UKC

Having being reminded from the other thread about the radio show, I dug this up from several years ago.

The visitor

He had washed up on the beach several hours ago, unconscious. His craft and crew were no where to be seen. As he slowly regained consciousness, he became aware of the waves lapping at his feet and the dwindling rays of sun warming his battered body. Mustering what strength he had left, he hauled himself to his feet and surveyed his predicament. He recalled the ship had struck something, unknown, leading to chaos and panic on deck, they had sunk and he had found himself in a life raft with two of the deckhands. After that… his head hurt with the effort of recollection, or perhaps from a blow he had sustained.  

The beach was empty aside from some driftwood, nothing of any immediate use, but then the trickling of a stream drew his gaze towards the forest. It seemed endless, sprawling from the sea upwards to some distant hills, and as far as the fading horizon. The island had not appeared on any map or chart, which would not be that uncommon for a small island in the topics, yet it did not appear that small, and the lookout had not sighted land for several days before they sank.

There was little else to do so he decided to head upstream, in the hopes of finding some shelter and food. The forest was humid and close, the trees were familiar, but yet he could not place them. Further upstream, in the denser areas, some trees bloomed flowers in vibrant colours, filling the air with sweet aromas; others bore fruit or nut, but none he had seen before on his travels.  

The sun now a red fireball on the horizon gave way to the first stars that pricked through the thickening canopy. Shortly the stream wound its way to the edge of a clearing where the trees gave way to thorny bushes that slowed his progress, and good that they had or he would have stumbled headlong in to the water.  

As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw the stars blurred by the lazy ripples that moved across the surface of the emerald green pool. To say it was murky would not be correct, perhaps its depth and colour lent it a mirror like quality, but he could not see the bottom.

He gazed wearily at the glinting pool, but as the moments passed he felt the hairs on his neck prickle and his blood pumping faster. Aside from the trickling stream, there had been no other sound; a forest such as this should be a cacophony of life, droning insects, birds, rustling of small creatures in the undergrowth….. yet it was silent. Feeling his fear rising he gazed back towards the pool, straight in to those luminous yellow eyes. He had seen cats eyes reflecting yellow in torchlight, dogs eyes shining red in firelight but here there was no light. Those eyes sunken deep in their sockets had a dim light of their own, and they glowed malevolently, unblinkingly, directly at him.  

The face was like no face he had ever seen before, it was as green as the water from which it protruded; except those loathsome eyes it was featureless, smooth, where would be a mans beard there were dripping tentacles rising slowly from the water. Gripped with fear he could not move, yet IT did. Sliding slowly through the water, its motions would have been described as graceful if it weren’t so hideous and inhuman. Slowly and deliberately it reached the edge of the pool, raising one shiny webbed foot on the bank, a stark contrast to the scaly clawed hand that was now pointing directly at him. The tentacles parted to reveal a toothless mouth, from which came no audible sound, and yet it spoke clearly, in no tongue he had ever heard.

He wanted to scream, he wanted to flee, but his muscles were gripped with terror. His pulse beat beyond count, sweat poured, his mouth dry and paralysed. Again he felt the prickling hairs on his neck. Slowly he forced his gaze towards the forest. In the deepening gloom were rows and rows of eyes, tens, maybe hundreds of glowing yellow eyes, the eyes of the ones who had come to see, the visitor.  

I like it

Not enough use of “cyclopean”, “singular”, “noisome”, or “eldritch”…

an missed a trick not having the narrator find the inexplicably corroded remains of a previous visitor to the island, still clutching a satchel containing some ancient looking books, with odd Latin names…

😁

thanks for sharing…

Rugose Cones and eldritch calls of Star headed beings

OP: nice story 

In reply to no_more_scotch_eggs:

Just needs a gibbous moon

No strange ruins from time immemorial, eons old?

Yep this one was basic and short, still enjoyed writing it though

One of my favourite stories as a teenager was "The Peabody Heritage".  I scared my younger brothers and sisters with it - the mere mention of Asaph Peabody had them running.

Might have been a collection called "The Shuttered Room".

ps your story is a lot more like Lovecraft than the shitty podcast-influencer up its own backside stuff that BBC Radio 4 now peddles

I just finished reading "Eversion" by Alastair Reynolds, and really enjoyed it.  It's science-fiction adventure type stuff rather than horror.  He usually does great big sprawling 'space opera' on a galactic scale but this is much more intimate, almost claustrophobic and ominous.  Quite lovecrafty I thought, you might enjoy it too.

ordered, thanks

Ok, here's another, pardon the potato anthropomorphism.

Tuber tale

Dawn was breaking over the canopy, spreading a gentle warmth through the blanket of mist.

Down below, two potatoes were already up and making their way cautiously through the forest, hoping to gain some distance between them and their pursuers before sunlight warmed the ground fully.

They had been moving for three days since the perilous river crossing that had taken three of their companions but still had several more until they reached the arid lands at the edge of the great forest. They took little rest during the day knowing their pursuers would gain on them in the growing heat, but forced to halt in the cool night.

Growing light indicated a clearing up ahead and the pair slowed on reaching its boundary. Arabeth arrived first and came to a halt. Torfen arrived moments later letting out a long sigh. Their anticipation of easy going was dispelled as the clearing was filled with dense thorny bushes which extended as far as they could see. They tried skirting around it for a while before residing themselves to a more direct path.

Torfen led the way being the tougher skinned of the two, even keeping close to the ground the lower branches gouged and scuffed his back repeatedly. They continued driven by fear knowing that the hard shell of their followers would be of great benefit here.

Finally the scrub became sparser and the trees more numerous they regained their former pace and continued, both seeping watery starch from their wounds.

Torfen began to slow having borne the brunt of the labyrinth, seeing this Arabeth supported him and encouraged him on, made all the easier by the clear ground and cooler air.

Dusk arrived early in the dense trees, although the warmer air remained encapsulated by the foliage. They continued their gruelling escape well in to twilight until more frequent stumbles, trips and bumps slowed them to a crawl. They stopped to refresh themselves at a small stream crossing their path and gratefully washed their setting wounds. Another hour brought total darkness and they both slept fitfully, as the gnawing dread that drove their diurnal trek, infiltrated their dreams.

Torfen had seen their assailants only briefly as he called a warning to Arabeth to flee. His mind worked on the image elaborating the gaps in what was seen. An Arachnomorph, some dread black thing that should not be, emerging from the deep river without warning and dragging the unprepared tubers to their doom. That momentary glimpse had been enough to conjure visions of what lay beneath the murky surface, a multitude of legs fibrillated mechanically propelling it towards its prey. The articulated segments of its body arched allowing the armoured exoskeleton to twist and contort as it moved. Another rose, and another, scrabbling frantically over one another to reach their quarry.

He came to, shivering with both panic and the chilling cold of the pre dawn light. Arabeth stirred too and he woke her gently to resume their journey. Despite their weariness they knew they must continue whilst they had some edge over their cold blooded pursuers.

Their path took them along a deep gulley flanked by fallen trees and rocks winding its way towards the edge of the forest. Soon the Gulley narrowed and began to climb and both were glad of the extra warmth generated by the uphill exertion. Still upward they scrabbled through inches deep leafmould and twigs until abruptly, the slope ended and they stood panting in the brilliant morning light. Here they stopped to feed and rest until Arabeth motioned onwards, neither having spoken a word since the previous night they continued in silence.

A dull rustle followed by a hideous screech behind them sent both tubers rolling for cover behind a large fallen tree, neither daring to appraise the source of the sound. They sat still and silent, not daring to breathe.

The log creaked.

A rapid rhythmic rasping of appendages moved along the wood toward them.

Torfen strained his eyes as far back as he could whilst keeping motionless. Two antennae appeared over the rim probing the air around them, followed by four pairs of legs and a head. A Trilobite! He had heard rumour of some strange creatures in unexplored equatorial coastal regions but never had he dreamed of seeing such an arcane predator from prehistory. How was it here? Had these creatures been forced in to deep murky river systems as the oceans became too hostile? Had they also evolved to leave their aquatic haunt to roam for prey on land?

His thoughts were curtailed as the creature moved once more, it raised itself up on its pygidial legs, antennae twitching, sensing, something close but unable to see it.

Arabeth pressed closer to him, taking only the slightest of breaths for many minutes they remained still.

The creature turned and crawled down from its vantage point, the sounds moved away and they both relaxed. Torfen rose first, peering over the flaking mossy bark. There was no sign of the beast, he climbed a little higher. Nothing but disturbed leaves and earth.

Then, Arabeth screamed.

Torfen spun and lost his grip and fell awkwardly on his side. From here he could see past Arabeth's trembling form a looming darkness flanked by pairs and pairs of legs. He reached out but it was too late, fierce pincers grasped her and tore her away from him. She was gone.

There he lay as he had fallen in the cold dirt, partly out of fear, partly out of shock and sorrow. Perhaps minutes, perhaps hours elapsed.

The feeling that had sustained him passed, now he was alone, all hope gone. He rose, numbly grasping his way along the log for support until he reached the clearing. He followed the tracks on the ground, somehow seeking the only thing that seemed real. The beast was still feeding, unaware of his proximity. Perhaps a primal instinct made him pick up a large sharp stone - certainly no sane being would dare attack against such insurmountable odds.

Finally sensing his approach the creature turned, its strange compound eyes and featureless head seemed more sculpture than organism. The fearful surreality of what faced him would send any rational being mad, but he felt empty. It turned away and continued feeding and a strange prickling forced Torfen to turn slowly. A second creature appeared, then a third!

The stone fell unnoticed to the ground as he stood helpless.

Both monsters emitted a chilling shriek, which seemed to assault all his senses, and darkness came quickly as he was overwhelmed.

A bit harsh. I normally can’t be doing with radio dramas but I’ve enjoyed the Lovecraft podcasts. 

I agree that they are not really Lovecraftian enough though- the last couple of series have verged on “James Bond does occult investigation”. They’ve borrowed the names and locations from Lovecraft stories, but have lacked the cosmic horror and atmosphere of his work. Body count among the investigators has been implausibly low too… 

But taken for what they are, they’ve been good fun, make the drive to work pass quickly…

I thought you might like this one I wrote a few years back for 6x6

 “Indescribable. That’s what it were.”

I hit the stop button on the cassette player at the sound of clattering from the upper floor of an abandoned shop to my left. With the sun warm upon my neck, I take out one of the head phones and look and listen but nothing breaks the numbing silence, no bird song nor insect hum. Perhaps it was just a loose tile, or something rotten giving way. I go onward with caution.

I’m not supposed to be here, no one is. Ekton has been abandoned for thirty years and now grime encrusts the windows of the shops and buddleias blur the lines of brick and mortar. Only a broad space of grass and weed marks the line of the old road. In the distance the dark mass of trees where the church once stood waits for me. I hit rewind then press play.

“Okay Mr Jones. Can you tell us what happened? In your own words.”

“I had a call from’t vicar. He were worried about summat he’d seen in’t church.”

“Did he say what?”

 “No but he were very agitated. Said it started with a sound from the belfry.”

 “The belfry?”

“Aye.”

“What sort of sound?”

“A big one. Whole church shook, he said.”

“Did he investigate?”

“Oh Aye.”

“And…?”

 “He said there were summat wrong up there. Summat not right.”

“In what way?”

“He couldn’t say.”

I stop the tape as I cross the town square. Discarded items poke through the grass. Things dropped as people fled, a shoe, a faded pink coat turning green with moss, a handbag, a baby carriage, all slowly being absorbed by nature.

Under the shade of a large oak I clear a bench of leaf litter and sit down. Dark earthen smells release into the air as my feet crunch on old acorns and my chest tightens. I remember how mother would sit here with me.

The cassette player in my hand is heavy with secrets. Disturbing, classified, secrets. Copied from the archives by a friend, of a friend, of a friend. They are my secrets too and I have a right to know them. I take a deep breath and hit play once more.

“So what happened next?”

“We were still discussing whether’t call police when Mrs Ward and her lad came in t’church.”

“And that’s when the incident occurred?”

silence.

“Can you describe it Mr Jones?”

“It started from the belfry door.”

“What did?”

“It’s hard ter say, a stone column blocked my view but it came with a sort of low pulse and a sharp scratching that fair rattled my bones.”

“Did you see what made the noise?”

“No. Mrs Ward did though. Screamed her lungs out she did.”

I stop. Her scream still echoes within me, her face contorted. I turn and… memory fails. There’s a hole I cannot fill.

Feeling broken I press play again.

“And then what Mr Jones?”

“I call out, Margery over here! But she don’t move. Lad does though. Runs like the devil towards me, pale as death. I gather him in my arms and call again but Margery don’t move, she never moved.”

“But tell us what you saw Mr Jones? Tell us what came from the belfry? Describe it to us.”

The tape goes quiet and then I hear Mr Jones’ trembling voice…

 “Indescribable. It were indescribable.”

“You must be able to give us something Mr Jones. Try to recall.”

After a long moment he says, “It were alive. At least it moved.”

“And its form?”

“Hard, malleable, spikey, smooth, yet none of those. It had… things coming off it.”

“What sort of things?”

 “I don’t know. Impossible things. It was wrong I tell you, just wrong.”

“Be specific, Mr Jones?”

“Please... I can’t... You don’t understand? I haven’t the words. I haven’t the words.”

I stop the tape before the sobbing. I know what Mr Jones meant. There are no words to describe what we saw in the church that day. Even now I can’t bring it to mind. All I remember is Mr Jones running with me in his arms. Running from a horror we couldn’t describe, running from the church.

Much later I learned of the deployment of the army and the air strike on the church of St Michael’s, but never discovered what happened to my mother. State secrets and the rest.

I need to know though. That is why I’m here, breaking the law, breaking promises to myself and others.

I look down at the remnants of that rotting coat and the shoe, just visible in the grass. What’s that between them, trousers? As if whoever were wearing them were… the horror strikes. They’re not abandoned. Someone fell here leaving nothing but the clothes they stood up in.

A sound issues from the direction of the churchyard. A low note, pulsing through the ground like a vibration, but also sharp… and thin… a needling sound meant to cut and extract. Putting a fresh cassette in the player I place it carefully on the bench and press record. There’s an answering sound behind me. I turn swiftly and see… and see… Oh God help me! I haven’t got the words… I haven’t got the words.