Brown Jenkins part three
by Duane Pesice
soundtrack here Continue reading

Friends, we have a duesey of a story for you today. Fred Lubnow has explored through deep time and deep Antarctic wastes to bring you back this tale of cosmic horror set in the Mountains of Madness.
From the Neo-Galactic Sacred Text of the Elder Things:
When the Elder Things arrived on Earth, it was nothing more than a steaming rock covered with oceans, lakes, and pools. Life was essentially comprised of loose aggregates of unicellular cells. Cyanobacteria were photosynthesizing, emitting copious amounts of toxic oxygen into the atmosphere. The Elder Things used this prokaryotic raw material to create more complex eukaryotic cells through endosymbiosis.
They then used these more complex cells to generate various forms of multi-cellular life; some are still in existence, most have gone extinct. However, all were small bundles of cells, passively floating in the organically enriched waters of the Earth. While the Elder Things used this biological material to initiate the forces of evolution, they were not content to work with Terran biomatter. The Elder Things wanted more. They wanted to create larger creatures that were useful relative to their needs and purposes.
POST MORTEM, a one-round scenario
There is very little text to this scenario. The scene is set, there is a little scripted action at the beginning and at the very end, and the rest is virtually all character interaction.
Due to the nature of character backgrounds, it is imperative that the players read their character’s backgrounds silently and not share the details. Continue reading »
Friends, take a look-see at the entertaining and informative panel on “H.P. Lovecraft and the Cthulhu Mythos” panel at this past weekend’s Phoenix Comicon 2015. Great stuff with Yours Truly on the left in the ginormous beard!
Shoggoth.net brings you a unique treat. Find here a chilling story so skillfully woven, it could have been written by the Old Gent himself. Actually, the psychological insight found in this story puts it in its own category: classically Lovecraftian, but with characters we can sympathize with … or despise … or both.
Professor Paget had invited me for tea (not coffee, not booze—but tea, the pretentious ass!) that evening and, having no excuse otherwise, I accepted. I could have protested truthfully that I had too many papers to grade, having just administered a mid-term exam to my class of 100 students; but I was tempted by the fascination he had piqued concerning the oddity he acquired while on sabbatical in Eastern Europe.
It doesn’t get more Lovecraftian—specifically, more “Dunwich Horror”-ian—than this chilling tale.
“So, today’s the big day, huh, Dr. Caffy?” Henry said from his seat behind the front desk.
“Indeed,” Melanie replied as she signed the Mowman Facility log sheet.
“Hope you don’t let the bastard out.”
Brown Jenkins is intended to be a serial, with each episode accompanied by music to be played while the story is read.
Each episode will consist of a short story or vignette in tune with the major theme. The episodes will post every Sunday night until the tale is complete.
Once all is said and done, a book/cd package will be put together,with a few extra goodies. The cover will feature the artwork at left, by John Donald Carlucci.
Ready? Here we go—

Today we are honored to present a never-before-published story by David Barker, co-author with Wilum H. Pugmire of the new collection In The Gulfs of Dream and Other Lovecraftian Tales, available from Dark Renaissance Books. This is a story that couldn’t fit into that collection, but is shared here for the readers of Shoggoth.net.
Andy Blake arrived at Rams Wood Park an hour early, a few minutes past noon. The walk from the parking lot to the bronze statue of the soldier where they were to meet—which couldn’t have been more than a hundred and fifty feet—left him winded, and it was with relief that he settled onto a bench near the statue and took from his knapsack a small volume he’d brought to pass the time: Appearances, Semblances and Apparitions, a collection of prose poems by his late friend, Daniel Hird.
T
his is an example of my poetry. If memory serves, it was published in an issue of Cthulhu Cultus, but I don’t have any of those contributor’s copies any more, so I’m not 100% sure. 99%, yes. It was inspired by a painting I did, a neon nightmare on black velvet. This photo by Marcin Stawiarz isn’t it, but it’s very cool:
We hope you enjoy this dirty little Mythos tale. Read with the door locked and maybe have a tissue or two handy. BECAUSE YOU MIGHT BE SO SCARED, YOU MIGHT CRY, OKAY? Perverts.
You would’ve done it too. She looked like a cross between Dita Von Teese and what you picture when you masturbate about WWII bomber pinup nose art. Lips the color of a spicy tamale, skin so creamy white you could paint a Bob Ross mountaintop with it, eyes like a police sketch artist would draw if you only said, “smoky bedroom with a touch of startled arousal.” And her voice, oh, that voice that sounded like a panther purring while being spanked with a leather strop.
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