Category: Old Testament

Tales from horror and sci-fi authors of the Victorian and Edwardian eras / Belle Epoque.
Though a lot of work has gone into formatting them for the web and for this site, these stories are in the public domain, and therefore only their publishing dates are listed.

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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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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 […]

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The Music OF Erich Zann

Illustration for the music of erich zann, depicts a violinish in shadows with music notes in the air

(1921) H. P. Lovecraft I have examined maps of the city with the greatest care, yet have never again found the Rue d’Auseil. These maps have not been modern maps alone, for I know that names change. I have, on the contrary, delved deeply into all the antiquities of the place, and have personally explored every region, of whatever name, which could possibly answer to the street I knew as the Rue d’Auseil. But despite all I have done, it remains an humiliating fact that I cannot find the house, the street, or even the locality, where, during the last months of my impoverished life as a student of metaphysics at the university, I heard the music of Erich Zann. That my memory is broken, I do not wonder; for my health, physical and mental, was gravely disturbed throughout the period of my residence in the Rue d’Auseil, and I recall that I took none of my few acquaintances there. But that I cannot find the place again is both singular and perplexing; for it […]

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The Cats of Ulthar

Illustration for H Lovecraft's Cats of Ulthar - cats swarming around cabin at night

(1920 ) H. P. Lovecraft It is said that in Ulthar, which lies beyond the river Skai, no man may kill a cat; and this I can verily believe as I gaze upon him who sitteth purring before the fire. For the cat is cryptic, and close to strange things which men cannot see. He is the soul of antique Aegyptus, and bearer of tales from forgotten cities in Meroe and Ophir. He is the kin of the jungle’s lords, and heir to the secrets of hoary and sinister Africa. The Sphinx is his cousin, and he speaks her language; but he is more ancient than the Sphinx, and remembers that which she hath forgotten. In Ulthar, before ever the burgesses forbade the killing of cats, there dwelt an old cotter and his wife who delighted to trap and slay the cats of their neighbors. Why they did this I know not; save that many hate the voice of the cat in the night, and take it ill that cats should run stealthily about yards […]

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Pickman’s Model

Illusration for H.P. Lovecraft's Pickman's Model, an image of the stalking creature

(1926) H. P. Lovecraft as Published October 1927 in “Weird Tales” You needn’t think I’m crazy, Eliot- plenty of others have queerer prejudices than this. Why don’t you laugh at Oliver’s grandfather, who won’t ride in a motor? If I don’t like that damned subway, it’s my own business; and we got here more quickly anyhow in the taxi. We’d have had to walk up the hill from Park Street if we’d taken the car. I know I’m more nervous than I was when you saw me last year, but you don’t need to hold a clinic over it. There’s plenty of reason, God knows, and I fancy I’m lucky to be sane at all. Why the third degree? You didn’t use to be so inquisitive. Well, if you must hear it, I don’t know why you shouldn’t. Maybe you ought to, anyhow, for you kept writing me like a grieved parent when you heard I’d begun to cut the Art Club and keep away from Pickman. Now that he’s disappeared I go round to […]