“The Amber Eyed Pirate“ – A Lovecraftian Drabble

There were few rumours concerning the old man who lived on his own. Paranoia and superstition mostly, tales of black hearted pirates and stolen Spanish doubloons.

No one altogether knew anything substantial, for as well as being as old as the hills, he was also as sombre as the grave and as taciturn as its occupant.

The three brazen goons who sought to relieve him of his bounty ironically provoked two other qualities not previously cogitated.

The first is that his amber eyes could recognize a man’s true intent, the second was he knew how to dispose of rigid cadavers.

“The Submariner’s Affirmation” – A Lovecraftian Drabble

If you are reading this, then I and my entire ship’s crew are dead, victims not of Allied destroyers or aerial strafing, but through our own unabatable desire to reconnoitre the fabulous city beneath our hull.

How we, a loyal and successful U-Boat crew, came into possession of an idol from this sunken metropolis can be read in my detailed log, this note being left only as a summarising exhortation.

The altars of Atlantis are anathema to those who tread dry soil, for it is only whelmed dwellers who pay suitable homage to its natatory deities that are permitted entrance.

“Poems of Prophetic Divinity” – A Lovecraftian Drabble

Finally left alone, she positioned herself between her favourite cushions and settled down to read.

Though no disillusioned fan of her own voice she firmly believed that good poetry deserved to be read aloud, and the book she held in her hands contained great poetry.

Somewhere between the third or fourth chapter the power of its words induced upon her a state of tranquil rapture that cast her mind to far off times and places.

In her dreams she soared and saw such beautiful and marvellous vistas that when she awoke, she found crystal tears of pure wonder beside her.

“The Stranger from the East” – A Lovecraftian Drabble

I knew of him by reputation only, so I foolishly decried his spectacle as little more than trickery and gimmicks.

If only I had seen his true torturous soul, then I would have known that shimmer in his eyes was a damning omen for us all.

With a callous wave he dismissed us, and like scolded children we shuffled out in disgraced single file.

Into the street we marched and yet it was not our city, and the moon above us approximated a cancerous canker.

As our muted procession shambled into oblivion, I heard his laughter echo inside my mind.

“The Statement of Joseph Arbuckle III“ – A Lovecraftian Drabble

The depths of theoretical sciences should never be plumbed by the solitary, the bereaved or the psychotic, for though failure might garner misfortune, success could be the harbinger of unimagined misery.

Such was the fate that overtook my old school chum, who first shunned, then beckoned me back with the key to unlocking hitherto un-accessed ocular perceptions.

When he opened the door on the night of June fifteenth, I could see what torture it had extolled upon his body, but it was only after his premeditated assault in the attic that I realised it had also fractured his tormented soul.

“The Ancestral Trail” – A Lovecraftian Drabble

As an amateur anthropologist she would oft litter her flights of fancy with scientific hyperbole.

Her family, she laid claim, were once the rulers of a magnificent mountain fortress deep in the Congolese jungle, a city of such wealth that it impoverished King Solomon’s mines by comparison.

Few took her fables seriously ‘til one day a cargo box arrived from Africa, and hesitantly behind closed doors she opened it and peered within.

What she received we may never know, for a moment later she dashed an oil lantern against the crate, burning it and herself to nothing but ashen remains.

“Sweet Oblivion” – A Lovecraftian Drabble

For a man such as I, this world has lost its lustre.

To me all foods taste bland, and all liqueurs lack potency. The delights of the flesh interest me none and narcotics pale to mere sleeping aides.

There is but one thing that still stirs any excitement in these old bones, and that is the thought of once more dream walking through the verdant green valleys and climbing buried temples of my mind’s eye.

I have promised myself that one night I will go a rambling ’til I find that gated blissful nothingness from which I need never return.

“Pride & Persecution“ – A Lovecraftian Drabble

No one lives in the swamp these days, but this was not always the case.

The oldest in the village still remember legends of the first human settlers here, of their greed and pride and fall.

When the intrepid explorers arrived in the valley it was a lush and pleasant land, bountiful and home to a peaceful yet ungodly race.

With ruthless efficiency they slew the deformed inhabitants, creating space for their own settlement.

However, on the first new moon a dense enshrouding fog lifted off the river, choking, suffocating.

Come the dawn, all traces of both tribes were gone.

“The Kingdom of Dreams” – A Lovecraftian Drabble

There is an enchanted land that only the most determined could ever hope to find.

To reach it you must first free your mind by flooding it with an opiated concoction as to render yourself immobile.

Thus relaxed, your journey begins at a desolated town that is not on any map.

Travel through this land ‘til you reach the worlds end and descend down the darkest pit filled with cackling fiends.

Beyond its depths you must find the harbour master and book passage on board the flying ship that will at last take you to the city beyond the clouds.

“Lane’s End Cottage” – A Lovecraftian Drabble

The village in which I live has many strange and wonderful laws.

It is of old stock, full of colourful characters, and is widely regarded as friendly and welcoming save the couple who lived at lane’s end cottage.

They were a murderous pair, with a dislike for children and a hatred of pets.

One day a travelling circus were passing through and all was well until their cat disappeared.

That night an unseasonal storm brewed, with such lightning that all the cats cried and ran off to hide.

When dawn broke the couple at lane’s end were nought but bones.