The nuns in black, they cast no shadows. We waited for them to turn the corner and disappear. We could not imagine how many varied forms they had to take before they got here. The least we could do was to pretend as if they were invisible.
Come to think of it, it took us several lifetimes to come up with the finest end-of-the-world scenarios. Each to his own hell, after all. As long as you burn, no one could see through the wall of flames around you. Continue Reading
In the Victorian era, it was tradition to tell ghost stories at Christmas time, one that’s been sadly lost. Eschatology would like to do its part to revive this tradition. To that end, we are seeking submissions of traditional ghost-stories, the best of which will be published in a special edition Christmas Day. The deadline is December 15. Submission guidelines can be found here or by clicking the above tab.
The newscaster’s voice came faint and agitated from the speaker above the water fountain, going through the motions, repeating it all over again. It was the same news I had been hearing for days from different sources, but maybe this time I would pick up something missed before. Something to point me to the north or south. Something to give me a hint of those I’d left behind.
I surveyed the vacant parking lot, the empty interstate beyond that stretched off to the north and south. Nothing and no one for as far as I could see. Only the squat brick structure of the rest area building before me gave my eyes something to fix upon.
The water from the fountain was warm and tasted faintly of sulfur, but I drank deeply, washing the grit and stale ashy taste from my mouth. If my stomach clenched on me later, I’d know that it had been a bad decision. It wouldn’t be the first one. But it had been four days, just outside of Memphis, since I had last found water. I filled my bottles as well, relieved that the grit covered faucet’s pressure held until I finished.
- Cosgrove Somerby Esq.,
- Guolong, China.
- August 25, 1938
- Gerald F. Perry,
- Professor of Hyborian Studies,
- Miskatonic University,
- 141 University Dr.,
- Arkham, Mass.
- My Dear Sir:
I have come back down out of the mountains to Guolong here in Southern China, where this journey truly began, to let you know that our quest has been a success. The mountains to the north of Guolong are majestic and colossal snow-capped behemoths which even now beckon me to climb once more to the dizzy heights that we reached and see once again that legendary plateau. It has been said that at the end of a journey such as this there are two outcomes, enlightenment or damnation. I have found my enlightenment, I have seen sights alien to the eyes of mortal man for thousands of years and am humbled beyond my words to express. Continue Reading
At first you thought it was the birds. You tried slinging pebbles at them, but it did nothing. They came back, perched on the mud walls and clay tiles of your house. You stood outside, flapped your arms like wings to scare them. You could swear their chirps only turned to laughter.
Inside the noise was worse. You’d be eating seasoned rice with sea grass–and fish if you’d been ambitious that day and actually gone out on the river–when screeches would shatter the air, sprinkle down onto your food and ruin the taste. And screeches do have a flavor, you could assure visitors if you ever had them, a bitter bite with a metallic aftertaste. At night the birds made a sound like a crocodile being dragged over the tiles, the scales of its belly brushing aside clay shingles. Continue Reading