<- Old Ones | Spawn ->
Seated on the weathered porch railing of the Everything Home for the Aged, Constable B---- read the day's mail, slowly, to ancient Noah as the latter teetered back and forth in his rocking chair.
A fleeting shadow passed in front of the midafternoon sun, darkening the cloudless sky. The left side of B----'s face spasmed a bit, and he ran a scarred hand through his dark, lank hair, but he gave no other sign of concern. No one in the seaside community of Everything paid much attention to shadows -- not twice, anyway.
"phoebus adnubilated! Tenebricose, Obs." muttered Noah in a reedy, tremulous voice. "Halliwell. ©."
B---- nodded in the distracted manner of one not truly listening and folded the last letter up. He set the mail gently on the card table beside Noah, and patted Noah's shoulder gently in farewell. As B---- stepped down from the porch, he pulled his sturdy woolen cloak tightly around his thick torso, somehow chilled despite the warm afternoon sun. B---- set off down the main road, limping slightly, tapping time with his truncheon against one meaty thigh.
As B---- strode passed the town hall, a booming voice called out, and from inside a figure beckoned. B---- turned and entered the hall, where the mayor stood at the door to his office. The mayor wasted no time on pleasantries. "What do you make of this, B----?" he asked.
B----'s facial tic worked a bit as he took a long look at the mayor's office. A pair of skeletal footprints were burned deeply, as if by acid, into the geometric center of the room's flagstone floor. From there, two short strides had apparently taken their maker to the mayor's desk. Carved deeply into that dark mahogany surface by some sort of sharp instrument, or perhaps a claw, were a set of runes. Each glowed with an inner light as if they were filled with shifting, molten lava. B---- tried to jerk his eyes away but the strange message drew him into the room. He strode forward clumsily, under compulsion, his footfalls covering each of the strange prints as he neared the desk. B----'s vocal chords began to work without his permission. "Free my children and desist hereafter from imprisoning them, or face my wrath!" B---- uttered in a sepulchral voice not his own. Sweat beaded on his brow.
"Ignore me at thy peril!"
With a shudder B---- took a step back from the desk. He wiped his face with a corner of his cloak. B---- tried to speak, and coughed weakly. The mayor offered his hip flask. B---- drank deeply, coughed again, and handed it back. "I knew this day would come," B---- said, "and I have kept a list of those involved. It is the work of a day's shift, perhaps two. I will attend to it immediately." The mayor nodded. "My thanks, Constable," he said. B---- met the mayor's gaze, and nodded, then left.
The mayor shuddered, having seen a shifting, orange light in the depths of B----'s eyes.
He glanced back into his office. The footprints were gone, and the magohany desk was slowly dissolving into a
pool of sawdust and ash. The mayor sighed. He lost more desks this way ...
We have been contacted by the literary agent for Arkham House, a publishing firm which claims to hold all rights to the works of H.P. Lovecraft. While there is some cause to doubt some or all of Arkham House's claims in an academic sense1, in a more practical vein E2 can't get into a legal tussle over the issue. As promised in E2 Copyright Violations, having been duly contacted, we are removing all Lovecraft's texts from E2 (Those listed in H.P. Lovecraft - Fiction List and H.P. Lovecraft - Poetry List). Please do not add any other material written by Lovecraft (not even letters). Your admins thank you, and the Great Old Ones take special note of your cooperation.
Of course, we can discuss the works and make short quotations for fair use purposes, and also write our own works in the Lovecraftian style, which is way more fun than just copy-and-paste and hard linking the author's works anyway.
- See http://www.gizmology.net/lovecraft/copyrights.htm