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Now I know the mysteries of the sea,
Tranquil emerald hues, emerald blues, enrapture me,
Forever embraced with the mermaid queen,
Now I know why the mariner nervously glances,
Why no one on Grand Isle will ever say he died.

For I too, will never die.

They say he never died!
In the night his spirit glides,
Through the cold the sea roars,
Pierre lives on forevermore.

Tranquil emerald hues, emerald blues, enrapture me,

Forever embraced with the mermaid queen,

Now I know why the mariner nervously glances,

Why no one on Grand Isle will ever say he died.

For I too, will never die.

They say he never died!

In the night his spirit glides,

Through the cold the sea roars,

Pierre lives on forevermore.

—HE NEVER DIED

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‘The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.’

–H. P. Lovecraft (The Call of Cthulhu)

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Of the long dead, who lived therein,

Paused by the cold hearth I felt the tendrils of hot sin,

Call of the bed, lover’s sigh made my head spin,

Head all aswirl, my mind lit in colors ablaze,

Will I survive this Christmas witch’s love haze?

Will I survive this Christmas witch’s love haze?

–CHRISTMAS WITCH

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‘The transference of emotion is a phenomenon so common, so constantly witnessed, that mankind in general have long ceased to be conscious of its existence, as a thing worth our wonder or consideration, regarding it as being as natural and commonplace as the transference of things that act by the ascertained laws of matter. Nobody, for instance, is surprised, if, when the room is too hot, the opening of a window causes the cold fresh air of outside to be transferred into the room, and in the same way no one is surprised when into the same room, perhaps, which we will imagine as being peopled with dull and gloomy persons, there enters some one of fresh and sunny mind, who instantly brings into the stuffy mental atmosphere a change analogous to that of the opened windows.

–E.F. Benson (THE TERROR BY NIGHT)

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The grass so green, we so loved,

Let it grow endlessly around my quiet tomb,

Whilst you dance and sing in silver showers little dove,

Kissed by shimmering dewdrops from the blades so wet,

Remember me always, long after our love smolders red ember,

Keep my soul scorched in your heart—never to forget. Always remember.

–Dweller of the Dark (LOVE UNDEAD)

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Dweller of the Dark
2 days ago (edited)
Haunting your hearts real soon.

‘He went right over to the pool and crouched down on the rim in his white nightgown, and I heard his whispered voice calling, “Alannah! Alannah!” in hushed tones. And then suddenly a little rippling came on the water, a vapor
that was not there before.’—August Derleth

One of the most haunting ghost stories we’ve read in a while. Maybe since GHOST STORY by Peter Straub. #ghost #ghoststories #lovestory #ghoststory #horrorgram #horrorstory #love #Halloween

https://youtu.be/LMTvF-cKf3Y

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FOR THE SAKE OF THE DEAD AND THE WELFARE OF THE LIVING, LET THIS SEPULCHRE
REMAIN UNTOUCHED AND ITS OCCUPANT UNDISTURBED TILL THE COMING OF CHRIST.
IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER, THE SON, AND THE HOLY GHOST.
–F.G. Loring (The Tomb of Sarah)

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A Greek god horror story to kill all HOPE. Really dark stuff.

‘The old man continued on his way to the sea, coming after a time upon two men who were digging a grave for a third who lay dead.

“It is a holy office to bury the dead,” he remarked.

“Aye,” said one of the men, “especially if you have slain him yourself and are hiding the evidence.”
–ROGER ZELAZNY (But Not The Herald)

‘No. The face of a dark, remarkable-looking man, in black, with black hair and a grey moustache – a handsome man except for a reserved and secret air. Not a face she ever saw, or at all like a face she ever saw. Doing nothing in the dream but looking at her fixedly, out of darkness.’–CHARLES DICKENS (To Be Read At Dusk)

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