James Maliszewski's Blog

REPOST: Pulp Fantasy Library: Something Wicked This Way Comes

Do they even have carnivals anymore? I mean, real carnivals: rickety, dirty, dodgy, and, above all, scary carnivals? Sure, there are things calling themselves "carnivals" that set up shop in the parking lots of shopping centers and have rides and concession stands and maybe even the occasional game of chance whose rewards include cheap stuffed toys vaguely reminiscent of cartoon characters, but that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about carnivals, where, in addition to the rides and concession stands, you also get mind readers, bearded ladies, and dog-faced boys. I'm pretty sure they don't exist anymore, outside of works of the imagination and maybe that's not such a bad thing. But there's no denying that the idea of carnivals like that is a powerful one, at least for me.

That, and the incomparable writing of Ray Bradbury, are probably the reasons why I have such a fondness for the 1962 novel, Something Wicked This Way Comes. It probably helps, too, that the novel begins in a way that has always rung particularly true to me:

First of all, it was October, a rare month for boys. Not that all months aren't rare. But there be bad and good, as the pirates say. Take September, a bad month: school begins. Consider August, a good month: school hasn't begun yet. July, well, July's really fine: there's no chance in the world for school. June, no doubting it, June's best of all, for the school doors spring wide and September's a billion years away.

But you take October, now. School's been on a month and you're riding easier in the reins, jogging along. You got time to think of the garbage you'll dump on old man Prickett's porch, or the hairy-ape costume you'll wear to the YMCA the last night of the month. And if it's around October twentieth and everything smoky-smelling and the sky orange and ash grey at twilight, it seems Hallowe'en will never come in a fall of broomsticks and a soft flap of bedsheets around corners.

But one strange wild dark long year, Hallowe'en came early.

As anyone who knows me well can tell you, I adore the month of October. Not only is it the month of my birth, but it's when Fall (my favorite season) is at its most attractive to me. There's still enough life left in the world that it doesn't feel as depressing as November and it manifests a kind of glory that is utterly absent in warmer and more conventional vibrant months. And, of course, there's Halloween, a holiday replete with both religious and secular meaning, which I enjoy probably more than almost any other, save Easter. So, I was probably predisposed to like Something Wicked This Way Comes before I'd even read it.

The novel tells the story of two friends, Will Halloway and Jim Nightshade. The boys are both thirteen years old and, as the story begins, they're returning home as a big storm is about to hit their home of Green Town. There's lightning and thunder and some say they can smell cotton candy in the air as well. The pair stop off at the library, where Will's father works, allowing Bradbury the opportunity to wax rhapsodic about libraries, books -- and growing old:

Out in the world, not much happened. But here in the special night, a land bricked with paper and leather, anything might happen, always did. Listen! and you heard ten thousand people screaming so high only dogs feathered their ears. A million folk ran toting cannons, sharpening guillotines; Chinese, four abreast, marched on forever. Invisible, silent, yes, but Jim and Will had the gift of ears and noses as well as the gift of tongues. This was a factory of spices from far countries. Here alien deserts slumbered. Up front was the desk where the nice old lady, Miss Watriss, purple-stamped your books, but down off away were Tibet and Antarctica, the Congo. There went Miss Wills, the other librarian, through Outer Mongolia, calmly toting fragments of Peiping and Yokohama and the Celebes. Way down the third book corridor, an oldish man whispered his broom along in the dark, mounding the fallen. . . .

Will stared.

It was always a surprise - that old man, his work, his name. That's Charles William Halloway, thought Will, not grand-father, not far-wandering, ancient uncle, as some might think, but. . .my father.

So, looking back down the corridor, was Dad shocked to see he owned a son who visited this separate 20,000-fathoms-deep world? Dad always seemed stunned when Will rose up before him, as if they had met a lifetime ago and one had grown old while the other stayed young, and this fact stood between. . . .

As I get older myself, I find this section of the book even more affecting than it was in the past, doubly so as the story unfolds and we learn that Will's father envies his son his youth and looks back longingly on "The boy [he] once was ... who runs like the leaves down sidewalks on autumn nights."

Into this situation arrives a traveling carnival called Cooger & Dark's Pandemonium Shadow Show and its arrival throws Green Town into tumult. Not only do the carnival's tents go up mysteriously but townsfolk begin behaving strangely, some of them even disappearing after a visit to the carnival. Its proprietors, especially the tattooed Mr Dark (evocatively called "the Illustrated Man"), have a decidedly sinister air about them, made all the more clear when they take a particular interest in Will and Jim. Needless to say, these oddities embolden the two boys to investigate the truth behind Cooger & Dark's and soon discover that there is more at work than they ever imagined.

Something Wicked This Way Comes is a delightfully terrifying fantasy. Its characters are well drawn, its imagery memorable, and, most of all, it has something to say. I consider it one of Bradbury's best novels, which is saying something, as I'm not sure that Bradbury ever wrote anything that wasn't excellent. Like Lovecraft, he is quite adept at using words to conjure up not only sights and sounds but also emotions. Unlike Lovecraft, Bradbury typically does this with fairly ordinary words and colloquial language. It's a remarkable gift and is used to great effect in Something Wicked This Way Comes. If you've never read it (or Bradbury), it's well worth the time and effort. Even if, for some reason, you don't find the story to your taste, you might enjoy it for its artistry alone, which is considerable.

House of Worms (March 6, 2015 – October 2, 2025)

More details in the coming days. 

Two Weeks

Two weeks from today, Gamehole Con kicks off once again! Just like last year, I’ll be leaving my northern redoubt and heading to Madison, Wisconsin for four days of gaming and, just as importantly, the chance to meet up with friends, acquaintances, and, I hope, a few regular readers of this blog.
I’ve said before that I’m not much of a convention-goer by nature. I know how important cons were to the early spread of the hobby, but I’ve always been shy and introverted, so big gatherings don’t naturally appeal to me. That’s part of why I like Gamehole Con so much: it strikes a good balance. It’s simultaneously small enough that you can easily find the people you’re looking for, but large enough that you can disappear into the crowd when you want to (and I often do). One of my friends once called it “human sized,” and I think that’s exactly right.
That said, what really draws me to Madison isn’t just the games; it’s the people. The Internet makes it easy to keep in touch with fellow RPG enthusiasts, but nothing compares to being face-to-face. Most of my gaming these days is online – and I genuinely love that – but there’s something uniquely satisfying about sitting at a real table, rolling real dice, and sharing a few hours of roleplaying in person. It’s a terrific social experience, and, honestly, I think we could all use more of that. It’s good for the soul.
As I did last year, I’ll have much more to share about my time at the convention once I’m back. With luck, the experience will help keep me energized through the remainder of 2025. I’ve got a lot of irons in the fire right now – the Grognardia anthologies, the second edition of Thousand Suns , Secrets of sha-Arthan , and Dream-Quest – and while I remain excited about all of them, I won’t deny that keeping these projects moving forward alongside this blog can be demanding. A little outside encouragement goes a long way.
With that in mind, I’m running a sale over at DriveThruRPG. Everything is 30% off until the end of October 9. The sale helps cover the costs of my trip to Madison, but more than that, it’s an opportunity for readers to pick up some of my existing work at a discount. If you’ve ever thought about grabbing a title or two, now’s a good time. And, of course, if you’re not in a position to do so, simply reading the blog, commenting, and sharing it with others is also a tremendous form of support.
Either way, I’m grateful for everyone who takes the time to stop by here. I’m looking forward to reporting back from Gamehole Con, as well as to rolling some real dice with real people once again.

Interview

Interview by James Maliszewski

Thoughts on Another Recurring Feature

Read on Substack

October Thoughts

As I noted in my earlier post about The Grey Knight, now that it’s October, I feel the need to use this months as an opportunity to explore that in roleplaying games a little more than I usually do (which is actually a lot, come to think of it).
Now, I should be clear: I don’t have it in me to devote every post this month to horror in the way I did with The Shadow over August , when I spent the entire month examining Lovecraft and his legacy. That was an intense endeavor and, while that exercise was both fruitful and well-received, it also took a lot of work on my part. I'm simply not up to that so soon afterwards, especially with Gamehole Con coming up in two weeks (more on that later). 
So, this month, my approach will be lighter and more flexible. Horror will appear more frequently in my writing here, but it will coexist with discussions of all the usual topics I care about. That's in addition to my other ongoing work on both Patreon and Substack (which I recommend you check out if you like what I do here). 
One concrete way this will manifest is that the next four installments of Pulp Fantasy Library, starting next Monday, October 7, will turn to classic horror stories. These are tales I think worthy of attention, whether because they are historically significant, influential on later writers, or simply brilliantly unsettling. Some of them are well-known, others less so, but all have something to teach about fear, suspense, and the strange pleasures of the macabre – topics I think worthy of discussion during this month.
After these four horror-focused posts, I’ll return to looking at Lovecraft’s Dream Cycle stories in November, continuing a thread I hope some of you have been following since I restarted the feature after a long quiescence. In the meantime, consider this a kind of gentle “horror season." It won't be a deluge of posts on the topic, but there will be enough to remind us why the weird and the scary have long been a vital part of our games and our imaginations.

Retrospective: The Grey Knight

With October now upon us, it seems only right to turn this month’s Retrospective posts toward the spooky side of the hobby. The challenge, though, is finding something I haven’t already covered. After more than 400 entries in the series, the pickings are slimmer than I’d like. That’s why I’ve decided to start this Halloween mini-series with something a little unexpected and off the beaten path, namely, The Grey Knight for Chaosium’s Pendragon .

Originally published in 1986, The Grey Knight is the first stand-alone adventure for game and, as such, would probably be well remembered regardless of its quality. Written by Larry DiTillio, who'd already penned the classic Call of Cthulhu campaign, Masks of Nyarlathotep, the scenario is, in fact, close to a masterpiece and remains one of the most highly regarded products ever released for Pendragon. Even after nearly four decades, it stands out as a model of what a Pendragon adventure can and should be: part tournament, part quest, part courtly drama and, unexpectedly, part ghost story.
That last element is worth dwelling on, especially at this time of year. Pendragon is not usually thought of as a scary game, yet The Grey Knight shows how easily Arthurian legend can slip into the uncanny. The Matter of Britain is already filled with magic, prophecy, and the otherworldly; DiTillio simply leans into those shadows. His creation, the Grey Knight, feels wholly at home in this tradition. He's a towering figure in blackened plate, with death’s head helm and a charnel aura, less a man than the embodiment of Vengeance itself. His first appearance at Camelot’s Easter tournament, heralded by lightning and an unnatural chill, sets a tone of dread that lingers throughout the adventure.
The tournament scene is only the beginning. When the mysterious Lady in Black accuses Arthur of past misdeeds and demands the king defend his honor by facing her own dark champion, Sir Gawaine immediately offers to stand in his liege's place. The duel is delayed for six weeks, giving Arthur’s knights, which is to say, the player characters their true task: to recover a legendary whetstone, one of the Thirteen Treasures of Britain, without which Gawaine cannot hope to triumph against the Grey Knight.
What follows is a masterful blend of the game’s strengths, from the thrill of jousts to the intrigue of courtly politics to the strangeness of myth-haunted locales. As in the finest Arthurian tales, the familiar and the fantastic are inseparably entwined. Beneath the story’s supernatural trappings lies a very human injustice, festering until it bursts forth in the shape of the Grey Knight, a wrong that will not stay buried.
This is what makes the scenario such an effective fusion of Pendragon’s themes with horror. The supernatural here is not mere ornamentation but the outward sign of a moral wound at the heart of Arthur’s reign. The Grey Knight is terrifying not simply because he cannot be easily defeated, but because he reveals how even Camelot’s highest ideals, like honor and justice, can be obscured by shadow. Still, The Grey Knight is more than a ghost story. It is also an exemplary showcase of Pendragon’s range as a roleplaying game. Every type of knight, from the pious to the glory-hungry, is given a chance to shine.
It is no surprise, then, that The Grey Knight has been reprinted and revised more than once. It set a standard for what a Pendragon adventure could be. At the same time, its central antagonist, the armored challenger rising from beyond the grave to demand satisfaction from Arthur’s court, is a reminder that the tales of Arthur and his Round Table have always been touched by darkness. 
This October, as I try to find something new to say about horror in roleplaying, The Grey Knight is a great place to start. As an adventure, it proves that the supernatural need not be grotesque or Lovecraftian to unsettle and that even games as heroic and inspiring as Pendragon can still be used to unsettle and discomfit. Its horror lies in the intrusion of the uncanny into a world otherwise governed by honor, passion, and destiny. By showing how the fantastic can tilt into the eerie without ever leaving the chivalric frame, it opens a door to a different kind of horror, one that lingers precisely because it feels both out of place and inevitable.

Varieties of Dreamborn

For those of you interested in my Dream-Quest project but who aren't patrons, here's another public post that you might want to read. As with all my public posts at Patreon, I'm soliciting comments and suggestions to guide me as I develop this game into something that might, one day, be more than just a collection of notes and ideas.

REPOST: The Articles of Dragon: "Hold That Person!"

Issue #90 (October 1984) of Dragon contained a short installment of Gary Gygax's increasingly irregular "From the Sorceror's [sic] Scroll" column entitled "Hold That Person!" The article's subtitle explains its purpose. According to Gygax, "the vast array of new monsters" found in books like the Fiend Folio and Monster Manual II have left players and DMs alike wondering which humanoids are affected by the spells charm person and hold person. Was that the case?

I ask because I distinctly recall that my feeling upon reading the article nearly 30 years ago was one of bemusement. I mean, I was, back then, very much enthralled by nearly everything Gary wrote. He was, after all, the creator of AD&D and his word on the subject was Law. But a list -- a definitive list, no less -- of what creatures qualified as "persons" for the purposes of certain spells? Why was this necessary? Did anyone really wonder whether a swanmay could be charmed or an ogrillon held? Was this even an issue at all? Maybe it was needed in tournaments, I don't know, but it was never an issue that came up in my gaming groups.

Just as interesting as the list Gygax provides are his closing comments in this article. He says the following:

If you, as a player, are grateful to have this expanded list, your gratitude is certainly appreciated but keep in mind that it is a mixed blessing. Players must attempt to remember the list of creatures affected by charm person and hold person, for when it comes time to cast a spell, the DM must never allow them to consult their reference works except for the Players Handbook. On the other hand, the DM can use any reference source at his disposal (including articles like this one) to check for desired information.

Now, there's nothing beyond the pale in what Gygax says here. In my experience, it was pretty much standard operating procedure amongst the groups with which I had contact. However, this is the first time I can recall its ever being stated outright as the Gospel of Gary. Again, I don't disagree with it, as it's identical to my own practice, but it is nonetheless interesting to see it stated so plainly.

Oddments

I wanted to point out two small things in relation to recent posts:

There is now a Recent Comments gadget in the righthand column of this blog, displaying the last five comments made to any posts here, even ones from several months or years ago. A suggestion was made that, by including it, I might increase interest in the comments section. Since it wasn't a difficult addition to the blog, I readily complied. So far, it seems to be working, so that's great.One of the players in my House of Worms campaign, cartographer extraordinaire, Dyson Logos, has posted his own account of recent events. If you're looking for a different, less florid perspective on the campaign's penultimate session, give a read (and tell Dyson he's misspelled Dhich'uné while you're at it).

Pulp Fantasy Library: The Cats of Ulthar

H.P. Lovecraft wrote "The Cats of Ulthar" in June 1920, during one of the most productive phases of his early career, when he was experimenting with short, dreamlike tales heavily influenced by the work of Lord Dunsany. First published in the November 1920 issue of the amateur press journal Tryout, the story would later appear twice in the pages of Weird Tales (February 1926 and February 1933) before being issued as a standalone booklet in 1935. At fewer than 1,500 words, it is a very brief piece — more a vignette than a fully developed narrative — and yet it has become one of Lovecraft’s most frequently anthologized works. Its enduring presence in print is due in part to Lovecraft’s own fondness for the tale, which he often cited as one of his favorites and perhaps also because it captures something essential about a side of his imagination that is often overshadowed by his more famous tales of cosmic horror.

The plot of "The Cats of Ulthar" is simple and deliberately has the structure and cadence of a folk tale. In the town of Ulthar, cats begin to vanish under mysterious circumstances, victims of a reclusive old couple notorious for their cruelty toward animals. Into this setting comes a caravan of strange wanderers, among them an orphan boy devoted to his beloved kitten. When the kitten disappears, the boy calls upon the gods in words no one can understand. That night, the cats of Ulthar gather together and descend upon the couple’s home. By morning, the cottage is silent and empty save for a few disturbing remains. From that day forward, the town passes a law forbidding the killing of cats.

Like much of Lovecraft’s early fiction, "The Cats of Ulthar" is written in a consciously archaic style, marked by inverted syntax and pseudo-antique diction. At this stage of his career, Lovecraft was still in the process of developing his literary voice and Dunsany’s influence is strongly felt. The story’s moralistic, almost didactic structure, culminating in the decree against harming cats, further aligns it with the traditions of myth and fairy tale. At the same time, it is suffused with the dreamlike atmosphere that Lovecraft favored during this period. This is one reason why it is typically grouped among the so-called “Dream Cycle” stories, even though, like "The Doom That Came to Sarnath," there is some suggestion that Ulthar exists (or once existed) in the “real world” rather than exclusively within the fantastical Dreamlands. 

Thematically, the story is significant for several reasons. First and most obviously, it reflects Lovecraft’s lifelong affection for cats, a sentiment he expressed frequently in his letters and which surfaces elsewhere in his fiction, most notably in The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath, where cats play a crucial and even heroic role. More interesting, perhaps, is the way the story conceives of justice. Here, retribution is not the work of human laws or courts but of a higher, more mysterious order. The orphan boy’s prayer, the caravan’s enigmatic presence, and the cats’ nocturnal vengeance all suggest a universe in which moral balance is maintained, if not always through means we would recognize or understand. This vision stands in marked contrast to the cosmic indifference of Lovecraft’s later, more famous works. It hints at an earlier, more mythic conception of the universe, one that is mysterious and at times unsettling, but not entirely devoid of meaning or order.

Whether or not one accepts the idea of a unified Dream Cycle, "The Cats of Ulthar" is clearly part of a cluster of Dunsanian tales within Lovecraft’s canon. Ulthar itself recurs in later works, including "The Other Gods" and the aforementioned Dream-Quest, helping to establish the geography and texture of the Dreamlands. It also exemplifies the fairy tale-like qualities of these stories, where magic is subtle but ever-present, and where human (or feline) societies live according to strange but deeply meaningful laws. For readers familiar only with Lovecraft’s tales of cosmic horror, "The Cats of Ulthar" reveals a very different side of him, one that looks backward to myth and legend rather than forward to existential terror.

It is remarkable that a story so short and seemingly slight should cast such a long shadow over Lovecraft’s body of work. Its endurance speaks to its charm, simplicity, and the clarity with which it expresses a key facet of Lovecraft’s creative vision. More than just a curiosity, "The Cats of Ulthar" is an early signpost pointing toward the Dreamlands as a realm of myth and mystery, not to mention an excellent starting point for readers who wish to explore the breadth of Lovecraft’s imagination beyond the tentacled clichés for which he is now best known.