RogerBW's Blog

Since my last post on this subject, more of the hidden collaborations of Howard Philips Lovecraft (1890-1937) have been uncovered. Our team of imaginary researchers has worked tirelessly to recover these first drafts, rendered into more commonplace form by Lovecraft's so-called "co-authors".

They didn't say anything about this in the manuscripts, I thought, as the tentacles crept in through the gaping doorway and settled on my naked back.

This is my favourite book in all the world, though I cannot bear to read it.

In a hole in the ground there lived a dhole.

Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the gigantic, stress-heaved vaulting at the upper edge of the gulf of impenetrable blackness, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the tome her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or spells in it, "and what is the use of a tome," thought Alice, "without pictures or spells?"

He was born with a curse of clear sight and a sense that the world was mad.

You don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Necronomicon; but that ain't no matter. That book was made by Mr. Abd al-Azrad, and he told the truth, mainly.

Once there were four children, whose names were Obed, Aphra, Barnabas and Luella. This story is about something that happened to them when they were sent away from Innsmouth between the wars because of the government raids.

Into the face of the young man who sat on the high, fantastically balustraded terrace above a boundless jungle of outlandish, incredible peaks, balanced planes, domes, minarets, horizontal discs poised on pinnacles, and numberless forms of still greater wildness there had crept a look of furtive shame, the shifty, hangdog look which announces that an Englishman is about to talk Elder Thing.

It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer the small hours were rent with the screams of nightmare, and I didn’t know what I was doing in the great, the old, the terrible city of unnumbered crimes.