It doesn't begin. It remembers you.

This is not a book.
It is a threshold.
Whispers etched into moss and shadow.

Open it, and something opens back.

Here at the end of time
Or is it the beginning
Moss
Stone
Water
Rhythmic
Something underneath
Beyond time
Beyond comprehension
Until you see
The end

Snallygaster is a pocket-sized relic.
A cosmic haunting.
A story told through rot, memory, and recursion.

It's already inside you.
The question is:
How long until you notice?