We will make use of women’s stockings and flypaper, pheromones, and yellow glue. We will make a moon of our countenance. We will quickly pull them into our mouths and our yellow teeth will hold them tight.
The winds have been measured and we have taken into account their preferences and we know: we have traced the process onto color-coded maps.
These dim little children with their fascination. We will trap them in jam jars with heavy paper for lids. And they will show us their desperation and an insistent disbelief in glass.
And if we bend our necks to those mason jars we will hear their almost voices.
We are coming. We are breeding and our numbers have grown. We know your fear of the dark and so we have burned away our desire for the light. And if we had the means we would scratch you. But we do not yet have the means.