#youtube #pagan #booktube #arthurmachen #weirdtales #horrorstories #pan #faun #horrorstory #horrorshorts #thegreatgodpan #satyr #books ‘Silet per diem universus, nec sine horrore secretus est; lucet nocturnis ignibus, chorus Ægipanum undique personatur: audiuntur et cantus tibiarum, et tinnitus cymbalorum per oram maritimam.’ –Arthur Machen (The Great God Pan–Chapter 5) https://rumble.com/v3ywmuy-pagan-horror-the-great-god-pan-chapter-5-the-letter-of-advice-by-arthur-mac.html https://youtube.com/@dwellerofthedark?sub_confirmation=1 https://youtube.com/shorts/gaZAcayE96s?feature=share https://youtu.be/3UjTY8cLLPc https://youtube.com/shorts/z48NBlWR2uk?feature=share https://youtube.com/shorts/yQkChZJGTK4?feature=share https://youtube.com/shorts/BepPwq6KGAs?feature=share https://youtube.com/shorts/paxzvJeW0-0?feature=share https://youtube.com/shorts/-XOTSyBL6a8?feature=share […]

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#youtube #pagan #booktube #arthurmachen #weirdtales #horrorstories #pan #faun #horrorstory #horrorshorts #thegreatgodpan #satyr “Look about you, Clarke. You see the mountain, and hill following after hill, as wave on wave, you see the woods and orchard, the fields of ripe corn, and the meadows reaching to the reed-beds by the river. You see me standing here […]

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I had no weapon nor did I feel the need of any; a strong, athletic youth, I was in addition an amateur boxer of ability, with a terrific punch in either hand. Now all the primal instincts surged redly within me; I was a cave man bent on vengeance against a tribe who sought to steal a woman of my family. I did not fear–I only wished to close with them. Aye, I recognized these–I knew them of old and all the old wars rose and roared within the misty caverns of my soul. Hate leaped in me as in the old days when men of my blood came from the North. Aye, though the whole spawn of Hell rise up from those caverns which honeycomb the moors.–Robert E. Howard “The Little People”

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“And how is it with your views of a future life?” inquired the speculative clergyman.

“Worse than with you,” said the old man, in a hollow and feeble tone; “for I cannot conceive it earnestly enough to feel either hope or fear. Mine,—mine is the wretchedness! This cold heart,—this unreal life! Ah! it grows colder still.”

It so chanced that at this juncture the decayed ligaments of the skeleton gave way, and the dry hones fell together in a heap, thus causing the dusty wreath of cypress to drop upon the table. The attention of the company being thus diverted for a single instant from Gervayse Hastings, they perceived, on turning again towards him, that the old man had undergone a change. His shadow had ceased to flicker on the wall.–Nathaniel Hawthorne (The Christmas Banquet)