H.P. Lovecraft, The Thing

“The awful squid-head with writhing feelers came nearly up to the bow-spit of the sturdy yacht… There was bursting as of an exploding bladder, a slushy nastiness as of a cloven sunfish, a stench as of a thousand open graves, and a sound that the chronicler would not put on paper. For an instant the ship was befouled by an acrid and blinding green cloud, and then there was only a venomous…