In the darkness, Kerouac dreamed of cultists and the dread ovipositor of Lovecraft pushed into his ear, punching eggs softly into the fat membrane in his skull.
Years later, these dream children wormed forth through time into the deep voids of Nick Mamatas’s heart, wrapping their slimy tentacles around his ribs and working his arms. He made this.
It’s a book that tells of an america turning sick after the events of “On the Road” and the grim dreams of Lovecraft rotting it hollow. But it isn’t really much about Lovecraft, is it? The adventure is about the changes of the later years after adventure has dried up and withered.
It ends less than 200 pages later, in the only way it could and it is a warm, shining, genius masterwork. If he continues to produce work like this we will have to kill him so the other writers have something to do.
I bought it because it was beautiful and because it was horrible. Some people want a house out of Home and Garden, I like a bit more of Haunted Mansion.
At night, when you sleep, it eats anything you’ve left on it and grows more tentacles. First a stack of mail and my penny jar disappeared, later I was searching for my black vase full of black roses. When I was looking for my car keys I noticed the nubs sprouting from the previously smooth underside.
The stray cats disappeared from the shopping market. The trees emptied of birdsong. The table became too long for the hall I had put it in, so I moved it to the foyer where there was a bit more room. I had to buy an area rug to cover the deep gouges it made in the floor as it paced at night. No matter, it looks great. I wouldn’t be selling this awesome table, but my fiance insists. It has learned to climb stairs.
I never should have shown her the scratch marks on the bedroom door upstairs. Now she won’t sleep over.
For sale to good goth owner, $666 or O.B.O.