DWELLER OF THE DARK
“Horrifying is it to know the monster we fear most sometimes, peers at us through our own reflection.” — Jeffrey LeBlanc. Dweller of the Dark is a web page and YouTube channel dedicated to the yellowed and blackened bones of strange, obscure, and forgotten masters of horror, fantasy, and science fiction. A brief background of… Read more
Children of horror, we are passing haunted Avalon Island. Hear the roar of towering waves as they crash against rock, whispering marsh, and sand shore off the coast of Louisana. In the distance between freezing ice and rolling fog we see a twisted, wrecked pirate ship. As you smell the brine and seaweed, you can see the long, ghostly shadows haunting the ancient vessel. The aged, creaking hull solemnly sits in foamed surf. Cold winds howl their discontent and invite you to stay an eternal guest onboard the decayed structure.
This is the ancient crypt of Antoine Valterre, “The Devil of Black Bayou”. And the following sums up the man’s existence best.
“Yon shadowy bark hath been to that wreck,
And the dim blue fire that lights her deck
Doth play on as pale and livid a crew
As ever yet drank the churchyard dew!”
–The Ghost Ship by Sir Thomas Moore
Yet, are we mistaken, as he fades in and out, in curious time as the arcs of lightning?
As you smell the scent of rain, sea, and something ancient and dead, you hear ghastly laughs around you as the storm continues to approach. Shadows continue to whisper. There is no escape and no reprieve from the whisperers beyond.
Out of the singed heart of cosmic horror, and electrifying arcs of slime, we introduce you to the terrifying dimensions of the mortal immortal, Isaac Abramovitch in “The Masque of Death”.
William Blake captured Isaac’s nightmarish world so poignantly in the verses below.
Cruelty has a Human Heart
And Jealousy a Human Face
Terror, the Human Form Divine
And Secrecy, the Human Dress
The Human Dress, is forged Iron
The Human Form, a fiery Forge.
The Human Face, a Furnace seal’d
The Human Heart, its hungry Gorge –William Blake (A Divine Image)
Follow on children of horror through winding, spiraling, dark dimensions as we journey ever on into thunderheads on sandy shores, shadowed waterways, fog-foetid bayous, and amongst the darkness of decayed swamp without torch, flashlight, or candle flame with only electric arcs to light our way.
Those distant, shadowed whispers you hear are nothing to fear. And the tentacle monstrosity climbing out of a ripped dimension circling you can’t be a d—, or can they? There’s no such thing of course.
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