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Travis: ya ill be home at 9
Travis: were getn lots of candy
Travis: im with some new kids
Travis: hittin all the houses
Travis: going threw the woods

— last messages received by Mrs. Margaret Jackman from her missing son.
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“I’m not sure if there’s anything I can tell you. I mean, I’m just grateful that on that day I had a lab session across campus, and missed the recording slot. Recording? Yeah, it wasn’t performing. For full marks on the course, we had to record a recital as well as performing live, OK? And this was the test slot to get all the little settings figured out? So they didn’t need me there all of the time; the security camera knows more than I do. Experimental soundwaves? No, just plain acoustic instruments and trying to get a clean recording. Mozart, to be exact. I guess that your science teams have told you that it takes like over 200 decibels to kill, and nothing in that room had that kinda output. Yeah, I had to look for basic identifying and I’ll tell you this: I saw blood over their ears and heads, but I’ve seen burst eardrums before and they don’t bleed so much, and it’s like a small amount. You don’t notice it on Judith with her nail polish, but the guys’ hands are coated in blood, hair and gunk. I don’t care if you put it down to shock, they must’ve been desperate to keep out or drag something out. Test it. I don’t know why the cameras fuzzed either, hell, this is an elective cheap grade course and I’m an English major, not engineering or physics. [phone rings] Sure, sure I can hold on while you take that. You OK, Officer? Officer? What’s the problem with eardrums? Of course they’d be broken if you think a sonic blast caused it….they’re intact…no, I got nothing…say, officer, can I go? I wanna go past Engineering and grab some noise reduction gear…”

-Recorded statement of Martin Nichols, freshman student at Warwick University [Interviewing Officer’s Note: The body of Martin Nichols was found in the storage room of the Music Centre 3 hours after this interview. As with the original case, this remains open]

“[soft croon with guitar] Mmmm, the sun goin’ down, boy, dark gon’ catch me here Lord I’m standin’ at the crossroad, babe, I believe I’m sinkin’ down. [stills strings]
Why’d I sell my soul to the Devil? I never did. He just promised me that I could be keepin’ it until I passed. The music wouldn’a’ waited an’ it woulda never sat still on the discs.”
– Robert Johnson, Bluesman Continue reading »

Shadow person
From http://therealevidenceoftheparanormal.blogspot.com/

I saw them again. They were watching me. They ran between two columns in activity room.   They’re everywhere.  What are they watching…  Hell at this point I’d just tell them to get them to go away.

— Tom Humphries – patient at Arkham Asylum; severe schizophrenia.

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To avoid showing inappropriate content on the site, we present this Sarlacc pit as a visual comparison.

What you see there is Hine-nui, flashing where the sky meets the earth. Her body is like a woman’s, but the pupils of her eyes are greenstone and her hair is kelp. Her mouth is that of a barracuda, and in the place where men enter her she has sharp teeth of obsidian and greenstone.

– Antony Alpers, Maori Myths and Tribal Legends

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Portrait of a Rusalka by Ivan Bilibin, 1934

“In her outward appearance, [she] matched the natural beauty amid which she lived. Her fair tresses flowing in an eddying, endless stream, her fine features framing her fathomless eyes. Simply to see her was to ache with desire.”

-Charles Phillips, “Spirit Masters and Little Demons.”

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(Author’s Note: Though the description for these beings is that used for Byakhee in the Call of Cthulhu rulebook and Malleus Monstrum, this author and others believe the creatures in Lovecraft’s “The Festival” are not Byakhee as envisioned by Derleth. This entry provides a distinction between the monsters.)

“There flopped rhythmically a horde of tame, trained, hybrid winged things that no sound eye could ever wholly grasp, or sound brain ever wholly remember. They were not altogether crows, nor moles, nor buzzards, nor ants, nor vampire bats, nor decomposed human beings; but something I cannot and must not recall. They flopped limply along, half with their webbed feet and half with their membranous wings…” – H.P. Lovecraft, “The Festival” Continue reading »