While I was traveling, some dark and terrible figure left something in our mailbox. A package containing these:

Doubtless the intent was for me to stumble upon it after our return, and drive me mad, but really, I’m just pleased and excited by what I see flipping through it. I’m especially excited to find a poem by internet pal Bryan Thao Worra and a Robert Johnson-as-Mythos acolyte story within its pages, because I really dig Robert Johnson riff-stories. Plus, of course, my own tale, “ἱερὸς γάμος [Hieros Gamos]” mutters and shrieks from somewhere among its pages.

More on the book once I’ve had time to settle in and read it, but for now: what a gorgeous, perfectly distressing cover by Alix Branwyn. Check out Cthulhu’s guts: more tentacles coiling out from within. He’s tentacles all the way down… which really suits a book of stories about how people end up being cultists of the weirdest and most inhuman gods imaginable.

If you dig modern Lovecraftian fiction, then you should get a copy for yourself, either from Martian Migraine (the publisher) or from Amazon, whichever you prefer. (There’s links in the sidebar of this page, at the moment, too!)