Originally published in Protodimensions #3, (page 5)
A million nights from now, when human fear
of death is nearly dead, and the last priest
lies dying—the last ghoulie, ghost, and vampire
will gather at his campfire,
to gasp their fading poisons in his ear.
And when the sun illuminates the ash,
and vermin come attend to the deceased
with avid jaws, their work will demonstrate
no hint of demon’s trait;
they are just recyclers of a carcass.
What then, I wonder, will the writers write,
what tales to keep the populace policed
or entertained. Will people trust in science
without a touch of séance?
These questions haunt my restless thoughts tonight.
— Lester W Smith, 2009