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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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 […]

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the Dualitists

Illustration for Brahm Stoker - The Dualitists, two young twins with knives

(1887) Bram Stoker Chapter One – Bis Dat Qui Non Cito Dat There was joy in the house of Bubb. For ten long years had Ephraim and Sophonisba Bubb mourned in vain the loneliness of their life. Unavailingly had they gazed into the emporia of baby-linen, and fixed their searching glances on the basket-makers’ warehouses where the cradles hung in tempting rows. In vain had they prayed, and sighed, and groaned, and wished, and waited, and wept, but never had even a ray of hope been held out by the family physician. But now at last the wished-for moment had arrived. Month after month had flown by on leaden wings, and the destined days had slowly measured their course. The months had become weeks; the weeks had dwindled down to days; the days had been attenuated to hours; the hours had lapsed into minutes, the minutes had slowly died away, and but seconds remained. Ephraim Bubb sat cowering on the stairs, and tried with high-strung ears to catch the strain of blissful music from the […]

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The Mortal Immortal

Illustration for Mary Shelley's The Mortal Immortal. A young man stands in a blizzard.

(1833) Mary Shelley July 16, 1833. — This is a memorable anniversary for me; on it I complete my three hundred and twenty-third year! The Wandering Jew? certainly not. More than eighteen centuries have passed over his head. In comparison with him, I am a very young Immortal. Am I, then, immortal? This is a question which I have asked myself, by day and night, for now three hundred and three years, and yet cannot answer it. I detected a grey hair amidst my brown locks this very day that surely signifies decay. Yet it may have remained concealed there for three hundred years for some persons have become entirely white-headed before twenty years of age. I will tell my story, and my reader shall judge for me. I will tell my story, and so contrive to pass some few hours of a long eternity, become so wearisome to me. For ever! Can it be? to live for ever! I have heard of enchantments, in which the victims were plunged into a deep sleep, to […]

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The Dream

(1832) Mary Shelley THE time of the occurrence of the little legend about to be narrated, was that of the commencement of the reign of Henry IV of France, whose accession and conversion, while they brought peace to the kingdom whose throne he ascended, were inadequate to heal the deep wounds mutually inflicted by the inimical parties. Private feuds, and the memory of mortal injuries, existed between those now apparently united; and often did the hands that had clasped each p other in seeming friendly greeting, involuntarily, as the grasp was released, clasp the dagger’s hilt, as fitter spokesman to their passions than the words of courtesy that had just fallen from their lips. Many of the fiercer Catholics retreated to their distant provinces; and while they concealed in solitude their rankling discontent, not less keenly did they long for the day when they might show it openly. In a large and fortified château built on a rugged steep overlooking the Loire, not far from the town of Nantes, dwelt the last of her race, […]

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THE RED ROOM

(1894) H. G. Wells “It’s your own choosing,” said the man with the withered arm once more. I heard the faint sound of a stick and a shambling step on the flags in the passage outside. The door creaked on its hinges as a second old man entered, more bent, more wrinkled, more aged even than the first. He supported himself by the help of a crutch, his eyes were covered by a shade, and his lower lip, half averted, hung pale and pink from his decaying yellow teeth. He made straight for an armchair on the opposite side of the table, sat down clumsily, and began to cough. The man with the withered hand gave the newcomer a short glance of positive dislike; the old woman took no notice of his arrival, but remained with her eyes fixed steadily on the fire. “I said—it’s your own choosing,” said the man with the withered hand, when the coughing had ceased for a while. “It’s my own choosing,” I answered. The man with the shade became […]

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the Murders in the Rue Morgue

(1841) Edgar Allan Poe Begin The mental features discoursed of as the analytical, are, in themselves, but little susceptible of analysis. We appreciate them only in their effects. We know of them, among other things, that they are always to their possessor, when inordinately possessed, a source of the liveliest enjoyment. As the strong man exults in his physical ability, delighting in such exercises as call his muscles into action, so glories the analyst in that moral activity which disentangles. He derives pleasure from even the most trivial occupations bringing his talent into play. He is fond of enigmas, of conundrums, of hieroglyphics; exhibiting in his solutions of each a degree of acumen which appears to the ordinary apprehension præternatural. His results, brought about by the very soul and essence of method, have, in truth, the whole air of intuition. The faculty of re-solution is possibly much invigorated by mathematical study, and especially by that highest branch of it which, unjustly, and merely on account of its retrograde operations, has been called, as if par […]