Stephen Mark Rainey's Blog, page 65

An Evening with the Body Snatchers

Philip Kaufman's Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978) easily holds a spot in my top five favorite horror movies, surpassing even Don Siegel's excellent, original 1956 version. I saw the 1978 version when it first came out without having seen the original (that happened a few years later), so my sensibilities may be slightly colored by that fact. Still, evaluating both films as objectively as possible, I do believe Kaufman's film is one of those very rare remakes that improves on the original, especially the ending. Granted, Siegel's version, as written, would have featured a similarly downbeat finale but for the studio's insistence. Characteristic of studio brain trusts at the time, the executives at Allied Artists did not believe a horror movie that ended without a glimmer of hope could succeed. Still, even with the studio's revised, more hopeful resolution, Siegel's movie succeeds admirably, with a noteworthy performance by star Kevin McCarthy. And in the 1978 version, McCarthy delivers the perfect cameo. While I wouldn't call this scene whimsical, it can't help but bring a grin of pleasure if you know where it originated. The primary cast of Kaufman's film — Donald Sutherland, Brooke Adams, Leonard Nimoy, Jeff Goldblum, and Veronica Cartwright — could hardly have been more perfect. The remake's setting, cinematography, screenplay, direction, special effects, and minimal score... all come together to create a masterpiece of horror. A moody, unsettling, suspenseful, eerie film. None of the versions that have followed can hold a candle to either Siegel's or Kaufman's films.

When I caught wind a short while back that the 1978 film would be coming to Greensboro for a theatrical showing, with Veronica Cartwright on hand to give a presentation, you can best believe I immediately went about scoring advance tickets — for $12 each, it turned out. Hell, outside a matinee, for that price you can't catch a crappy first-run film without any of the cast on hand.

Ms. Brugger and I, along with friends Terry and Beth, attended the presentation this evening at the RED Cinemas , which is easily my favorite theater in Greensboro. Although none of the auditoriums are particularly large, they are generally comfortable, with decent sound systems, and the concession stand offers a fair selection of food and spirits. Body Snatchers did play in one of the smallest. For the film itself, this might not have been so impressive, but it did allow for a more intimate Q&A session with Veronica Cartwright. She spoke at some length about some of the highlights of her career, her favorite experiences on movie sets and the stage, and about working with such legendary cinematic figures as Alfred Hitchcock, Tippi Hedren, Jack Nicholson, Richard Dreyfuss, and Shirley Maclaine (whom Veronica considers her mentor). My personal favorite of her recollections was of her experiences on the set of The Birds , as it was one of her earliest films and her introduction to the world of "movie magic."

True to my prediction, at the theater, I ran into Ian McDowell, longtime friend and contributor to Deathrealm magazine during its heyday. Afterward, Ms. B., Terry, Beth, and I went out for dinner at Sushi Republic , followed by a spot of wine at Tasting Room .

All in all, a fine way to spend a Saturday evening. Tomorrow, there is geocaching on the docket.

Sayonara, Sandy Level Creep

Why, yes, I am suffering the great sadness, for the Sandy Level Creep is no more. For the past five years or so, he — and, more recently, a handful of companions — stood alongside the Old Axton Road in southeastern Henry County, VA, happily greeting passing motorists. For some long while, I had seen a "For Sale" sign outside the house where he lived; it always brought on a twinge of sadness and apprehension. The Creep was a bleepin' Sandy Level fixture! But back at Thanksgiving, when I didn't notice that gaggle of scary folk hanging out by the road, I feared the worst had happened. Sure enough, my past few trips through Sandy Level appear to confirm that my good friend, the Sandy Level Creep, is indeed gone.

I first noticed him back in 2015, standing all by his lonesome, one arm raised in cheerful greeting. Occasionally, he would boast a new wardrobe. Eventually, he even made himself a friend: a cute little devil-horned fellow for whom the Creep appeared to display considerable affection. After a time, a huge, bearded, ghoulish-looking chap joined the pair. A frizzy, chapeau-crowned ape man followed shortly afterward (which was actually our devil-horned friend wearing a mask; he wasn't fooling anyone, you know). Soon, the lot of them began showing off various hats, regularly changing poses and clothes. For me, traveling the Old Axton Road through Sandy Level between Martinsville and Greensboro became something of a treat.
I can't say I ever learned anything about the ghoulish gaggle. I halfway suspect the Creep himself might have been a Halloween prop who decided to stay on past the holiday. His later companions appeared at seemingly random times. So, I've no idea whether anyone, other than their owners, might know anything about their surely colorful life stories.

In the midst of some of the most trying times of my life as I've constantly gone to and from Martinsville to care for Mom, the Creep and cadre have added a lovely sparkle. I shall quite miss his huge toothy grin, his happily outstretched arm, his wide array of hats, and his colorful companions.

Sayonara, Creep.

The Future Is Now

And boom... just like that, it's the year 2020. The fucking future, to my very young old brain. Back in tenth grade creative writing class, I wrote a ghastly little science fiction story called "Invasion From Space," set in this very year. To the best of my recollection, it was a cross between The War of the Worlds and The Mysterians. The tale featured an all-Japanese cast of characters, a thing I considered perfectly proper since, at the time, it seemed a certainty that Toho Co. LTD would one day want to turn all my stories into films. (Take note, Toho. I'm still waiting.) The thing I most remember about "Invasion From Space" was my teacher criticizing a scene in which a squadron of jet fighters engaged a gaggle of UFOs. "In the year 2020, there probably won't be any jet planes," she wrote in red ink. Rather than edit the jets out of the story, I added a note to the effect that, au contraire, jet technology would still be prevalent; it would just be several generations more advanced than the then-current 1974 models. And my prediction pretty much came to pass.

Of course, 2020 is nothing like my tenth grade self could have imagined. We have a half-witted, narcissistic, semi-literate baboon as a president who, consistent with his chronically egregious behavior, has set in motion a sequence of events that could mire the US in yet another prolonged and very dire conflict in the Middle East. The entire continent of Australia is a conflagration (see New South Wales: The Devil's Inferno ), with no relief on the horizon. Venice — which Brugger, along with friends Terry & Beth only just quitted a little over a month ago — has suffered grave damage in the worst flooding it has seen in almost a century. Politically, the US is more divided than I've ever seen it in my lifetime, with the Brain Death Chorale from either political extreme singing loudly and proudly. I'm more than halfway convinced that the activation of the CERN Hadron Collider some years back opened a wormhole to the Bizarro world, and a portion of it bonded with ours. Really, it's the only explanation that makes sense.

On the personal front, 2019 was, almost from start to finish, a train wreck, with my family's medical issues front and center 24/7/365. Still and all, there were many bright spots: last year's New Year's celebration in Myrtle Beach with our friends the Nelsons and the Broadwells; going to Midland, MI, back in January to see the Bruggers; going to Berlin, OH, also to see the Bruggers; another trip to Myrtle Beach in July, also with the Nelsons and Broadwells; lots of geocaching with The Usual Suspects (Old Rob, Yoda Rob, Fishdownthestair, Diefenbaker, Shoffner, Suntigres, BigG7777), Skyhawk63, Punkins19, and others; hanging out with the Albaneses; the releases of my Ameri-Scares novels, West Virginia: Lair of the Mothman and Michigan: The Dragon of Lake Superior , from Crossroad Press; seeing my daughter, Allison, a couple of times, even if not under the happiest of circumstances; and le piece de resistance, the trip to the Mediterranean in October, which took us to Italy, Croatia, Montenegro, France, and Spain.

Me, myself, and I... well, when I turned 60 this past year, any number of niggling physical issues set in almost overnight, making day-to-day existence a tad more taxing. Sometimes more than a tad. Still, all things considered, I can only complain a little. There will always be those in better and worse places than I, and on the scale of life, it would be a lie to say that, at least for now, I occupy anything other than the "better" side of it. Taking the larger view isn't always the world's easiest thing to do, especially when the issues, some large and some small, pile up like a series of crashes on I-40 at rush hour. One thing is for certain: we came from the Great Beyond and will go back to it, and the only thing that matters in the here and now is how we live it. That's very easy to say, of course. Day-to-day reality sometimes has a tendency to cold-cock that lovely long view of life. It does for this old dude, anyway.

Finally, to Kimberly Ann Brugger: you remain the one human being in my life who keeps me sane and relatively stable. This year will make ten years together, all of which were made better — even damn near perfect — by your presence, your energy, and your love. At times in the past, I thought I knew what it meant to love, to be in love. Like hell I did. I wish I had, for it would have been fairer to all involved. Sometimes, I think it takes a rough ride, even a wrong ride, to get where one is meant to be, if such is even possible. Maybe it is.

Happy Bloody New Year to my readers, my friends, my peers, and all the rest of you out there. Well, most of you, anyway.

Another Day on the Caching Trail: The Uwharries

Today's incarnation of Team No Dead Weight: Old Feller, Fishdownthestair, Skyhawk63, PharaohThe Uwharries — a relatively low, exceptionally ancient mountain range, some thirty miles due south of Greensboro — conceal a considerable number of geocaches (a hundred sixty-something, I'm led to believe), maybe half of which I've found on numerous visits over the past dozen years. Back in November, the redoubtable local geocacher Ranger Fox (a.k.a. Christopher) placed a bunch of new caches down yonder, and I will confess to you that this is the kind of behavior that makes ravenous geocachers like me go foaming at the mouth. A week or so ago, friend Skyhawk63 (a.k.a. Tom) suggested that today might be a fine day for a select team of us to seek a few of those suckers. And what a day it turned out to be. For December, it proved a morbidly warm day — damn near 70 degrees and somewhat humid. We had dressed with extra layers for the early morning's chilly temperatures, but by 10:00 a.m., for better or for worse, those layers were shedding themselves in ragged droves.

Depending on which of our pedometers one should believe, we put in something between 7.5 and 9 miles in terrain that might be considered a little more extreme than gently rolling hills. Of the seven caches we visited, getting to a couple of them damn near reduced us to quivering, sweat-soaked, perfectly useless mounds of human flesh and blood. However, as the oldest member of our intrepid group, I felt it incumbent upon me to set a positive example on the trail. Thus, I wailed, moaned, groaned, and griped better than almost anyone ever. You just ask. It's true.

Our mostest favorite of these caches lurked in an ancient graveyard out in the midst of the wilderness. Cooper Cemetery dates back to the 18th century, and is the resting place of one Sterling Cooper, who fought in the Revolutionary War.

For all our wandering and searching, the one thing we did not find today was the Uwharrie Bigfoot. Yes, reputedly, one or more specimens of the Bigfoot clan reside in the Birkhead Wilderness, right smack in the heart of the Uwharries. A couple of years ago, I discovered the movie Stomping Ground , about a search for Bigfoot in the Uwharries. It wasn't particularly good (nor was it awful), but it was fun, and seeing so many familiar locations in a wacky Bigfoot filum made me smile. Now, today, I did stumble in a rather massive indentation in the ground that might have been a Bigfoot track, but the considerable weathering made conclusive identification impossible. Because I'm  never one to leap to unjustifiable conclusions, I'm just gonna say it was a big old Bigfootprint and leave it at that. So there.

At the end of the day, we had seven caches under our belts. The company and exercise couldn't have been better — well, it might have if Bigfoot had come along — and the late lunch that Ms. FDTS and I had at The Flying Pig in Asheboro sure hit the spot. When I got home, to soothe the aftermath of my exertions, I took an honest-to-god hot bath, something I've not done probably since I had more hair up north. At least now I am clean, relaxed, and have availed myself to a Damned Rodan's Dirty Firetini (okay, so maybe there were two of them). Tomorrow's lineup includes Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker . I must tell you, I'm a little concerned about my Star Wars geek status, for there was a time I camped out in front of theaters for Star Wars tickets, and some people tell me I actually went to see the original Star Wars in 1977 no less than 23 times at the theater. This is probably the longest I've gone after a Star Wars release without hieing myself directly to the theater. Ah, well. I'm a getting to it, and that's what counts.

That is all.
A rock cairn at the summit of one of several high elevations we experienced today Old dude takes a breather at the top of a mighty high ridge Pharaoh looking for a helpful message from God at the cache site. No helpful signs were forthcoming,
so we had to find the cache the old-fashioned way.

The Curse of Boney Jones

On Christmas Day, I placed a couple of new geocaches in Martinsville — The Christmas Troll (GC8H88K) and Old Man Rodan's Christmas Special (GC8H89C) — so it seemed fitting I should place at least one new in Greensboro for good measure. I did this yesterday afternoon, and I imagine the new listing will be published in the next day or so. It's in the woods near Lake Townsend, not far up the road from here. The nice prop comes courtesy of friends Elizabeth & Cortney (a.k.a. EmVirginia), which they originally gifted me for an entirely different purpose. Unfortunately, it didn't serve its intended purpose to proper effect, so I figured that repurposing it for geocaching would be more than apt.

As a writer of fictions, I felt obliged to come up with a little story for the cache. So here it is:

"Edward Leigh 'Boney' Jones was an early 18th-century 'explorer,' reputedly of questionable character — in other words, a pirate. After a long, checkered career at sea, Jones settled in the area now known as Greensboro. For years after his retirement, he remained wanted for his illegal activities, and so he buried a sizable treasure trove somewhere around what is now Lake Townsend. His one trusted confidante was his former first mate, a particularly vicious pirate named 'Bloody' Reg Bannister. One night, Bannister murdered Boney Jones in his sleep, and thus claimed the vast hoard for himself.

"Supposedly, Boney Jones's remains lie somewhere around Lake Townsend, left there by the murderous Bloody Reg. For years, the legend has persisted that Boney Jones's tortured voice sometimes rings out late at night. Near the lake, some claim to have seen his skeletal figure, his hands raised in supplication, a sign of his desire to regain his stolen treasure. Should you come upon Boney Jones's mortal remains, beware — in his everlasting madness, his groping hands may attempt to take hold of you and throttle the very life from you. You may be able to placate him by signing your name on the Scroll of The Damned that some say Bannister buried with him. But there are no guarantees. Boney Jones may claim you and, someday, it may be your bones that some unfortunate soul discovers near the banks of Lake Townsend."

Happy trails.

Damned Rodan's Christmas Special

Well, Merry Flippin' Christmas and Happy Horrordays to the lot of you. This holiday season has been a mighty different animal for the old man. It's the first year of my life I haven't shared Christmas with my mom and my brother, and my daughter wasn't able to be here this year either. So — as we did at Thanksgiving — Brugger and I have been making our own special time and, happily, succeeding admirably. Yesterday, we got out early from the office, as is proper for Christmas Eve. Now, these past few years, our Christmas Eve tradition has been to visit The Grove Winery on our way to Martinsville, but since we left from the office, heading in that direction would have taken us way far out of our way. So we said no. Instead, we hied ourselves down to The Vino Shoppe in High Point, not far at all from work, where we enjoyed some fine vino in that pleasant establishment. Then, accompanied by our favorite Christmas tunes, we made our way to the old homestead in Martinsville.

Last year, Ms. B. and I spent a marvelous Christmas Eve in the company of fellow authors Stephen & Samaire Provost. Last night, we did the same, but this time here at Pleasant Hill rather than at their place. As then, we ended up yakking, feasting, and imbibing until the wee hours (though not quite as wee as last year). This is one "new" tradition that I hope we can maintain for the foreseeable future.

After our friends' departure, Brugger and I made the necessary reparations to the property. Unlike last year, it wasn't frigid outside, so I spent a little quality time on the front porch surveying the kingdom and enjoying the Christmas lights around the neighborhood. That's our tree you see in the photo at left, viewed from the porch. All this made for a warm, satisfying end to the evening, and though somewhat bittersweet, I found it all very fulfilling. In some respects, I don't think I've yet experienced the true impact of these rather profound life changes; on the other hand, I have no illusions about their permanence. We deal with such things or we don't. So far, I'm firmly ensconced in the "dealing" column.
This morning, at the ass crack of dawn, I got up to start our pot roast dinner, and then returned to bed for a bit. Once both of us got up, we had a nice breakfast and then exchanged some mighty wonderful Christmas gifts. I don't think either of us have any complaints in that regard! We both made out nicely.

Since it was such a temperate day, we headed out to the newest extension of the Dick & Willie Rail Trail , not at all far from the homestead. It probably comes as no surprise to those of you who visit these pages that I placed a couple of new geocaches. I've already set up the listings, and I do hope they will be published on geocaching.com very soon.

Our big dinner will be ready shortly, and then Ms. B. and I shall return to Greensboro. Although one of our heretofore inviolable Christmas Eve traditions has been to watch A Christmas Story , our new social tradition precluded that activity last night. Thus, we shall avail ourselves to it this evening, and most likely National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation .

I so hope that those of you who celebrate Christmas have found it wonderful. If you don't, I trust the day has been good to you as well. Bless you.

Venturing Forth to Seaforth

A couple of the Usual Suspects: Old Rodan, Ms. FishdownthestairAs we count down to Christmas, overworked and overloaded doesn't begin to describe the state of affairs at Casa di Rodan. This past week, two old friends of the family passed away in Martinsville — Willard Harris, who had been one of my parents' best friends since I was a kid, and Ron Ferrill, father of my early 1980s girlfriend Allison. On Thursday, I went up to the Ville to attend Mr. Ferrill's viewing at the funeral home. I did get to see Allison for the first time in almost 40 years, as well as her mom, whom I've encountered a handful of times over the years. It was good to see them, sad under the circumstances. I had long admired and liked Mr. Ferrill, who was one of Martinsville's preeminent citizens during my lifetime. Interestingly, I ran into Mrs. Isley, my fifth-grade English teacher. Talk about a pleasant surprise.

Yesterday, after a quick visit with Mum, Brugger and I joined up with friends Terry & Beth to sample a few spirits at the Winston-Salem Wine Market as well as at Raylen Vineyards , not far away. The spirits flowed very nicely (and there was a new geocache at the Wine Market, which I happily claimed). Afterward, we retired to the Nelsons' place to have some vittles and watch Animal House and Stripes. And those were fun, as I'd not seen either in many years.
From the racket we heard in the distance, I'm pretty
sure Bigfoot was out there playing Bigfoot party games.
Today, friend Natalie (a.k.a. fishdownthestair) and I ventured forth to the gamelands between Seaforth Road and Jordan Lake, just outside Pittsboro, that we might hunt a number of the geocaches lurking back in those woods. Most of the caches there go back many years — most of those we hunted today date back to 2007, with a handful from 2010. Virtually every one of those we found (seven, plus one park & grab along the road) was truly a moldy oldie, but at least we managed to get our sigs on the log sheets. We logged DNFs (Did Not Find) on two, which we're confident have simply gone missing. However, it was at the site of one of those we didn't find that we discovered the most intriguing location of the day — an old family graveyard in the woods, with graves going back as far as the late 18th century. The newest marker that I found was from 1914. Ms. FDTS and I spent quite a while both looking for the errant container as well as exploring the realm of the dead. As I've said before, lovely, hidden places such as this one surely take some of the annoyance out of being buried.

At the end of the geocaching, some five hours and three-plus miles later, we hauled ourselves over to our traditional post-caching in Pittsboro lunch location, The Carolina Brewery . Both of us availed ourselves to the Winter Special "Brewer's Burger," with grilled onions, black-pepper mayo, pickles, and pepper jack cheese. I had one of their nice Flagship IPAs to accompany. Say what you will, I am a fan of the IPAs, at least on those relatively rare occasions that I partake of beer.

And that was the outing in a nutshell. Back to the frenetic work pace, at least until Tuesday....

If I don't make it back here before then, well, Merry Honkin' Christmas to the lot of ye.
A nice view of Pirates' Cove on Jordan Lake One of the walking dead near the old graveyard. Note it wears blaze orange, no doubt to avoid
being shot in the head by accident. Some of the ancient graves Caching goes better with Coke. Looking out on Jordan Lake

Doing Up Pleasant Hill

At the office yesterday, we had our annual Christmas luncheon (Mexican!), along with fun and games (Family Feud!). Sadly, my team got trounced during the fun and games. However, as is the custom for such days, the office closed at 3:00 PM, so Ms. B. and I hauled ourselves to The Vino Shoppe , not far down the road from work, for a little afternoon refreshment. They had a several special selections of Merlot on hand, so I sampled a French one, which was a merely okay, and a California brand — Parcel 41 — which both Brugger and I deemed excellent.

The day was cold, miserable, dreary, and rainy, but I needed to head to Martinsville to take care of a little business. Plus, I was determined to get some Christmas decorations up at Pleasant Hill . So, I braved the nasty, nasty driving conditions and made the trip from Greensboro. After running a few errands, I poured myself a glass of Prosecco, put on some old favorite Christmas tunes, and set to work. Mom always loved a live tree, but since she hasn't been physically able to tend to one for the past few years, a couple of Christmases back, I had gotten her a decent artificial tree. Thus, setting it up wasn't a major chore, and given that Mom had collected about half of the world's Christmas ornaments over the years, I had plenty of purty little thingummies to put up. After an hour or so, I got the tree looking as you see in the photo. It do please me.

Since Brugger hasn't been too bad this year, I bought her several presents. These I wrapped and placed them under the tree. However, should she get out of hand before Christmas rolls around, they're going straight back. There is plenty of room in her Christmas stocking for lumps of coal. I keep plenty of those on hand too.

Given Mom's situation, it's going to be a different kind of Christmas season for us. But so it was at Thanksgiving , and it proved to be one of the most relaxing, satisfying holidays ever for Kimberly and me. Something tells me we'll make the most of our Christmas as well. It's just what we have to do in this life.

Bless you.
Yeah, if Ms. B. isn't nice, these are going right back where they came from.

Get Your Chills This Wintertime with Summer of Lovecraft

From the editors of World War Cthulhu: A Collection of Lovecraftian War Stories...

CTHULHU MEETS FLOWER POWER in this weird, wild, trippy, far-out, cosmic, and horrific anthology. Summer of Lovecraft - Cosmic Horror in the 1960s , edited by Brian M. Sammons & Glynn Owen Barrass, published by Dark Regions Press . For my part, I consider Short Wave to be one of my most eerie and disturbing tales.

The ebook edition is set to be release in the next few weeks. Summer of Lovecraft  features the following stories and authors:


Night Trippers by Lois H. Gresh
“Operation Alice” by Pete Rawlik
“The Summer of Love” by C.J. Henderson
“Being for the Benefit of Mr. Sullivan” by Lee Clark Zumpe
“Dreamland” by David Dunwoody
“Lost In the Poppy-Fields of Flesh” by Konstantine Paradias
“Five To One” by Edward M. Erdelac
“Keeping the Faith” by Samantha Stone
“Mud Men” by Sean Hoade
“Misconception” by Jamie D. Jenkins
“No Colors Anymore” by Joe L. Murr
“Shimmer and Sway” by Jayaprakash Satyamurthy
“Short Wave” by Stephen Mark Rainey
“The Song that Crystal Sang” by Tom Lynch
“Through a Looking Glass Darkly” by Glynn Owen Barrass and Brian M. Sammons
“The Color from the Deep” by William Meikle
“The Long Fine Flash” by Edward Morris
“Just Another Afternoon in Arkham, Brought to You in Living Color” by Mark McLaughlin and Michael Sheehan, Jr.
“Crystal Blue Persuasion” by Jeffrey Thomas

Initially, Summer of Lovecraft is being released as ebook. The paperback release will follow shortly.

Happy Horrordays! Nightmares in Yellow

Nightmares in Yellow is a new anthology from Oxygen Man Books, edited by Duane Pesice, featuring tales of The King in Yellow, based on the works of John W. Chambers. Proceeds from the book will benefit author and longtime friend Joe Pulver and his wife Katrin, who have both suffered catastrophic health issues in the past couple of years. Joe is well known for his numerous works of fiction and anthologies involving The King in Yellow — a play that drives anyone who reads it mad. My contribution is "Masque of the Queen," which originally appeared in The Court of the Yellow Queen , edited by Glynn Owen Barrass, a couple of years back. Have a look at the table of contents below. As you may see, this is a massive project. It's due in the next few weeks, possibly by Christmas.

Nightmares in Yellow, edited by Duane Pesice
"Introductions — Four-Part Harmony"
John Linwood Grant
Edward Morris
Duane Pesice
Jeffrey Thomas

Mark McLaughlin & Michael Sheehan, Jr. — "The Gateway to Carcosa"
David Barker — "Chamber of Shards"
Joseph Bouthiette Jr. — "Oedipus at Carcosa"
Don Webb — "The Fourth Man"
Kenneth W. Cain — "An Unfortunate Night at the Oakwood Theater"
Mike Davis — "Tales of the King in Yellow"
Edward Morris and Joe Pulver — "The Resplendent Troswoman Below"
Mike Griffin — "No Mask to Conceal Her Voice"
David Hoenig — "Last Dance for the Ancient Gods"
Erica Ruppert — "The Traveller"
Donald Armfield — "BEing"
Scott Thomas — "The Sea Might Yet Be Weeping"
DJ Tyrer — "Beautiful Dreams"
Richard Writhen — "What You Wish For"
Peter Rawlik — "The Imperial Dynasty of America"
John Claude Smith — "The Yellow Hour"
Sean M. Thompson — "Songs of EyEs"
Sarah Walker — "The Keening of a Yellow Star"
Maxwell Ian Gold — "naigoth.carcosa.exe"
David Hoenig — "Of Kings, Queens, and Knaves"
Ashley Dioses — "Even Madness Cannot Hide"
Frank Coffman — "Warnings to the Curious"
David B. Busboom — "From the Dusty Mesa"
Shayne Keen — "Yellow Work"
Bruce Boston — "Exiled to Hastur"
Renee Mulhare — "Paper Masks"
Eduardo Peret — "The Next Emperor"
Curtis M. Lawson — "Pinocchio and the Black Pantheon"
Douglas Draa — "Neighbors Good and Fair"
John Paul Fitch — "Faces"
Ross E. Lockhart — "Shrubberies"
Rebecca J. Allred — "Lambda 580"
Can Wiggins — "The Queen in Yellow"
KA Opperman — "Cassilda Dons the Pallid Mask"
Stephen Mark Rainey — "Masque of the Queen"
Bruce Boston — "Exiled to Hastur"
Andrew Reichart — "A Sign of Pure Gold"
Kaaron Warren — "The Naked Man"
Michael Wehunt — "numbers of the bEast"
Jeffrey Thomas — "The Seed"
DJ Tyrer — "Beautiful Dreams"
Duane Pesice — "Sunshine and Scarlet"
Drew Nicks — "Opening Night"
David Hoenig — "Last Dance for the Ancient Gods"
Scott Couturier — "We Are the Sacrifice"
John Linwood Grant — "Mr Bubbles and the Jaundiced Stranger"
Frank Coffman — "Audience With the Last King"
Manuel Paul Arenas — "The Yellow Tale"
Matthew R. Davis — "IL Re Giallo"
Adam Bolivar — "The Door to Nod"
Donald Armfield — "End is Nigh"
Edward Morris — "Beast: A Fable For Children"

Cover art by Derek Pegritz. Cover design by Dan Sauer.

Visit Nightmares in Yellow on Facebook here .