“The Peace in Uncertainty“ – A Lovecraftian Drabble

Whoever first said ignorance is bliss was certainly not wrong.

Had I but for one moment realised the mind shredding secrets I would uncover upon translating that cursed book, I would never have parted with a single coin or succumbed to that treacherous bookseller’s patter.

Now my every waking moment is tormented by the disjointed phrases and symbols trying to rearrange themselves in my brain, an effort I can only maintain through an absence of contact with others and an abundance of penny romance novels.

I have managed so far but why is the damn church bells peal so orderly.

“The Grey Shire” – A Lovecraftian Drabble

It was an ill omen for the village the night the meteorite struck.

All the folk knew it, and cursed it, though the big city men ignored them.

It brought with it a foul taste in the water and a muffling of the mind.

The crops suffered first, then the cattle, and it wasn’t long before nothing wild chose to roam its woods day or night.

The final suffering was the townsfolk themselves, trapped by tradition they lingered while strangers fled.

T’was a blessing when the colours flew back through the clouds, save the one that remains down the well.

“A Familiar Resemblance” – A Lovecraftian Drabble

I have a dust covered portrait stored in my attic of my great grandfather.

It is a very fine painting, for he was a handsome man, but there is something about it that disturbs my dreams.

It isn’t that he is captured leaning over the fallen body of a dying man.

Nor is it that he is holding a hideous leather-bound journal, having clearly invoked a powerful spell or incantation. What distresses me is that both men could be identical twins, and both are similarly dressed as I am now, right down to the missing cufflink on my right sleeve.

“The Shadows on the Beach” – A Lovecraftian Drabble

On a high cliff edge overlooking the town is a hamlet that seems older than time.

There are none left alive who remember who built it, and due to its impossibly perched overhang no one goes up and no one comes down.

Indeed, it is such a distance away that were it not for its midnight illuminations it would have passed into obscurity long ago. As it is, locals fear to tread the beaches at night less their souls are stolen away, caught by the indescribable shadow dancers cast by the viridescent flickering light beaming down onto the shingles below.

“A Scientific Suffocation” – A Lovecraftian Drabble

In my innocent youth I was free to dream the fantastical, journey beyond the furthest horizon and face unimaginable quests.

These dreams felt more real to me than the fake constructs of a bygone dynasty who sought to smother all imagination and grind its subjects will to their own boring and mundane ends, and like a fool I had let them and lost my way.

It was not until I rejected their castrating indoctrinations, and reawakened my inner soul, that I remembered that I did not have to forsakenly scrabble in the gutter for I could fly amongst the starts.

“Still Life” – A Lovecraftian Drabble

His latest acquisition to his private art collection was an admittedly unusual piece, but one he felt mysteriously drawn into purchasing.

He was aware that some might feel that the subject matter, a gruesome monstrosity devouring a person whole, to be of poor taste, but that was of little consequence.

His was a passion for the macabre and this portrait, he knew, would be the jewel in his crown. At first, he had no idea why the artists had been reluctant in accepting his patronage, but it was only after he encountered the artists muse that he regretted offering it.

“Dreaming Tablets“ – A Lovecraftian Drabble

The tired man felt terribly alone, and he was for he had no surviving kith not kin.

His only enjoyment was rummaging around in dusty junk shops.

One day he found an ornate wooden box that fascinated him, so he bought it, thanked the salesman and returned home.

Inside the box was a handwritten leather-bound book and a heavy stone tablet wrapped in silk.

The book was written in a language he could not decipher, though he did attempt to annunciate some passages aloud.

The next day he decided to visit a distant fishing village and was never seen again.

“The Vindictive Dead” – A Lovecraftian Drabble

There are some folk who are so filled with the devil that even beyond death they hold a grudge.

Likely as not, that is why the local undertaker gave up his position following his painful mishap two nights ago.

Having accidentally locked himself in the crypts basement he piled some coffins high enough to create a tower, only climbing up he stumbled and stomped both feet through a coffin lid.

Fortuitously the body occupying that coffin was a bad one through and through, who didn’t take kindly to uninvited guests, and seemingly sunk his teeth into the poor fellow’s ankles.