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Ah, she was beautiful. I can’t describe her. But I would know her at once if I ever saw her again. She dressed in white… She had a message. It was a message for you, too. We’ve been chosen to complete a ritual, or to die. She said it is an honor. She said no place holds her in or out. She said she would return…
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Oh, we all lived, but we’re scarred, badly scarred. Not just on the outside. I can’t explain it to you, you don’t know the horror…to feel them wiggling under the skin, to feel them start to push their way out! But more than that, to know that in a sense…you’re birthing them
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“She was all by herself. It was late. She was just standing there in the streetlight, holding her little doll. She looked so lonely, with her shadow stretching out long, long behind her into the darkness. You wouldn’t have thought—But I’m not crazy. I know what I saw. I saw the shadow move, I saw it… And her sweet little face never changed, not the whole time the fellow was screaming. Not even after he stopped…”
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It took effect that’s for sure. Next week, this awful lookin’ little bastard showed up. Followed me everywhere, mumbling a bunch of crap nobody could understand. Even when I ditched him, he’d just show back up. My gambling luck went to hell, I’d slip and fall, and getting a date? Shit. People around me too. Lock their keys in the car, burn themselves lightin’ a cigarette, cut themselves cooking. One time I took my shotgun and blasted its arm off, thank God mine stayed on. Next day, there he was.
Finally, we went to see the witch. We’d done business with her once before when we was desperate, the worst and only time you’d try such a thing. She wasn’t no wrinkled old hag livin’ in a swamp neither, had a real fancy apartment in the city. She looked damn fine, too; don’t know if that was real or not and I don’t much give a damn.
She did her thing and the little asshole was just gone, never seen him since. She didn’t ask for nothing, up front, but we knew she’d call in the favor. Based on the first time, we knew whatever that was, it wasn’t gonna be good.
–Earl West, shotgun man for the Society of The Oath-Bound.
I had the opportunity to sit down (albeit digitally, of course) with Mythos writer and generally great guy, David Hambling today. Here is the wonderful interview, and sneak peek to future happenings, with that great man.
Enjoy.
We round out our final Friday Celeb with none other than Kenneth Hite, followed by tomorrow our last day. You can STILL ENTER to be part of the grand finale tomorrow and we’ve got several already scheduled! If you submitted art or a monster and haven’t appeared yet, please contact us IMMEDIATELY.
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The bogey-owl is a fragment of magical energy created by ritual contemplation of (or worship of) certain Great Old Ones or Outer Gods: Byatis, Mormo, Nyarlathotep, and Shub-Niggurath especially. As these beings shred the consciousness and sanity of their perceiver, the magical potential “charged” by both the sorcerer-worshiper and the god or titan takes on a shadowy form, usually that of a humanoid-seeming owl. (Cases of bogey-dogs are the second most common, followed by bogey-ravens, bogey-cats, and occasionally bogey-children.) While its maker remains conscious and linked to the world, the bogey-owl usually remains connected to him, and (it is said) can even provide spells or other lore from the Outside if questioned correctly. Continue reading
In the dim light of Robespierre’s cellar, within a large cask made glass, the Cylais gamboled and scuttled about. It appeared as a human head sans body, much as if it had been torn out by the roots. Despite the gore beneath, it possessed a comely, serene face and beguiling eyes that clutched at one’s soul. All the while its loathsome tendrils twitch and writhed in a noisome fashion, conveying the horror’s fervent need to make its escape”.-Guillaume Dupree, Gruesome Bestiary
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As we quietly approached the riverbank, I could just make out the dark figures on shore dancing around the bonfire. They appeared to be a lost tribe of degenerate Indians, mixed-race refugees from the last Seminole war and the descendants of escaped Negro slaves from over half a century ago. Abruptly, they stopped their tribal dance as their leader emerged from out of the darkness. He was obviously a shaman of some kind, wearing an elaborate face mask and headdress made from the skull of a large alligator.Seeing the assembled gathering of primitive brutes, around thirty in number, immediately brought to mind the ancient followers of Sebek, the crocodile god of Egypt, whose blasphemous and abhorrent rites are recorded in the dreaded De Vermis Mysteriis. Perhaps this was related to the Shaawanoki legend that the Florida cracker’s woman who we spoke with days before warned us about? Soon a bound and struggling Indian girl was brought into the light and my deepest fears were confirmed.
– Dr. Arthur Langley, noted herpetologist from the Florida State Museum in Gainesville, recounting his ill-fated zoological expedition along the St. Johns River.
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“A couple of us had already felt the impact of magic, like simultaneously being punched with a thousand needles and electrocuted, so we were pretty worried when the dying sorcerer laid that curse on Tom. At least we managed to kill the bastard: turns out wizards burn just fine when doused with gasoline.
After several months passed, we thought maybe it had failed. One day, we’re walking in the woods and Tom convulses, clutches his head and screams ‘Curse! The curse!’ About twenty feet in front of us it looks like heat distortion and this thing comes running out of it. It looked like a naked man, but all shriveled and dirty and it was screaming bloody murder.
I shot it with my .45 and felt a terrible pain in my gut. Next thing I know, my friends are waking me up and this thing is a stinking, bubbling mass and evaporating.”
–Excerpt from the memoirs of Franklin Meiers, investigator of unusual phenomena.
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