/lit/ - Literature

Are there any books that do Lovecraftian horror well outside of Lovecraft?
Seems like every modern attempt at Lovecraft is just made out of spite for the man rather than love for the ideas he created.

>>21429885
also nyarlathotep is pretty cool. very weird and surreal, written based on a dream while he was still half asleep, though i can see why some might not appreciate it much

Cosmic horror is great if you want what you're reading to give you the same existential dread that normal life does. Personally, I find it very cathartic to read something that looks at human life at the scale of uncaring gods and incomprehensible aliens that make no sense to the human mind. It puts things in perspective

Some of my favorites of his are his shorter works like "Nyarlathotep" and "Till A' The Seas" (which may have been written by R.H. Barlow, but Lovecraft definitely edited and contributed).

I pierced it on my fishing hook, cast over my shoulder—back across the dunes. Then like a good fisherman I stood and patiently waited, salt air in my hair, the line between my legs. After a minute, a trembling in the grass as of some rapidly advancing army. The game had begun.

Their ape faces sickened me as they all gathered on the sandy rise and began to chase the slimy thing at the end of my hook. And always it evaded their grasp, wriggled hideously upon the white sand, slipperier than the slipperiest eel.

Up on the grey dunes and down to the yellows, then further onward to the foredunes I led them, reeling, always reeling. They fell in slacks and tripped on the dune grass tufts, the mass of them roiling like a primordial ooze. Their starving eyes and mouths desiring of what they’d found, they’d run until they couldn’t. If they caught it, they’d kiss it until their lips cracked.

But I never let them bite, not once, never.

Before the sea the embryo dunes, after the embryo dunes, a drop. That was where I stood, on the lip above, coil tightening. In a moment, if I wasn’t careful, they’d be on top of me. I walked down to the beach’s level sands. As my catch gathered behind me, ravenous and vital, I threw rod and line and lure to the sea.

They couldn’t scramble fast enough. A group of them cried to it, called it their baby and their beloved, but those voices quickly died.

I might’ve taken them to a sea cliff, but I preferred to watch them drown.

Gametes are excellent bait for humans.

>Therefore be ye also ready: for in such an hour as ye think not the Son of man cometh.
>https://www.hplovecraft.com/writings/texts/fiction/n.aspx

Anon, when Nyarlathotep comes out of Egypt... will you be ready?

>>19184136
Nyarlahotep stories are obligatory

Thoughts? Flash fiction.

The Fisherman

I pierced it bloated on my hook, cast it over the marram-mantled dunes. Then like a good fisherman I stood and patiently waited, salt air in my hair, the line between my legs. After a minute, a trembling in the grass as of some rapidly advancing army. The game had begun.

Their faces terrified me as they gathered on a piney rise. I fought to keep the lure in my grasp—and from theirs. And though they stumbled, and they fell, put up the good fight, the thing wriggled hideously upon the white sand, slipperier than the slipperiest eel.

So, up on the grey dunes and down to the yellows, then further onward to the foredunes I led them, reeling, always reeling. They fell in slacks and tripped on the Ammophila tufts, the mass of them roiling like a primordial ooze. Their starving eyes and mouths desiring of what they’d found, they’d run until they couldn’t. If they caught it, they’d kiss it until their lips cracked.

But I never let them bite, not once, never.

Before the sea the embryo dunes, after the embryo dunes, a drop. That was where I stood, on the lip above, coil tightening. In a moment, if I wasn’t careful, they’d be on top of me. But I’d experience this time.

Calmly I walked down to the beach’s level sands. As my catch gathered behind me, ravenous and vital, I threw rod and line and lure to the sea. Then I unfolded my chair, sat in it, amused by their idiot efforts. They couldn’t scramble fast enough. A group of them cried to it, called it their baby and their beloved, but those voices quickly died.

I might’ve taken them to a sea cliff, but I preferred to watch them drown.

Gametes are excellent bait for humans.

Come one, come all. It's FF time. No spergs here, please. Just constructive criticism. It's 2021. We don't need any more hostility.

Thoughts on this?

I pierced it on my fishing hook, cast over my shoulder—back across the dunes. Then like a good fisherman I stood and patiently waited, salt air in my hair, the line between my legs. After a minute, a trembling in the grass as of some rapidly advancing army. The game had begun.

Their ape faces sickened me as they all gathered on the sandy rise and began to chase the slimy thing at the end of my hook. And always it evaded their grasp, wriggled hideously upon the white sand, slipperier than the slipperiest eel.

Up on the grey dunes and down to the yellows, then further onward to the foredunes I led them, reeling, always reeling. They fell in slacks and tripped on the dune grass tufts, the mass of them roiling like a primordial ooze. Their starving eyes and mouths desiring of what they’d found, they’d run until they couldn’t. If they caught it, they’d kiss it until their lips cracked.

But I never let them bite, not once, never.

Before the sea the embryo dunes, after the embryo dunes, a drop. That was where I stood, on the lip above, coil tightening. In a moment, if I wasn’t careful, they’d be on top of me. I walked down to the beach’s level sands. As my catch gathered behind me, ravenous and vital, I threw rod and line and lure to the sea.

They couldn’t scramble fast enough. A group of them cried to it, called it their baby and their beloved, but those voices quickly died.

I might’ve taken them to a sea cliff, but I preferred to watch them drown.

Gametes are excellent bait for humans.

Thoughts? Flash fiction.

The Fisherman

I pierced it bloated on my hook, cast it over the marram-mantled dunes. Then like a good fisherman I stood and patiently waited, salt air in my hair, the line between my legs. After a minute, a trembling in the grass as of some rapidly advancing army. The game had begun.

Their faces terrified me as they gathered on a piney rise. I fought to keep the lure in my grasp—and from theirs. And though they stumbled, and they fell, put up the good fight, the thing wriggled hideously upon the white sand, slipperier than the slipperiest eel.

So, up on the grey dunes and down to the yellows, then further onward to the foredunes I led them, reeling, always reeling. They fell in slacks and tripped on the Ammophila tufts, the mass of them roiling like a primordial ooze. Their starving eyes and mouths desiring of what they’d found, they’d run until they couldn’t. If they caught it, they’d kiss it until their lips cracked.

But I never let them bite, not once, never.

Before the sea the embryo dunes, after the embryo dunes, a drop. That was where I stood, on the lip above, coil tightening. In a moment, if I wasn’t careful, they’d be on top of me. But I’d experience this time.

Calmly I walked down to the beach’s level sands. As my catch gathered behind me, ravenous and vital, I threw rod and line and lure to the sea. Then I unfolded my chair, sat in it, amused by their idiot efforts. They couldn’t scramble fast enough. A group of them cried to it, called it their baby and their beloved, but those voices quickly died.

I might’ve taken them to a sea cliff, but I preferred to watch them drown.

Gametes are excellent bait for humans.

Where should I start if I want to read about Nyarlathotep?