Archive for Stories

The Mythos Path

“Pastiche” is usually a dirty word in Lovecraftian circles. Memories of August Derleth classifying Cthulhu as a “water elemental” in his attempts at Christianizing the Old Gents’ work make today’s reader shudder in entirely the wrong kind of horror.

However.

Robert DeFrank calls “The Mythos Path” a “pastiche,” and it does have elements of a Robert Bloch or other master’s technique at producing palimpsests of the Old Gent’s work. Like Bloch or Wandrei or others, he uses the names of the old “forbidden” books in a quick list, writes in a style reminiscent of HPL with its precise wording and its protagonist who has learned too much! but also like those writers, he has taken this pastiche style and made it something all his own. His treatment of the shoggoth idea in particular is astounding.

This is a longer work, and every word is worth reading.

I

(From the journal of Dr. Arthur Murphy, alienist on staff at the Canton Hospital for the Insane.)

I am a rational man.

This may come as a surprise to some of my acquaintances, considering my unconcealed love of weird literature, poetry and a near-obsession with the Hellenic myths, the traditions of which are the foundation of Western thought. But like the most canny of Greeks I eschew reliance on mysticism and see the imaginative works purely as a rich source of analogy for the human condition.

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Blindsided

Blindsided

Brown Jenkins, part seven. Soundtrack HERE.

jenkin“I jumped in the cab as it pulled up. Someone wasn’t invited, but I knew he’d turn up when I got where I was going. Bad penny, Clarke’s Law, whatever means it was that he employed to achieve his goals, he accomplished them. Wile E Coyote persistence.
Don’t know what the hell to do with a misshapen dwarf that seems attached to me. I don’t really know what he wants, or what he was originally sent for.
“The black man that I met at the double crossing would seem to hold the keys to everything. But he already said his piece. Brown Jenkin was certainly talkative, but he spouted so much bullshit that it was hard to tell when he had some nugget of truth buried in his pile of lies.

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Bad Reception

A strange frequency. An elemental horror. A story unlike anything you’ve read.

The new sensation hurt. It was like cosmic radiation, but I experienced it in a new way. I was not used to this and did not like it. The strangest thing wasn’t that, but the new shapes which moved before me. I did not recognize the creature, but I knew it was like the things I’d experienced upon visiting other dimensions. It would be soft and fragile.

“It looks like we have a signal. We’re receiving something.”

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The Screen People

For your sick and twisted enjoyment today, Shoggoth.net brings you this all-too-plausible story of a man who sees the truth around him … and wants to do something about it.

Of course it all began before the coming of the Twenty-First Century, yet I will always associate it with the new Millennium. The printed circuit, for instance, is technology from the last century. So is fiber optics. And satellite communications. The components that go in to the manufacture of the millions and millions of touchscreens, the little interconnected computers that people carry with them everywhere, all of these owe their genesis to technology predating 9/11. And before that? Well, that’s where my madness began …

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Off the Rails

jenkinBrown Jenkins, part six

soundtrack here:Off the Rails

“I finally got shed of the pest somewhere around Chicago. Hopped off a freight train while he was stealing a few moments’ shuteye, rolled down a grassy hill into a rocky creek, and there I was, wet, bruised, but free. Continue reading »

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Yes, Wonderful Things

Sometimes you hear about eerie stories that “They don’t write ’em like they used to.” Well, please allow us to present Exhibit A of the defense. It riffs on the Egyptian tales Lovecraft used to write, sometimes under his byline, sometimes under another’s. But notice how the author sidesteps pastiche and makes this tale all his own.

“This is your office for the summer. You are expected to keep it useful and you are expected to keep it tidy. As it is now yours, it will belong to another after you leave.”

“I understand,” said Sarah. She resisted the urge to check if she had tracked any desert dust in on her shoes.

“Welcome to Cairo Museum.”

“Thank you. I’m really thrilled to be here.”

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Down In Mexico

Today we take readers across the border … of sanity. Enjoy.

I had chased it to Mexico. I didn’t want to head that far south. Certain elements looked upon what I did as grave robbing. It didn’t occur to them that the things I took made it harder for the Nameless Ones to make it through an entirely different set of borders. You have to believe They exist to even understand this, so I couldn’t blame the ignorant. I could mostly avoid them, but not when it came to tracking down one particular amulet.

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Support a writer’s quest and get 12 BOOKS! (and a poster)

Good people of Shoggoth.net, hear me!

becky and me

Your humble Assistant Acquisitions Poobah (that’s me) has a Patreon going to support the writing of 12 novels. Six of them are already out there, and the next six will be written over the next year or so … at least they will with your help. There are great rewards, the best of which is ONE BOOK PER MONTH FOR THE NEXT 12 MONTHS! The next reward goes out to anyone who has supported the cause by June 30.

Have a look at the plan, won’t you? You can read the first half of all of my published books at my website, SeanHoade.com, and everything you’d like to know is in the video below!
Thanks, guys, and keep those stories coming to us!

Stop by Patreon.com/SeanHoadeor click the pic below:

codswallop

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Thunderclap

Today we bring you a chilling little bit of flash fiction from a new writer. Just a man and a sound …

I woke with a start, my heart pounding in my chest. Breath came in fast, shallow panting. Was the sweat beading on my body from the strange dream, or did an actual sound cause me to sit up in fright, pulling covers to chin? I cocked an ear.

Lightning flashed along the low ceiling of heavy, dark clouds and a thunderclap shook the house. I cowered and a whimper escaped restricted throat muscles. The glowing clock on the nightstand flickered out. The room lighted only by a streetlamp reflecting off wet pavement. Puh-floosh.

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Too Many Jenkinses

jenkinToo Many Jenkinses (Brown Jenkins, part five)

soundtrack here
The place was a mess. The walls were covered in geometric designs, like an OCD-laden Pollock had been at work. Blue light streamed from the skylight, and there was a green mist in the air.
Worst of all, Brown Jenkin was still there, gnawing on a hambone.
“What the living fuck?” Shouted Nat. “What’s going on here?”
“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” said Jenkin around his bone. “They may be lean and athirst, but these angles will lead them astray.” Continue reading »

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