‘We lay, my love and I
Beneath the weeping willow
But now alone I lie
And weep beside the tree
Singing “Oh willow waly”
By the tree that weeps with me
Singing “Oh willow waly”
Till my lover returns to me
We lay, my love and I
Beneath the weeping willow
But now alone I lie
Oh willow I die
Oh willow I die…’
—George Auric & Paul Dehn (O Willow Waly)
But deep in the seaweed-haunted halls in the green unlighted deep,
Inhuman kings await the day that shall break their chains of sleep.
And far in a grim untrodden land on a jungle-girded hill,
A pillar stands like a sign of Fate, in subtle warning still.
—Robert E. Howard (The Symbol)
Thou art a symbol and a sign
To Mortals of their fate and force;
Like thee, Man is in part divine,
A troubled stream from a pure source;
And Man in portions can foresee
His own funereal destiny;
His wretchedness, and his resistance,
And his sad unallied existence:
To which his Spirit may oppose
Itself—and equal to all woes,
And a firm will, and a deep sense,
Which even in torture can descry
Its own concenter’d recompense,
Triumphant where it dares defy,
And making Death a Victory.
–Lord Byron (Prometheus)
“The shelter of even a tomb was welcome in that pitiless tempest, and I was about to enter it when there came a flash of forked-lightning that lit up the whole expanse of the heavens. In the instant, as I am a living man, I saw, as my eyes were turned into the darkness of the tomb, a beautiful woman, with rounded cheeks and red lips, seemingly sleeping on a bier. As the thunder broke overhead, I was grasped as by the hand of a giant and hurled out into the storm. The whole thing was so sudden that, before I could realise the shock, moral as well as physical, I found the hailstones beating me down. At the same time I had a strange, dominating feeling that I was not alone. I looked towards the tomb. Just then there came another blinding flash, which seemed to strike the iron stake that surmounted the tomb and to pour through to the earth, blasting and crumbling the marble, as in a burst of flame.” —Bram Stoker (Dracula’s Guest)
For the moon obliterated, no longer controlled the tides”
—Jeffrey LeBlanc (Beyond Darkness)
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“I dwell with a desire—a longing in my aching heart, you know
Centered on that vanished home the snow covered centuries ago
The trail is forgotten and lost in blueberry thickets
That hasn’t a leaf now to feed our friends the singing crickets
The moon rises; the tittering bats tumble and dart through the moonlit trees
—Jeffrey LeBlanc (Ghost Mountain)
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“Pondering these things Haïta became melancholy and morose. He no longer spoke cheerfully to his flock, nor ran with alacrity to the shrine of Hastur. In every breeze he heard whispers of malign deities whose existence he now first observed. Every cloud was a portent signifying disaster, and the darkness was full of terrors.”—Ambrose Bierce (Haita the Shepherd)
“McReady raised his head, looked vaguely at the knife in his hand, and dropped it. His laugh was shaky, almost a laugh of relief. “Well, whoever did it can speak up now. He was an inhuman murderer at that—in that he murdered an inhuman. I swear by all that’s holy, Kinner was a lifeless corpse on the floor here when we arrived—but when it found we were going to jab it with the power gadget there—it changed.” –John W. Campbell (Frozen Hell)
“McReady raised his head, looked vaguely at the knife in his hand, and dropped it. His laugh was shaky, almost a laugh of relief. “Well, whoever did it can speak up now. He was an inhuman murderer at that—in that he murdered an inhuman. I swear by all that’s holy, Kinner was a lifeless corpse on the floor here when we arrived—but when it found we were going to jab it with the power gadget there—it changed.” –John W. Campbell (Frozen Hell)
“The mountains towered to the ghostly moon
Celestial stars shimmered brilliantly in the sky
As the bats tittered, and twisted, twisted
Across the mountains and the forest upon high
Winding and weaving through the vastness of night
They sang a devilish tale flying by.”
—Jeffrey LeBlanc (Wings of the Night)
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)
The Sea Witch
Part One
I
The night winds were a torrent of darkness amongst the sea and foam,
The coppery moon heaved as a haunted galleon upon golden waves to roam,
The beach trail weaved as a moonlit strand over the skull-white dunes,
And the Sea Witch came gliding—
Gliding—gliding—
The Sea Witch came gliding, up to the druid runes.—Jeffrey LeBlanc (The Sea Witch)
When Lazarus rose from the grave, after three days and nights in the mysterious thraldom of death, and returned alive to his home, it was a long time before anyone noticed the evil peculiarities in him that were later to make his very name terrible. His friends and relatives were jubilant that he had come back to life. They surrounded him with tenderness, they were lavish of their eager attentions, spending the greatest care upon his food and drink and the new garments they made for him. They clad him gorgeously in the glowing colors of hope and laughter, and when, arrayed like a bridegroom, he sat at table with them again, ate again, and drank again, they wept fondly and summoned the neighbours to look upon the man miraculously raised from the dead.—Leonid Andreyev (Lazarus)
Jeffrey LeBlanc 