“Dark Devil Worshipping” – A lovecraftian Drabble

As my doctor once more prescribes me stronger sedatives and blithely declares that my nightmares stem from a over active imagination I remain silent but inwardly know different.

I will never again look upon a squalid tenement without the ghost of horrors past resurfacing.

What satanic rituals had been performed on those kidnapped orphans I can only imagine, but their unearthed remains painted the bleakest impression.

It was I alone that heard that discordant organ, it was I alone who forced entry into that darkened room, and it was my gaze alone that remained too long on that eldritch nebula.

“I Should Have Listened” – A Lovecraftian Drabble

I should have listened to my gut instinct and never volunteered to be his second.

I say this not because he was a virtual stranger to me, and not because I was in a foreign land with customs and traditions alien to me, but because right from the off I felt that both offended parties had a sinister ulterior motive for wanting me involved and far removed from the bustling city centre.

Thus, here I lie, bereft of any smug self-satisfaction that my instincts were correct, and about to be suffocated by a thousand tumbling yards of heavy shipping rope.

“The House of Forlorn Hope“ – A Lovecraftian Drabble

There is probably one house like it in every small town and village, a broken-down shamble of a property, built on unhallowed ground and ultimately left to eventual ruin.

It was not the manner in which its residence died that caused the locals to shun it so, more the sheer number of casualties it claimed.

In simplistic terms it was an illness house, an anti-hospital if you would, for whatever benign ailment you chanced to have before entering would inevitable turn malign after crossing its threshold.

I thought I was safe recovering only from a broken heart.

I was wrong.

“Things That Ought Not Be Done” – A Lovecraftian Drabble

There are blasphemous suppositions that ought not be spoken, and abandoned graveyards that ought not be disturbed.

There are derelict attics under gabled roofs that ought not be visited, and rusty locks that ought not be picked.

There are broken window frames that ought not be glazed, and visages of unimaginable horrors that ought not be reflected.

I know this to be true.

I also know of two rebellious teens who delighted in doing whatever their parents had forbade, but I ought not tell more as one disappeared and the other went insane and sits before you in padded restraints.

“The End of the Line” – A Lovecraftian Drabble

I’ve never been governed by fearful superstitions or taken to believing outlandish flights of fantasy, but recent events compel me to become the last of my line.

Despite the vicar’s blind reassurances, there can be no place is heaven for one whose ancestral line has committed as many dark blasphemies, or spilled as much young and innocent blood, as mine.

I know the full terrifying detestations behind why the villagers hate and fear us, for I have witnessed the heinous sacrificial rituals, sent forth an army of ravenous vermin and have flown champion among a silent host of bat-winged demons.

“The Letter“ – A Lovecraftian Drabble

A letter, undoubtable of my grandfather’s penmanship, was hand delivered this morning.

It requested that I return to our ancestral homeland and, after undertaking a trifling ceremony, accept my bequeathed inheritance.

The letter had been entrusted with local solicitors whom I knew by reputation to be centuries old and knowledgeable in such affairs.

It came accompanying a dog-eared almanac, a sketch of the city, sufficient coinage to undertake the journey and … my grandfather’s timepiece.

After politely ushering the messengers out, I hastily bolted my door then tremblingly burned the communique, for that ‘particular’ watch had been buried with him!

“The Baleful Moonlit River“ – A Lovecraftian Drabble

There is more than a change in illumination that occurs each day at dawn and dusk, and I know now that both the sun and the moon both seek to highlight certain aspects of our world while obscuring others.

And truly I am not sure which I hate most, the sun for hiding from us the terrible river of souls that flows towards that colossal titan, or the moon for displaying its beauty and wonder in such a delightfully tempting way that one cannot be easily swayed from diving into its waters and be borne away within its unrelenting current.

“The Tonitrophobic Dutchman” – A Lovecraftian Drabble

No one knew why the lightening affected the first Dutch settlers so.

Not much is known of when they first burrowed themselves underground, or when their incestuously inbreeding begun the degradation of their gene pool.

No witnesses survived their first hunger for human flesh, nor when they developed the ability to hibernate between thunderstorms.

In fact, it’s fair to say that very little is documented of their rapid descent from exploratory settlers into feral subterranean cannibals.

All that is known is the fear whenever a storm approaches, and that a stalking menace disappears those not fortunate enough to reach sanctuary.

“The False Hubris of Dreams” – A Lovecraftian Drabble

As she meandered her way home, her mind focused elsewhere, the artist almost tripped over the snoring prone figure.

Something about the stranger’s youthful features struck her as familiar, so she patiently waited for the dreamer to awake and then escorted her home.

Once indoors the two talked at great length about the unconscious world.

It transpired that they both already knew how to control their dreams, and also shared a hitherto unspoken desire for complete dominance over sleep. The two then prepared themselves for a deep sleep, but when the artist awoke her companion ceased to have ever existed.

“The Thing from the Graveyard“ – A Lovecraftian Drabble

Fresh from the burial of her dear friend and partner in crime, she slowly departed the ferry and began retracing their route.

A mixture of juvenile whimsy and privileged boredom had started the pair down their blasphemous descent, a depraved journey that led them to the forbidden enterprise of trophy collecting from foreign graveyards.

The pair had both felt above the law and part of some sinister story where they were the unwitting antiheroes, that was of course until three nights hence.

That night everything changed as she witnessed her friend being torn to pieces by an incorporeal rotting wolf.