Thro’ the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber,
Past the wan-moon’d abysses of night,
I have liv’d o’er my lives without number,
I have sounded all things with my sight;
And I struggle and shriek ere the daybreak, being driven to madness with fright.

Welcome to Dweller of the Dark!

We are a channel honoring the yellowed and blackened bones of many prominent authors. We will be digging up several obscure, strange, and forgotten authors who influenced many of the great horror, science fiction, and fantasy writer’s today. Comment below if you like. If you have authors that you’d like to see recognized list them in the comments or contact our author page.

Subscribe for more tales of the horrifying, obscure, strange, and forgotten. We’ll have quite a collection…climbing out of the tombs. If you like any of our tales, hit the like button below.

For your support to “Dweller of the Dark” we decided to go digging for a few pieces of eight…or was that a decayed mummy? We will be giving away prizes for subscribers. One is a signed first edition of “Wolves, Wings, & Other Things” or another novel of your choice for our 500^th and 1000^th subscribers. Many more random gifts will be awarded in future narrations to lucky listeners.

Hit the bell for notifications. Check in for updates on our channel and website. Again the 500^th and 1000^th subscriber gets a signed copy of one of the author’s novels or anthologies.

Facebook: Jeffrey LeBlanc Horror Writer

Official Website: dwellerofthedark.com

Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/Jeffrey-LeBlanc/e/B00GQXNA3O%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share

Twitter: @JeffreyJLeBlanc

Howard Phillips Lovecraft was a horror and weird fiction master who achieved posthumous fame through his influential works of horror fiction and poetry. Strangely, he was virtually unknown during his lifetime and died in poverty. Many of Lovecraft’s greatest works were first published only in pulp magazines.

Among his most celebrated tales are “The Rats in the Walls”, “The Color Out of Space”, “The Call of Cthulhu”, “At the Mountains of Madness”, “The Shadow over Innsmouth”, and “The Shadow Out of Time”, all canonical to the Cthulhu Mythos.

Tragically, Lovecraft was never able to support himself from earnings as an author and editor. He saw commercial success increasingly elude him in his latter life. Lovecraft impoverished died of cancer, at the age of 46.

Nemesis is a poem by H.P. Lovecraft written in November 1917 and published in “The Vagrant” Number 7 in 1918. The powerful poem focuses on the origin and events surrounding a well-known villain to humanity. We’ll let you figure out who Lovecraft has described.

Leave a comment to us who you think the villain is? We may make a deal for a prize.

Who is humanity’s horned nemesis from the deepest abyss? Can he be stopped from causing a world-ending apocalypse?

Nemesis By H. P. Lovecraft

Thro’ the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber, Past the wan-moon’d abysses of night, I have liv’d o’er my lives without number, I have sounded all things with my sight; And I struggle and shriek ere the daybreak, being driven to madness with fright. I have whirl’d with the earth at the dawning, When the sky was a vaporous flame; I have seen the dark universe yawning, Where the black planets roll without aim; Where they roll in their horror unheeded, without knowledge or lustre or name. I had drifted o’er seas without ending, Under sinister grey-clouded skies That the many-fork’d lightning is rending, That resound with hysterical cries; With the moans of invisible daemons that out of the green waters rise. I have plung’d like a deer thro’ the arches Of the hoary primordial grove, Where the oaks feel the presence that marches And stalks on where no spirit dares rove; And I flee from a thing that surrounds me, and leers thro’ dead branches above. I have stumbled by cave-ridden mountains That rise barren and bleak from the plain, I have drunk of the fog-foetid fountains That ooze down to the marsh and the main; And in hot cursed tarns I have seen things I care not to gaze on again. I have scann’d the vast ivy-clad palace, I have trod its untenanted hall, Where the moon writhing up from the valleys Shews the tapestried things on the wall; Strange figures discordantly woven, which I cannot endure to recall. I have peer’d from the casement in wonder At the mouldering meadows around, At the many-roof’d village laid under The curse of a grave-girdled ground; And from rows of white urn-carven marble I listen intently for sound. I have haunted the tombs of the ages, I have flown on the pinions of fear Where the smoke-belching Erebus rages, Where the jokulls loom snow-clad and drear: And in realms where the sun of the desert consumes what it never can cheer. I was old when the Pharaohs first mounted The jewel-deck’d throne by the Nile; I was old in those epochs uncounted When I, and I only, was vile; And Man, yet untainted and happy, dwelt in bliss on the far Arctic isle. Oh, great was the sin of my spirit, And great is the reach of its doom; Not the pity of Heaven can cheer it, Nor can respite be found in the tomb: Down the infinite aeons come beating the wings of unmerciful gloom. Thro’ the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber, Past the wan-moon’d abysses of night, I have liv’d o’er my lives without number, I have sounded all things with my sight; And I struggle and shriek ere the daybreak, being driven to madness with fright.