Category: weirdtales

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Warm my hand lives, in the moment kind and caring
But reaching for you now, can I do so, deathly chill
For I lie beneath hallowed grave ground,
Long shall I haunt your days, and ice your spine on ghostly nights
When you plead to the Angel of Death to reap your wicked soul
My heart will beat, and the worm removes fanged lips as my life roars again,
I give you mercy—a conscience cleared; a burden lifted—reach for my chilled grasp—
My withered fingers rest on your shoulder.
—Jeffrey LeBlanc (Cold Hand)

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“Black loom the crags of the uplands behind me;

Dark are the sands of the far-stretching shore.

Dim are the pathways and rocks that remind me

Sadly of years in the lost nevermore.

Soft laps the ocean on wave-polish’d boulder;

Sweet is the sound and familiar to me.

Here, with her head gently bent to my shoulder,

Walk’d I with Unda, the Bride of the Sea.”— H.P. Lovecraft  (Unda, or The Bride of the Sea)

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“”Yes,” continued my friend, his eyes still fixed on the spot. “But the strange thing is that I see the body lying on the top of it. Of course,” continued Holger, turning his head on one side as artists do, “it must be an effect of light. In the first place, it is not a grave at all. Secondly, if it were, the body would be inside and not outside. Therefore, it’s an effect of the moonlight. Don’t you see it?”—Francis Marion Crawford (The Blood is the Life)

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“The man repeated the names slowly and distinctly, as if to fix them in the memories of his audience, every member of which was now attentively observing him, but with a slackened apprehension regarding his possible companions somewhere in the darkness that seemed to enclose us like a black wall; in the manner of this volunteer historian was no suggestion of an unfriendly purpose.”—Ambrose Bierce (The Stranger)

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Long were the mansion’s mysteries, horrendous were its horrors, and vague were the details of the missing and presumed dead across the mansion grounds. For the past, and the forgetful dead had now hidden much of the sinister, and fogged the memory of the evil that had scorched the manor with a more devious name—Hell’s Forge. Jeffrey LeBlanc (Hell’s Forge)