Stories from the ‘Lovecraftian’ Collection

Winter Things

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The snow fell in voluminous silence–burying, freezing, killing. The season of long night had crept upon them. Months of noiseless darkness and cold, where the sun itself was a bleak and pale smear in a gray sky for what blamelessly little time it stayed in that dreary heaven.

The black-green mass of the looming pines stood an unnaturally quiet vigil beyond the wooden palisade of Fort-du-Eaurouge; within their vexing boughs hid crowding skeletal legions of white birch, whose barren spears peaked above the ragged tree line.

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Eaten

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It’s been aching and eating at him. Feels like there’s just a hollowness underneath the skin and in the bones. Sitting up, standing, walking, moving his arms…it’s all an effort, like dragging lead weights.

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Elder Chess

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They were part of a game — a strange variant of chess discovered on a secret and disturbing corner of the world-wide web — played with friends who were as repulsed and fascinated with the strange forms upon the board as I had been when I had decided upon its purchase.

I kept them under a glass case, carefully locked away every night, the strange pewter figures sprawled across a plain of unsteady blocks of black-and-white abutted by red and nameless colors that seemed to shift position when one wasn’t looking.

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