Shoggoth.net

These strange creatures arise from the dark desires of sorcerers to enhance their powers.  Through a complicated ritual, passed down through the ages from the Arch-Wizards of Stygia and Atlantis, a sorcerer may offer their living bodies as a home to one of the countless living, yet formless entities lurking at the edges of our reality. The malevolent beings are desperate to obtain physical form, as it is the only way to enter our plane of existence.

Biters, Bloody Benders, Watchers

There was no flesh. Only skin and bone and taut, dry stretches of tendon between. The eyelids were closed; the sockets looked hollow under them. The nose was sunken and almost lost. The scant lips were tightly curled back from the long and very white teeth, which stood forth all the more brilliantly against the deep-brown skin.

– Anthony Boucher, “They Bite”

And there it was. I wish…I wish…The face of a little girl, frightened. Crying with hunger and terror. Hands like a human being…And a body…Well, I’ll tell you about that. I told you how I’m scared of spiders

– Wyllis Cooper, “The Thing on the Fourble Board”, Quiet, Please, 8-9-1948

“On the first day, Mariana walked into the field; she came back sightless. The second day, Grigor did the same, and he ran back with a broken arm. The third day, it was Valka, and she came back fine… but all she does now is stare into the fire.”

Guardians of the Tombs, Living Hatred, Sons of Khafre

In the yellow light of the lamp, they saw a monstrous creature enter through the opening in the wall…a creature with a body of a huge lion and the withered, ages old head of a man! The girl slumped to the floor…and Professor Burton had the time to emit short, petrified scream before the sphinx leaped!

– Jack Oleck and Jack Davis “Tomb’s Day”, Vault of Horror #35

“Olaf never knew when to stop. After a few drinks, chopping up a few goblins turns into an epic battle against fire-breathing ogres. Each night, the men at the end of our bed keep coming, but Olaf can’t tell them damn truth. Gods help us.”

The smell of rotting sickly pumpkin on the autumn breeze is a warning to all, as the infested go unharvested or worse, used as the heads of scarecrows. The writhing infesting vines, wind their way through the makeshift puppet’s stuffed body, animating it. Skittering on all fours through the cornfields, they delight in catching crows, grinding and popping their hollow bones with glee. In time the infested will bloat, dropping their fattened tendrils into the earth. These twisting and lashing roots burrowing deep to mature and wait for the tilling of the fields. Uprooted they take hold in the new harvest and start a new cycle. If disturbed the infested scarecrow will stalk and hunt intruders, keeping it’s territory free of any life, the kills dragged around, soaking the fields in blood. All the better to grow fat little tendrils in.

I still remember when the cartel came to our village.  They wanted to teach us a lesson, and chose quiet old Mr. Santos to make an example of. They tortured him for hours while we were forced to watch.. It wasn’t until they slit his throat that Mr. Santos started laughing… the blood that poured from his neck reached out.. And tore each of those poor men, those murderers, apart. — Raul Morales, former Catholic Priest, non functional alcoholic.