Thread by @scottlynch78

I. The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the bump, bump, bump, on the back of my head as I am dragged down the stairs behind Christopher Robin. Bump, bump, bump, driving the things I have seen out of my mind. I do not wish to stop bumping. I do not wish to remember!

https://twitter.com/LoreKeating/status/1478563991060455434

II. Once upon a time, a very long time ago now, about last Friday, I lived on a placid island of ignorance in a forest all by myself, before the buzz-buzz-buzz of dreadful revelation, before I tasted- oh tut, oh bother! Oh sanity-destroying sweetness of the honey of curiosity!

III. Bitter wisdom. Would that I, a Bear of Very Little Brain, had less brain yet! I might never have tasted that metaphorical honey. I might not have followed that damnable song to its source.

Isn't it funny
How it never is sunny
Down! Down! Down!
Where R'lyeh sleeps drowned?

IV. I shall not herein detail every investigation we launched, nor the affair that cost Rabbit and Piglet so much in '22. My journals are sealed, the letters burned. Still, I hear the sound that thing made. Heffalump. I hear it in dreams, and I wake screaming! Heffalump.

V. Poor Piglet! He deserved better. He wouldn't stop the investigation and I, to my shame, abetted his destructive journey. Even the blasphemous Woozle- of which I am sworn to write nothing, say nothing- would not dissuade him. Piglet joined me on the expedition of '26.

VI. There in the uncharted South Pacific we found our terrible, longed-for, aeons-drowned destination. There, equidistant between the East Pole and the West Pole, which people do not like talking about. And well they should be reticent! Then and there it was we lost Piglet.

VII. When that thing awakened, the priest of the drowned city, that ravening spawn of the deepest oceans of time, oh how we fled! But Piglet was lost. Brave, foolish Piglet remained. That horrible last glimpse I caught of him-- a Very Small Animal Entirely Surrounded by Water!

VIII. I returned to England broken in body and mind, and retired to this wood under the name of Sanders, hoping I might hide just long enough to finish this manuscript of warning to the heedless daylight world, tut-tut, of the doom that sleeps so lightly and waits to rise again.

IX. I fear I am not alone here. Glimpses in the wood. Noises in the night. Messages are drawn on the frosted panes of my windows by unseen, inhuman hands:

HELP!
PIGLET (ME)

and

IT'S ME PIGLET, HELP HELP

Yet I know it isn't Piglet out there.

I know.

I shall not have long.

X. So bump my head on the stairs, Christopher Robin. Bump, bump, bump! Give me what little peace I have earned. I shall hide these papers from you to do likewise.

And that is really the end of the story, and I am very tired after that last sentence. I think I shall stop there.