Dr. Taylor hated loose ends. He didn’t like them when it came to any aspect of his life. Most especially when it came to his research. Now that he would spend the rest of his life on the run, or at least as much time as he had before he’d be able to prove there were monstrous forces on the loose, he hated them even more. He drove the precise speed limit, in case there were any cops on the prowl. He didn’t want to give them an excuse to pull him over.
His first stop would be his office. He needed to get his notes and get rid of anything regarding his trip tonight. He couldn’t leave anything behind that would be a trail for someone to follow too quickly. There was no telling whether or not the creature who was posing as a human college student would have his precise description and his license plate number. Assuming they didn’t could be deadly. No, better to assume there were things worse than wolves at his door.
Brown Jenkin crept silently down the seven hundred stairs to the bottom. He could be really, really quiet when he wanted to, and this was one of those occasions.
It wouldn’t do to create any commotion. Not yet, at least.
Night-gaunts didn’t hear him coming. The Gugs didn’t feel the stairs vibrating. Jenkin stepped onto the grassy sward unmolested, the sun glinting off the silver key he wore around his neck.
He carried a small bag in his right hand. In it were several cans of sardines and a package of steaks.
These were his offerings.
We were down tonight for a short time. We rebooted the server and are back online. We are currently in the process of looking for new hosting options. We’re one of the few sites out there who haven’t migrated to “the cloud”. Instead we run off dedicated servers.
(note-some of the events in this series refer to the story “Pnakotic Reaction”, from the anthology “The Fall of Cthulhu“, published by Horrified Press. Therefore the author recommends the purchase of same 🙂
Some of the material was inspired by the moderators and denizens of the online community Lovecraft Eternal. )
Lovecraft Ezine Press. Afterword by Jeffrey Thomas.
Zounds! I’ve had this slim novel for quite some time (referring to the Kindle edition). It has languished in my to-read queue for an unconscionable period…but at long last I’ve given it a couple of reads, two weeks apart, and have survived to tell the story.
Reading, I was minded so much of Wells that I hd to keep checking the authorship. The Crystal Egg and the Time Machine came repeatedly to mind-the former because of the style and the latter because of a quaintly Victorian device that figures in the narrative. But Wells didn’t go in so much for the supernatural.
MR James, Walter de la Mare, those would be perhaps more suitable names to conjure with, trying to encapsulate or compare the style and subject matter of this most singular work.
Not that comparison comes anywhere close to capturing the essence of the piece, but I feel compelled to try.
There is that of the ghostly(Fractured Harry himself and several other apparitions appear), and that of the steampunk (the general Victorian air and appurtenances), and that of the strictly naturalistic, all bundled together loosely and interdependent upon one another to form the whole of the structure, like one of Clive Barker’s Cities in the Hills, or a Wicker Man.
The work deserves every accolade that comes to it. I’ve seldom beheld such a work of the imagination in a long career of reading fantastical fiction.
I just bought a copy of the Sea of Flesh and the Sea of Ash, to have the original work(s) together.
Five stars plus.
Exciting news, my hungry little shape-shifters! This August marks 125 years since the Old Gent from Providence was born, and the biggest Lovecraft-theme Con is happening from August 20-23. If you can’t make it to the event (or, heck, even if you can) you will be able to read my blogs and live tweeting from NecronomiCon Providence all during the convention, because Shoggoth.net will be there.
Below is the official press release (you must check out their website) and after the jump, their amazing poster for the event. Stay tuned to Shoggoth.net, where all the most eldritch monsters come to play!
NecronomiCon Providence to Commemorate 125th Birthday of H.P. Lovecraft August 20-23, 2015
PROVIDENCE, RI (July 20, 2015) – The countdown is on and passes are selling fast for NecronomiCon Providence 2015! The world’s foremost celebration of author H.P. Lovecraft and the many writers and artists he inspired returns August 20-23 to the Biltmore and Omni hotels in downtown Providence, Rhode Island. With Lovecraft’s hometown of Providence as a backdrop, this four-day event will serve as a tribute to his influential writing, as well as the city’s celebrated culture and history. This year’s convention coincides with the 125th anniversary of Lovecraft’s birth in 1890, and organizers are busy coordinating citywide festivities to commemorate the grand occasion.
Lovely Shoggothians, I hope you’ll allow me a little bit of self-promotion. My long-in-the-works first volume of the Cthulhu Attacks! trilogy is out in August from Severed Press, and I’m excited. As you should be, too—just read the jacket copy after the jump and get ready for bad, bad things to happen to humanity.
It’s funny how you work so long on a book, and when it finally is being made a real book by your publisher, time starts zipping by! My lieges at Severed Press are hard at work getting the first book of the Cthulhu Attacks! Trilogy (The Fear) shipshape and ready to sail.
To whet your appetites, I include below the jacket copy for Book One.
Scott Roche continues his Golden Age serial, The Curse of Azathoth’s Amulet, with Part Two! Told in the arch style of the Republic Serials of the ’30s and ’40s, there’s no telling where this is going until you get there … and it is HORRIBLE indeed.
It all went downhill for Doctor Taylor as soon as he visited the Ancestral Pueblo site just a few dozen miles from his home in Albuquerque. A colleague knew he’d been researching symbols used by the Anasazi, as they were known to some, and their relationship to other symbols used by equally ancient people groups the world over. There was no known connection between these groups, and it was thought by some that they spawned from a collective subconscious or from some other psychic network. Taylor, of course, believed all of this was complete hogwash. There had to be a better explanation. The desire for that better explanation was why he found himself in a kiva, a sort of pueblo holy site, that had only recently been discovered. Doctor Samson assured him that the site dated back to at least the eighth century BCE. That certainly wasn’t the oldest bit of evidence that had been found, but this was supposed to be in pristine condition.
This sharp tale gives us everything we want: Sex, violence, innocence lost, and something very dark found.
Zach grinned nervously as the bouncer looked back and forth between him and his ID. His stomach was in knots. What if he’d bungled it? What if it didn’t look realistic enough? This guy looked like he could chew Zach up and spit him out.
He’d thought he’d done a spectacular job with it. He wasn’t stupid enough to make his age ridiculously high … not, like, 25 or 26 … but he’d thought he could reasonably pass for 19. He wasn’t that far from it, anyway … he was just weeks away from 18 now. But 19 sounded more mature. So 19 was the age he’d decided on.
After a few more suspicious glances between him and the ID, the bouncer nodded and handed it back. With a pounding heart, Zach paid his cover charge. The bouncer pocketed it, stepped back from the door and gestured to Zach to follow him in. “So you’ve had the chance to look over the rules,” he said as they went into the house. “No clothes while you’re here. Only one wears clothes here is me.”
This slow-burn story is reminiscent of Night Shift–era Stephen King. Lots of characterization leading to a surprising and horrifying, but somehow inevitable, climax.
Stephen Forest hated ties. He always felt that they were choking the life from him like a paisley constrictor preparing to feast. He tugged at the uncomfortable piece of fabric while adjusting himself in the equally uncomfortable chair. The waiting room was dully off-white and nearly silent save for the occasional flurry of clicking as the receptionist rush-typed some sort of correspondence. Waiting rooms were supposed to have some form of reading material, weren’t they? Stephen would have given anything for a ragged copy of Field & Stream or Time. Anything to distract his mind from that damn tie and the wait. He hated waiting almost as much as he hated ties. On the other hand, a steady paycheck would make all this mess worthwhile.