Friday, May 20, 2016

News...

http://whyy.org/cms/articulate/michael-sakamoto-h-p-lovecraft-brandon-ballengee-george-fu/

Hey folks, just a quick update and some cool news. 

First off, I know monster posts have been a bit slow this year but I've been inundated with commissions (cool problem). However, I'm consciously taking less the second half of the year so I can focus on the final 11 HPL gods left in this project. 

On the monster note, Scott Nicolay and I are gearing up for a third installment of Stories From the Borderland and the tales he picked for this round f*cking bonkers! These are, by far, the weirdest stories and creatures I've read. We were also privileged enough to have Weird Fiction Review online repost our SFTBL focusing on Margaret St.Clair

I've also been working hard on 2 pieces for a split gallery show called Growth//Decay. It's a collaboration between Antler Gallery in Portland OR and Paradigm Gallery here in Philly. Each gallery picked artists from their city, then each artist was tasked with making a piece based on the concept of growth and one on the concept of decay. All the growth pieces will be displayed at Paradigm (June 24th) and all the decay pieces at Antler (June 30th). Other artists in the show include these uber-talented nerds plus many more: Paul Romano, Caitlin McCormack, Alex Eckman-Lawn, Jeanne D'Angelo & Jeremy Hush.

For my growth piece I was inspired by William Hope Hodgson's The Voice In the Night, and for my decay piece I chose Arthur Machen's The Novel Of the White Powder. So, get ready for some gloop and some spores!

Lastly, I was interviewed by the show Articulate With Jim Cotter back in November for a segment on H.P. Lovecraft and this yog-blogsoth/illusto obscurum project specifically. Well, it finally aired last night! You can check it out on their site. The HPL segment starts at the 6 minute mark. 

Michael Sakamoto, H.P. Lovecraft, Brandon Ballengee, George Fu - See more at: http://whyy.org/cms/articulate/michael-sakamoto-h-p-lovecraft-brandon-ballengee-george-fu/#sthash.OMFqyYT2.dpuf

Wednesday, May 4, 2016

THE CRAWLING HORROR

THE CRAWLING HORROR
"It didn't feel like a dog's back. It was the right distance from the floor, but it was slippery, and there wasn't any hair on it. My hand kept moving, but right off I knew that, whatever I was petting, it wasn't any dog. I had the idea that if I pressed my hand down I could push my fingers right into it."
"It was a slimy sort of stuff, transparent-looking, without any shape to it. It looked as though if you picked it up it would drip right through your fingers. And it was alive-I don't know how I knew that, but I was sure of it even before I looked. It was alive, and a sort of shapeless arm of it lay across the dog's back and covered her head. She didn't move."
"I hit at the thing with a poker, and quick as thought the whole mess started sliding across the floor, stretching out as worms do, oozing under the crack beneath the door that leads onto the porch."
"And a few weeks later I saw the dog that looked like Nan, Doctor Kurt. It was Nan, yet it wasn't."
"Two days ago that Peterson kid disappeared, and he hasn't com back. And what's more, he'll never come back! He's part of that thing that began in my walls, with the rats."
"And it seemed to me that, for a second, I saw something slipping down the window-pane something that clung to the window pane like a colorless jelly, almost like a wave of watery foam, almost like a nothingness that moved heavily down the window-pane and disappeared below the sill."
"And I saw that the thing was slowly giving up pretense of human shape. The face was changing-the hands and arms and the contours of the body were dissolving. And in the last second before it melted into shapeless slime, from that vanishing mouth came Bertha Brandt's voice, crying "I didn't do it, Doctor Kurt!"
"It reared erect as a fountain might gush up. It put forth arms, developed breasts, overspread itself with color. In the time that it might take to draw a long breath the thing had vanished and a something that we knew to be that same ghastly entity, but that looked as Hilda had looked in life, stood naked there amid the jumbled clothes."
Thorp McClusky, The Crawling Horror

Read Scott's blog post about this story here.




Tuesday, April 26, 2016

THE THING

 
THE THING

"They haven't seen those three red eyes, and that blue hair like crawling worms. Crawling - damn, it's crawling there in the ice right now!"

"Three mad, hate-filled eyes blazed up with a living fire, bright as fresh-spilled blood, from a face ringed with writhing, loathsome nest of worms, blue, mobile worms that crawled where hair should grow -"

"But it did not seem of importance, of no more importance than the labored, slow motion of the tentacular things that sprouted from the base of the scrawny, slowly pulsing neck."

"The red eyes clouded over in a stiffening, jerking travesty of a face. Armlike, leglike members quivered and jerked. The dogs leapt forward, and Barclay yanked back his weapon. The thing on the snow did not move as gleaming teeth ripped it open."

"If it had reached the Antarctic Sea, it would have become a seal, maybe two seals. They might have attacked a killer whale, and become either killers, or a herd of seals. Or maybe it would have caught an albatross, or a skua gull, and flown to South America."

"If it didn't, it would become a dog - and be a dog and nothing more. It has to be an imitation dog."
 
"It tests negatively. Which means either they were cows then, or that, being perfect imitations, they gave perfectly good milk."

"Kinner's arms had developed a queer scaly fur, and flesh had twisted. The fingers had shortened, the hand rounded, the fingernails become three-inch long things of dull red horn, keened to steel-hard razor-sharp talons."

"The Thing screamed in feral hate, a lashing tentacle wiping at blinded eyes. For a moment it crawled on the floor, savage tentacles lashing out, the body twitching."
John W. Campbell, Who Goes There?

 
 

Friday, April 22, 2016

FEESTER

FEESTER
"Boneless pale creatures with ragged mouths full of teeth lived at the bottom of the lake. We called them feesters."

"Little Clio’s sturdy legs, just coming fully under her control, and much used for running and jumping, became traitors; they bent at odd angles and would not support her weight. Her bones were softening; not just in her legs, but all the bones of her body, becoming not bone but flexible cartilage or baleen. Her small, even teeth fell out and were swiftly replaced by new ones, twice as many as she had had before, crooked, crowded and pointed, changing the shape of her softened jaw. Her skin turned deadly pale, and then a sick frog-belly white. Her legs began to fuse together, and her arms to fuse to her sides. She seemed to believe that the pallid cylinders humping wetly across the floors of the dark house (dark because their great lidless eyes could not abide light) were still her four little girls, to be played with and sung to and tucked in at bedtime."

"'Why, I know all about them,” I said. “You told me yourself. Five-foot aquatic maggots with shark’s mouths. Members of the local gentry until The Curse of Hoog, Fish-God of the South Seas, fell upon them. Named for selected Muses. I’ve always wanted to meet a maggot named Polyhymnia.'”
 Bob Leman, Feesters In the Lake



Thursday, April 14, 2016

VOOM

VOOM
"For a moment there was nothing to see. Only for a moment. Then two—or was it three?—long, blackish, extremely thin arms came out from the black car and fumbled with the glass in the window of the sedan. The glass was forced down. The arms entered the sedan."

"From the sedan there came a wild burst of shrieking. It was like the flopping, horrified squawks of a chicken at the chopping block. The shrieks were still going on when the very thin arms came out with a—The light hid nothing. The three very thin arms came out with a plucked-off human arm."

"They threw it into the interior of the black car. The three arms invaded the sedan once more."

"There was a splintering crash, the sound of lath and plaster breaking. Freeman looked up from the unsigned agreement to see the last of his entrepreneurs—the last, the indubitable last—being borne off in the long black arms of Voom."
Margaret St. Clair, Horrer Howce

Read Scott's blog-post about this story here.

ROTTEN-SMELLING MAN

 ROTTEN-SMELLING MAN
"Brenda knew at once that he was not like any other man she had ever seen. His skin was not black, or brown, but of an inky grayness; his body was blobbish and irregular, as if it had been shaped out of the clots of soap and grease that stop up kitchen sinks. He held a dead bird in one crude hand."

"He kept starting up the sides clumsily, clawing at the loose handholds, and sliding back. But his blobbish limbs were extraordinarily inept and awkward. He always slid back." 

"The mockery in her tone seemed to cut through to his dull senses. He raised his grayish head. There was a flash of teeth, very white against their inky background. But he couldn’t get out. After a moment, Brenda laughed."

"He raised the .22 to his shoulder, clicked the bolt, and fired. Brenda’s little scream went unheeded in the whoosh of the shot. But the man from the quarry made no sign of having received the impact. He did not even rock. The bullet might as well have spent its force in mud."

Wednesday, April 6, 2016

THE THING IN THE DARK

THE THING IN THE DARK
"It was as if, so the old man had declared in that solemn manner of his, 'as if the thing that was following could see perfectly in the darkness, and had many small legs or pads so that it could move swiftly and easily over the rock - like a giant caterpillar or one of the carpet-things of Kralkor II.'

"'Have you ever listened to a large insect crunching its prey?' he said. 'Well, it was just like that. I imagine that a crab makes exactly the same noise with its claws when it clashes them together. It was a - what's the word? - a chitinous sound.'"

"And the sides of that rock had been worn away as if it had been used as an enormous whetstone."

"He was coming out into the open plain once more, and somewhere not far away in the darkness was that enigmatic pillar that might have been used for sharpening monstrous fangs or claws. It was not a reassuring thought, but he could not get it out of his mind.For there could be no mistaking the rattle of monstrous claws in the darkness ahead of him."
Arthur C. Clarke, A Walk In the Dark

Read Scott's blog-post about this story here.