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A Sailors Gambit

“A Sailors Gambit”A Lovecraftian Drabble

Sailors and fisherman are bred from a hardy stock, and though their tempers be foul, and their language be coarse, they can also be on occasion somewhat whimsical.

It is with this in mind that it delights me to relate upon you a nautical tale of heroics, passion and adventure.

Such a tale the likes of which you have never heard before, and I’d wager a gallon of the admirals best rum you’ll never hear again.

It all began when a captain spied a floating bottle with a message inside, and ended when he cursed and tossed the joke aside.

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The Carnival of Horrors

The dog was really talking, and despite it being advertised as such, this discovery was only the third most alarming realisation in that moment, and one that normally wouldn’t have fazed me despite it being a scientific impossibility.

The second most disconcerting fact about the carnival or horror sideshow was that the dog wasn’t so much as sitting, but actually hovering barely an inch above the ventriloquist’s lap. However, the thing that truly petrified me, and instantly turned my crisp white shirt into a sweaty sodden rag, was that the dog was reciting the Lord’s prayer, in Latin … backwards.

The Painting That Should Never Have Been

The Painting That Should Never Have Been – A Lovecraftian Drabble

The young artist sighed and delicately laid down his brush and palette.

 The tableau was almost complete but already he imagined he could feel a mesmerising influence.

It was unmistakably the finest painting of his life, but though he knew it not, there are some effigies that ought not be captured.

Pausing to reach for his coffee he brushed past the painting and unexpectedly felt an agonising twinge on the wrist.

As a gargantuan dose of venom surged through his body he looked back at his easel and spotted fresh blood depicted on the fangs of one of Medusa’s vipers.

The Circle of Stone

The Circle of Stone – A Lovecraftian Drabble

The ceremony was in barely a week and he had yet to formulate his plan of action.

The local villagers, the overcast weather, the infamous house, even the thorn bushes and shrubs that surrounded the abandoned mansion all seemed to have conspired against him.

In all truth he was aware of an abundance of coincidences, but not that his free will had been seductively suppressed by the pictures on the wall.

Unable to break free from their enticing charm, he meandered his way up the grassy verge to the foot of the ancient stone circle, then calmly awaited his fate.

Return of the Ancient Adversary

Return of the Ancient Adversary” – A Lovecraftian Drabble

He awoke to the sound of the deep space claxon, its undulating wail reverberated off the battlecruisers hull.

Somewhere out there beyond the colonised systems a relay satellite had detected a radiation anomaly.

False alarms caused by failing circuitry many millennia old were often the cause, but he wasn’t stationed out this far from civilisation to ignore readings.

Silencing the claxon, he instructed the computer to rotate the ship about and close the distance.

Mentally calculating the journey in centuries, he fervently hoped he didn’t die of old age first, as that would negate his family receiving any posthumous bonus.

Released by Heaven

Released by Heaven – A Lovecraftian Drabble

He was born in the city of towering smoke blocks, and growing up they were all he knew.

As a man he spent each day working in their shade, and deep down he knew he would die having never escaped these looming megaliths of stone and glass.

Yet on clear nights, he would open his windows and lean out to stare up at the stars.

Over time they became his friends, for each he named and knew on sight.

Such firm friends they became that they were moved by his plight, so one dreamy night they mercifully bore him away.

She-Devil

She-Devil – A Lovecraftian Drabble

Hereabouts in swamp gator county there’s a town that now ain’t more than a few ornery folk waiting to taste dirt.

The place used to be a real hoot, full of shindigs and moonshine, ‘til poor Bessie lost her beau an’ her husband on the same day.

That husband of hers was mean as an ox, while her beau was kind-a wiry and had nervous shifty eyes.

No-one rightly knows what went on the day her husband came home full of whisky, but the timing in which her beau first buried him and was then buried himself was mighty suspicious.