Category: Lore

A collection of short stories new and old, relating in some way or another to our fine Victorian age.

From Historical future, to futuristic history, to futuristic present and beyond, these stories reflect some of the very best our times have to offer, influenced by modern science and often leaning towards the domain of “science-fiction” as they are calling it now.

As an added treat, our benign experiments in the fields of better managing time and space, have allowed us the unique opportunity to offer stories from various possible futures of parallel worlds. These tales (so far) come from as as far future as the beginnings of the second millenium, many of which romanticising this our fine age!

Please keep in mind that these future-past stories are historical horror-fiction works from the “neo-victorian”, “new-romantic”, and “steampunk” schools of art, and in that should not be seen as accurate portrayals of the present or coming years for Miskatonic University or Arkham in general, and that all common threads regarding our establishment must only be credited to their common roots in a particular literary movement.

Stories are divided into two sections, and then divided again alpha by author.

— The New Testament
These stories are copyright their respective owners, and remain the sole property of their respective owners. They are ours only to publish here and only for the time period established by the author.

— The Old Testament
These works, though written in the Edwardian and Vistorian ages, fall under the license of public domain. For this reason we have listed their first publishing dates instead of “copyright” dates.

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Festival

H.P. Lovecraft Festival/Yule Horror illustration - zombies in the snow wearing druidic clothing/santa garb

Published as “Yule Horror” in Weird Tales, December 1926 There is snow on the ground,And the valleys are cold,And a midnight profoundBlackly squats o’er the wold;But a light on the hilltops half-seen hints of feastings unhallow’d and old. There is death in the clouds,There is fear in the night,For the dead in their shroudsHail the sun’s turning flight,And chant wild in the woods as they dance round a Yule-altar fungous and white. To no gale of earth’s kindSways the forest of oak,Where the sick boughs entwin’dBy mad mistletoes choke,For these pow’rs are the pow’rs of the dark, from the graves of the lost Druid-folk. And mayst thou to such deedsBe an abbot and priest,Singing cannibal greedsAt each devil-wrought feast,And to all the incredulous world shewing dimly the sign of the beast. Ancient Yuletide CarolAncient Yuletide Carol is the archive’s seasonal writers, specializing in festive winter lore. Though she was briefly “let go”/un-summoned for decking the halls with the bowels of Holly (one of our former assistants), Carol has since been re-instated and assigned several more-durable […]

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At the Mountains of Madness

Illustration of Mountains of Madness by HP Lovecraft - Chaos Beast at cave entrance

March of 1931 by H. P. Lovecraft I I am forced into speech because men of science have refused to follow my advice without knowing why. It is altogether against my will that I tell my reasons for opposing this contemplated invasion of the antarctic – with its vast fossil hunt and its wholesale boring and melting of the ancient ice caps. And I am the more reluctant because my warning may be in vain. Doubt of the real facts, as I must reveal them, is inevitable; yet, if I suppressed what will seem extravagant and incredible, there would be nothing left. The hitherto withheld photographs, both ordinary and aerial, will count in my favor, for they are damnably vivid and graphic. Still, they will be doubted because of the great lengths to which clever fakery can be carried. The ink drawings, of course, will be jeered at as obvious impostures, notwithstanding a strangeness of technique which art experts ought to remark and puzzle over. In the end I must rely on the judgment and […]

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The Ruins

The Ruins Steampunk Lovecraftian painting by Myke Amend

… Of these buildings, we managed only to explore the larger chambers, and even then, only those that served as entries. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the shapes and sizes of the doors in between rooms and tiers, as though access between levels was restricted according to the size and shape of those who once lived here. James, however, is resolute in his notion that our ancient hosts have neither a set shape or size, citing the absence of ladders or stairs between the floors of these strange towers. Of course this is nonsense. The large amount of human skeletons we have found here, indicate that these strange and seemingly pointless chambers must have been purely decorative, or of some significance to whatever primitive religions or superstitions they practiced. We’ve counted, documented, and graded what seem to be thousands of years worth of human remains now. For all the varying ages of the bones, and for all the time this settlement was here, it is strange to find the builders of […]

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“The Rain Maker” by Phillip Challis

Victorian Rainmaker

The Rain-Maker by Phillip Challis Published with permission May 18th, 2009 Morgan Booth looked up at a stretch of wide blue sky and waited for the miracle to happen. With the winds kicking up, little dust devils tumbled across the plains and scoured the land. Standing on the edge of town, Booth found himself surrounded by a sizable crowd of townsfolk. Their mood struck him as electric, like the static carried on dry winds that sometimes threw blue sparks off wire fences at night. That’s how it was with the people. They had an excited air about them. He could see a few had even gone so far as to throw coarse blankets down on the bare ground. Families tucked into their picnic dinners and children played in what used to be fertile soil now gone to lifeless powder. This town was just the latest in a string of used up little communities he’d wandered into and out of again over the past few months. The past few summers had seen withered crops and wasted […]

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Back from Yet Another Perilous Journey

Victorian Aeroplane People in Panic

“Stand back everyone, I’m from Cincinnati!”, I yelled, intelligently, at the frightened masses huddled inside of the aeroplane cabin, their faces ugly with fear. There I stood, alone, amidst the crowd, looking over a rather broken man, who was gasping in pain, clutching at his own hideously twisted form. “Just what does being from Cincinnati have to do with medical emergencies?” huffed she, a rather pointy-faced old lady, who by the tone of her voice, and the sheer stupidity of her question, was obviously from Toledo. “Well,” I said “Cincinnati is 683 feet above sea level, and 31 miles from the ocean, which of course makes me the anti-christ.” “And who better to save the life of this poor man than one with such awesome and incredible powers of deduction as I?”, I added, peering around the innards of the fast-falling machine – looking for makeshift tools to do the job at hand. There was little time remaining; The injured man’s leg was bleeding profusely all over the fine low-pile cobalt-blue carpet, his bones jutting awkwardly outward like the eyes of a strangled Cambodian prostitute. […]

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Where Once Poe Walked

Poe poem graveyard scene

Where Once Poe Walked by H. P. Lovecraft Eternal brood the shadows on this ground, Dreaming of centuries that have gone before; Great elms rise solemnly by slab and mound, Arched high above a hidden world of yore. Round all the scene a light of memory plays, And dead leaves whisper of departed days, Longing for sights and sounds that are no more. Lonely and sad, a specter glides along Aisles where of old his living footsteps fell; No common glance discerns him, though his song Peals down through time with a mysterious spell. Only the few who sorcery’s secret know, Espy amidst these tombs the shade of Poe. Prof. Aden M. Kemywww.mykeamend.com

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From Beyond

rom Beyond Illustration - Laboratory with Tentacles and Electricity

Written in 1920 by H. P. Lovecraft Published June, 1934 in The Fantasy Fan Horrible beyond conception was the change which had taken place in my best friend, Crawford Tillinghast. I had not seen him since that day, two months and a half before, when he told me toward what goal his physical and metaphysical researches were leading; when he had answered my awed and almost frightened remonstrances by driving me from his laboratory and his house in a burst of fanatical rage. I had known that he now remained mostly shut in the attic laboratory with that accursed electrical machine, eating little and excluding even the servants, but I had not thought that a brief period of ten weeks could so alter and disfigure any human creature. It is not pleasant to see a stout man suddenly grown thin, and it is even worse when the baggy skin becomes yellowed or grayed, the eyes sunken, circled, and uncannily glowing, the forehead veined and corrugated, and the hands tremulous and twitching. And if added to […]

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THE REPAIRER OF REPUTATIONS

Repairer of reputations illustration of Crawford Tillinghast

(1895) Robert W. Chambers -a story from his famous work: “The King in Yellow” “Ne raillons pas les fous; leur folie dure plus longtemps que la nôtre…. Voilà toute la differénce.” Chapter One Toward the end of the year 1920 the government of the United States had practically completed the programme adopted during the last months of President Winthrop’s administration. The country was apparently tranquil. Everybody knows how the Tariff and Labor questions were settled. The war with Germany, incident on that country’s seizure of the Samoan Islands, had left no visible scars upon the republic, and the temporary occupation of Norfolk by the invading army had been forgotten in the joy over repeated naval victories and the subsequent ridiculous plight of General Von Gartenlaube’s forces in the State of New Jersey. The Cuban and Hawaiian investments had paid one hundred per cent., and the territory of Samoa was well worth its cost as a coaling station. The country was in a superb state of defense. Every coast city had been well supplied with land […]