It happens once a year, as the warm golden glow of autumn light fades, the pale moon grows heavy and large, and the air takes on a discomforting chill. The veil between worlds grows thin. Heathens and Cultists are rumored to visit ancient ruins to worship the Great Azathoth during this darkling season, ghouls are said to hunt for prey in misty graveyards, and the wicked descendants of the Salem witches are known to soar alongside cawing murders of crows as the cruel neon beams of the Northern Lights flicker across the vault of the sky.
Our annual two-day festival of H.P. Lovecraft and tabletop gaming will take place at the brick-n-mortar Little Shop of Magic store in Las Vegas, Nevada on October 17-18! We invite you to join us in delving into the mysteries of the Ancient Ones, and confronting profound, unspeakable, Lovecraftian horrors.
This year’s celebration features plentiful opportunities to play your favorite games based on the works of H. P. Lovecraft:Elder Sign, The Doom That Came to Atlantic City, Night of the Grand Octopus, Arkham Horror, Eldritch Horror, and many more. Seating is limited in most of these events, so we recommend that you pre-register early in order to reserve your spot.
Savor playing your old favorites, learn a new Lovecraft-themed game, or even contribute to the effort by submitting your own event. You can learn more about the weekend’s events by accessing the schedule here.
We look forward to seeing you in our shop for a weekend of bone-chilling, thoroughly enjoyable horror!
A surgical strike at your amygdala, where fear is produced.
The Stygian Walkers approach.
First hear the rumblings, the chthonic quakes that shake shelves and spires alike. Heads rush out to the street, tilting backwards to squint up through the haze—to see pinpricks burning red, outshining the obscured sun. A single spindly limb plunges through the distant mountain, shattering sand and stone and soil. The crimson eyes sway, and grow.
Bang: the alarm’s thin reverberation. Final few feet scamper down stairs to join the valley church ex tempore. A wave of birds flee shrieking overhead. The ground shudders once more, another closer step. For a moment reigns oppressive silence, broken only by the wail of an inconsolable infant in its mother’s unsteady arms. The minister, raising trembling hands to the sky, shrieks:
O Gentle Reader, your faithful correspondent thought it would all go so well. Taking the Greyhound Bus (now with alleged Wi-Fi and power outlets!) across the country from Las Vegas to Providence, Rhode Island over 3 full days would be an honest homage to H.P. Lovecraft, who traveled by bus back in the day before regular commercial flight (and, apparently, quixotic attempts to write a novel draft on two cross-country bus trips).
Yes, folks, “riding the dog” across our fair land was a FAIL creatively and even makingsensely. Even when the Wi-Fi appeared AND the plugs were working (“A fuse musta blown,” several drivers in a row said, and also said that only mechanics at a major stop could flip the breaker back into the “Keep bored passengers from forcing the bus off a goddamn cliff” position), did you know that a bus is an incredibly distracting environment to work in? This is why you rarely read historical reports of Vincent van Gogh or Hieronymus Bosch doing the work they intended to at 70 mph seated next to a sweaty farmboy.
For example, Bosch originally intended this to be a still-life of a bowl of fruit.
Hello, all! I wanted to let you know that my in-person and videoconferencing fiction workshops are starting up again in October. This is a safe and productive writing and critiquing environment where tales of the macabre and even Lovecraftian are most welcome (as are all other flavors of fiction).
“Sean Hoade’s Fiction Time Workshop has been an educational and rewarding experience. Sean’s expertise at both writing and workshop facilitation, together with superb classmates, have made it a treasure. Enthusiastically recommended.” — Sean I., Salt Lake City
This is an Iowa-Writer’s-Workshop-style graduate-level fiction workshop. It is being held in Las Vegas but anyone from anywhere can take part through live videoconferencing by Google Hangouts. The videoconferencing has turned out to be a HUGE hit with writers from across the country.
Gentle Readers, after a 3-day bus trip that has caused soreness in areas of my body not formerly known to science, I am in the city of Providence, H.P. Lovecraft’s familiar haunt (GET IT? OMG HUMOR). It is a beautiful town, and I shall be EHRMAGERD posting her and on Facebook like a man on fire trying desperately to get a friend request accepted from a bucket of water.
I will for now publish just a teaser since nothing has actually started yet, but PICS!
In this installment, our hero finds that even home isn’t safe where the amulet is concerned.
By the time Taylor pulled into his driveway, it was well after supper. Thankfully he’d already told Martha not to hold dinner for him. He hadn’t anticipated being this late, but he didn’t really know when he was going to be back. He blocked in his wife’s car, even though he hadn’t needed to. He exited the Land Rover and the security light turned on, illuminating their walkway. A fierce believer in conservation, Martha had insisted there would be no grass in their yard. Only native plants and rock would grace the property, in addition to some trees. It made the whole place look a little stark, but the austerity suited his mood.
Rather than enter the house proper, he walked to the door into the garage. Like most people he knew, they never actually parked a car in here. He’d made it into a sort of satellite office. There was space here for extra file storage, a few woodworking projects, and items from his travels around the world. Truthfully it was a dumping ground and he and Martha fought over it for years. He heard footsteps from people moving around upstairs. Soundproofing this area was another thing on his to do list. He’d never get around to that now. He walked to his desk and pulled a box of shells out of the drawer. With mechanical motions he loaded both pistols. Rather than taking the gun belt off as was his custom, he just made sure his shirt draped over it again. He wouldn’t be staying long.