysterious boy.

       He never went back to his town of Braemar, the months turned to years of isolation and life in the wilderness. His own childhood seemed to be a fragment of imagined solace in his world of searching and animalistic life. He could still the humanoid shapes, haunting his memory yet captivating his desire to find it. The dark plateau that had been a place of tranquillity from his repression in the tribe had now become a master of him, forever forcing Droston to search the grottos, undergrowths, pond and caves around. The last of his own sanity had long left him .The desire to find the un-findable was only thing keeping the soulless body moving. The humanoid figures transcending into his mind, and scorching a position, lodging in his head and fuelling him to look.

       When his quivering body was finally found in a shallow cave near the southern, gracious area of the plateau by passing tourists, the being Droston, was long dead. What was left in this petrified shell could only ever mutter inaudible cries of terror. His black eyes were a vista to his nightmares of the putrid, withering creature that had attacked him. He was walking through the long grass and sensing the rustling he could quickly turned to meet a withering monstrosity, waving scaly, yet slimy tentacles around its ‘body’. The being screeched sounds unpronounceable to human vocals, wriggling in a sickening fashion that couldn’t be of Earthly origin, its dance a creation from the darkest throngs of the universe, the oozing breaths and earthly, non-Euclidean design sen the poor Droston mad. He fled with terror, sprinting to the shallow, damp cave where he was found.

       His suicide was therefore, not a surprise. The dark, polluted pond that he often peered down into was to become his haven and release from the putrid, outer solar being that destroyed his mind.

       The news eventually spread to Braemar, the towns-folk shuddered at the mere thought of the alien deity that destroyed him. Some denied the creature’s existence all together, and stifled the horrors of the endless universe away, secluding themselves on an island of blindness. Sometimes though, when the memories of young Droston venturing out into the wilderness were fading, the howling of wolves would occur, and the rustlings of corn in the fields would remind the towns-folk of Braemar of the imminent horrors that their small community was plagued with, the cosmic void through to that ultimate reality was watching them and haunted the plateau like a purgatory-destined spectre.

      So if one is to venture out into the Highland wilderness of Scotland, you surely will not find much save bitter cold and freezing rain. But in a small plateau not 15 miles to the north west of the town of Braemar, across an aging stone bridge and small Fields of grass, over cumbersome stone pathways and along a darkened, polluted fragment of a once great river, one would find a rather chilling revelation of agonising mortality and inferiority…