Wednesday, June 22, 2016


"I don't know how to describe him exactly except that he's very big and fat and he always has on a dark suit like a chauffeur's suit but it isn't really. And his face is lumpy and kind of swollen. And his eyes scare me too. "

 Pelgrim had a glimpse of a fleshy dead-white face, and then an evening paper ascended in front of the waistcoat and head like a protective barrier."

 "The eyes were one color black. They had no depth, no expression. The were simply round disks like the button gimlets of a cod exhibited in the window of a fish store. He looked…he looked like someone George remembered years ago, a bloated body grappling irons had pulled out of the river one cold night onto a police launch deck."

 "His fists pounded into the spongy monstrous hulk, and then a heavy fat hand smacked into the side of his neck making his senses reel."

 "The strange abnormal wetness of those beefy hamlike hands."

 "You've water in you, not blood,' the reporter screamed involuntarily. 'You're not human…'"
Allison V. Harding, The Damp Man

"Lother Remsdorf's veins, for instance were not filled with blood but with some sub-hemolytic fluid not far removed form the substances of jelly fish."

"The average human, scientists know, is made up two-thirds of water. The Damp Man was ninety-five per cent water. His organic functions, as they revealed their secrets one by one to the tests that were applied, were sluggish, slow-functioning machines beyond any conceivable range of normalcy or abnormalcy."

 "This preposterous creature before him, this absurd, macabre, wholly terrifying blob of protoplasmic monstrousness! He watched fascinatedly as a drop of water fell form a pudgy forefinger."

 "Because you arranged for my death! AH! but you, my son are not dead and that is something which must be righted. I created you out of the brine, out of the molecule, and out of the protoplasm. And where other men return to dust, you will return to your medium!"
Allison V. Harding, The Damp Man Returns

 "His vital organs, despite the immense size of him, were compressed and hidden away within the fluid-fat monstrousness of the creature."
 Allison V. Harding, The Damp Man Again


Wednesday, June 8, 2016


THE CACTUS "And then, a short distance away, I seemed to see a kind of fog, an overhanging mist. I thought it was an optical illusion-because whoever heard of a fog in the desert?-but, since it wasn't far away, I walked over to it. And as I approached it I smelled the sweetest, sourest, muskiest odor I've ever known. Suddenly the ground dipped and I was looking at a strange and lovely thing. Do you remember that meteor crater in Arizona? What I saw there was the same thing, much smaller of course. It was a scoop in the earth, like a great dimple, and it was filled with cactus growths, marvelous, unearthly, beautiful-eight, nine, ten feet tall-gray-green giants stretching their twisted arms to the sky. There were hundreds of them already blooming with dark read flowers. It was the latter that gave off the strange, sweet smell."
"Its shape was somewhat comical: with the fat, spinous stem and the two little horns sprouting from the top, it resembled a rampant tomato caterpillar."
"Leaning over and tentatively feeling the two parallel spikes at the head of the plant, she added, 'Not that it couldn't bore a hole right through if it wanted to with these things. They're like daggers.'"
"It blossomed early in June with flowers of a peculiar liverish color. Though she never would have admitted it publicly, Edith thought them unattractive, almost repellent. They were almost like sores, she thought."
"Got horns and everything. Looks like a sick goat with boils."
"She smiled at her fancy, but was surprised to hear from Abby that Robert Burden had the same idea, although he was carrying it to ridiculous extremes, averring, for instance, that he had caught a glimpse of the cactus floating in its own emanations like a jellyfish in an ocean current."
"Cruciform in shape, its upraised 'arms' were terminated in spiked nodules, like taloned fingers' the forward-sweeping horns were truly formidable; and with withered flowers at the 'head' were arranged to suggest an evil face, a demonic, leering, loathsome face. "

Mildred Johnson, The Cactus

Friday, May 20, 2016


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:

Wednesday, May 4, 2016


"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



"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


"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