“What the Flood Revealed“ – A Lovecrafitan Drabble

Standing in my friend’s vacant homestead I find myself filled with an uncomfortable dread.

We first became correspondents following the newspaper reports of alarming cadavers being unearthed during the terrible flooding, a discourse which eventually developed into a friendship through our mutual interest in esoteric folklore.

Recently he extended an invitation to examine first hand his peculiar evidence of the existence of extra-terrestrial entities, an offer to which I readily accepted for the following month.

However, having arrived I entered only to discover a disturbingly lifelike mannequin carefully seated next to the mutilated bodies of his two favourite guard dogs.

“What Happens to the Brave and the Curious“ – A Lovecraftian Drabble

The dishevelled prospector wiped his brow with a wrinkled hand and surveyed his trench.

He’d known all about the old Indian burial mound for years, they all had, about how it’s been vanishing inquisitive folk for centuries.

The doc said the cancer would take him any day now, so he reckoned he might as well make good use of what time he had left.

Having dug steadily in the sun-baked ground for hours he’d felt a weird shimmy through his boots.

The curious spectators back in town spying through their telescopes swear he was there one second, gone the next.

“The Mexican Mystification“ – A Lovecraftian Drabble

When I accepted the commission to track down the fugitive, I did not imagine that he would come after me nor dare enter my private carriage as I slept.

Waking up to my own pistol was a rare occurrence, and an incredibly unnerving one.

Enacting a supreme display of beguilement, I disabled his position, preying upon his vanity and overconfidence to do so.

Bearing witnessing to his accidental self-electrocution, it was not the manner of his death that forever haunted me, but that at that exact same moment his recently charred corpse was discover in a cave many miles away.

“Tainted Venom“ – A Lovecraftian Drabble

The plains Indians love telling campfire stories of this world before white man’s arrival.

Tales of battling heroes against cunning demons that predate even their Mayans ancestors.

Their continuous drumming is meant to appease evil spirits, while their witch doctors dance around fires casting protective wards long into the night.

One legend I recall was of a merciless and vengeful god who took the killing of a snake as a terrible sin.

This tale comes back to me now as I find myself cleaning the rattler off my boot knife, and suddenly aware that the tom-toms have fallen eerily quiet.

“The Penitent Corpse“ – A Lovecraftian Drabble

As I struck the match, I carefully inhaled so as not to extinguish the flame.

The doctor in his surgery were already nought but smouldering ash, but there was still his final request, that his collection of esoteric books could never be read again.

My inner bibliophile bristled at the incineration of such rare and antique volumes, but the concerned philanthropist in me quelled these doubts with stubborn determination.

The world had already suffered greatly following the corruption of this once gentile and humane saviour, what devastating horrors might be unleashed by a less refined or civilized reader was unimaginable.

“The Body in the Library“ – A Lovecraftian Drabble

The professor was woken by a furious barking, emanating from the libraries restricted archive wing.

A few seconds later he heard a terrifying and a blood curdling scream that defied any natural animal or mammal he had ever encountered.

Unbolted the door, he discovered a horrifying bloody scene that chilled his marrow and sent his sanity reeling.  There in a pool of its own blood was a dying monstrosity, part man part something blasphemously beyond human comprehension.

Due to the dog’s frenzied assault, the indescribably inhuman torso was on full display, an unfortunate happenstance the professor regretted witnessing forever after.

“My Neighbourhood Doctor“ – A Lovecraftian Drabble

I feel there is something decidedly peculiar about the doctor who lives upstairs.

It isn’t that he keeps odd hours, though he rarely seems to sleep, and it isn’t that he is overly noisy, though his mechanical refrigerator runs day and night.

Part of it is down to his hollow laugh, his pale and clammy skin and his pathological refusal to leave his apartment.

Another part is the icky green slime that frequently trickles down my walls from his room directly above.

But mainly it stems from his recent unrequited and disturbing confession that he died almost twenty years previously.

“The Old Mountains Folk“ – A Lovecraftian Drabble

How prejudiced and naive we were to think that the queer folk holed up in the forested mountains held dark rituals to torment our souls.

How quick we were to loath them for their rustic and ancient differences, and a pity that not a one of our so-called learned scholars sought to determine their true origins or intent.

Now, on all Hallows Eve, having shunned the hill folk this past fall, none can deny the palatable taste of impending dread in the air.

Had we but permitted a few harmless chants, we would mercifully have remained protected from this doom.

“Jar of Souls“ – A Lovecraftian Drabble

As I stood there, facing the man I knew had murdered my uncle, the hatred that raged within fuelled my actions.

Upon arriving at his ramshackle cottage, I had felt respectfully charming, but then having heard his tale which I did not doubt, my mood has turned murderous.

Fortuitously I had instinctively supplying him with a false name at his asking, and prudent it was for now I could strike before he realised the truth.

That he stored my uncle’s soul jar was wise, that he foolishly let slip the location where his own jar was hiding, decidedly less so.

“Climb Not That Cursed Cliff” – A Loveraftian Drabble

During a full moon, should ever find yourself at the bottom of that lichen encrusted cliff, I suggest repudiating the climb.

For those agile enough to reach the grassy plateau high above the darkened honeycombed cliff edge, I recommend you withdraw without further exploration.

For those adventurous souls who press on I urge you not to venture far or locating that haunted intact cable car.

Finally, for those thrill seekers who heedlessly do, I implore you not to embark or solicit an expedition, for once you have espied its comptroller’s hideously transmogrified tentacle capitulum your mind will never know peace.