Gearing Up: The 2012 H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival - Los Angeles Just Two Weeks Away, with Discount Pre-Order Tickets Still Available

(Dead But) Dreaming in Pewter:  Cthulhu Pin from Queen Penguin Productions

The dawning day of the 2013 H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival Los Angeles is rapidly approaching, and as the minutes speed up, the fest is coalescing and taking a monstrous shape, building on the last two years, while also morphing and expanding, sprouting new tentacles of interest while keeping the torso strong and dangerous.

Ives and I - both sporting our team pin pictured above, so we're not confused with tourists from Des Moines who have downtown San Pedro on their Bucket List - will be serving as Guest Authors (and unofficial Balcony Hooligans) at the fest, participating in the Saturday "Brunch 'n Fun," where we will be sharing the Mythos writing and artistic stylings of Grau Haus, following the lead of our eight year old daughter in a sort of intra-family round robin.  Unlike years past, when the literary portion of the festival was limited to readings and a discussion panel, festival organizer Aaron Vanek and authorial overlord Cody Goodfellow have decided to nuance the slate, adding in an oral storytelling portion that is refreshingly old school.  Should be a good time (more detail below).

In addition, Ives and I threw our Jazz age lids into the ring as Official Screenplay Judges for HPL-LA '13.  I'm just glad that 11+ years of working as a script doctor/punch up artist/ghost re-writer for various lousy studio and indie screenplays (while unsuccessful shopping my own apparently unsellable scripted turds) is finally paying off.  These poor screenwriters from the world over (from such far-flung, exotic locales as Ireland, France, and New Jersey) must now deal with an embittered ex-script monkey-turned adjudicator bent on destroying dreams.  Those who can't - judge!

This year's crop of submitted scripts, while not showing a field as deep as 2011, has some truly excellent offerings, including one that received a Grau Haus perfect score from both of us.  The contest finalists are:

"The Crawling Chaos" by Nicholas Kubik
"House of Yhargoth" by Faye Hoerauf & Dom Zook
"Call Girl of Cthulhu" by Chris LaMartina & Jimmy George
"This Vehicle Has Been Checked for Sleeping Children" by John Burdeaux

The judges are currently working through these last four competitors, with the winner announced on Saturday night in a ceremony that had better include balloons and confetti (please note that all screenplays submitted after September 1 will be considered for 2013).

As for the films, this year's fest is plating up some of the latest and best independent shorts from around the world, including:

"Doctor Glamour" by Andrew W. Jones
"Seizures" by Nicolas Simonin
"The Music of Jo Hyeja" by Jihyun Park
"Bedtime for Timmy" by Thomas Nicol
"Cultist Co. Starter Pack" by Thomas Nicol
"GAMMA" by Jonathan Gales
"Stay at Home Dad" by Andrew Kasch, John Skipp, and Cody Goodfellow
"George Jones & the Giant Squid" by Vincenzo Perrella, Dan Osborn
"Odokuro" by Aurelio Voltaire
"The Captured Bird" by Jovanka Vuckovic
"Feed A" by Clarke Mayer
"The Artifact" by Jason Voss
"Chompers 3D" (Preview screening) by Jesse Blanchard
"Shine 3D" by Jesse Blanchard
"Space Bugs" by Jesse Blanchard
"In()Between" by José Luis Martínez Díaz
"The Shunned House" by Eric Morgret

Also screening is the full length feature film "The Thing on the Doorstep" by Tom Gliserman

The festival special guest for 2012 is Michael Reaves, a renowned writer known for scripting such series as "Batman: The Animated Series", "Star Trek: The Next Generation" and "The Twilight Zone".  He also co-edited with John Pelan the anthology (that proudly sits on my shelf) Shadows Over Baker Street, which features Sherlock Holmes stories set in the world of Lovecraft.

Mr. Reaves will receive the coveted Howie Award for his contributions to Lovecraft cinema, as he also penned "The Real Ghostbusters" famed episode "The Collect Call of Cathulhu", which is significant in that it's the first time Cthulhu appeared on television.

The still-growing roster of guests includes - but is certainly not limited to - such authors, artists, musicians, and filmmakers as Ives and I, Cody Goodfellow, Denise Dumars, Michael Tice, Bryan Thao Worra, Frank Woodward, Mike Dubisch, Andrew W. Jones, Aurelio Voltaire, David Milano, Diana Levin, Jason Voss, Hello, The Future, Natalie Ewert, Nicholas Simonin, and William (Liam) Thomas Damon.

A fantastic array of vendors will again be lining the corridors on both levels of the Warner Grand, catering to your every Lovecraftian, Weirdling, and Goth/Fez/Workworm/Fantasy Art shopping urge, including:

SighCo
Arkham Bazaar
Fez-o-Rama
Badali Jewelry Specialties
The H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society
Upon a Midnight
Diana Levin Art
Perilous Press
Mike Dubisch Art

Visitors can and are encouraged to stay at the Crowne Plaza Hotel (three blocks from the Warner Grand in the historic district of San Pedro) at a discount. Use code HPL when booking online (discount only good until 8/28).  Booking a room is wise, as things get a bit nutty as the night progresses.  Selling beer and wine with popcorn and Jujyfruits at the concession stand is such beautiful thing.
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Friday, September 28

Pre-festival dinner at the Whale & Ale on Friday, from 5pm to 7pm, before the theater opens.  The menu for this specially priced dinner (only available to festival attendees) is as such:

Our famous Whale & Ale salad of mixed baby lettuces, sliced mushrooms, crumbled blue cheese,
chopped walnuts & creamy peppercorn dressing.  Irish Soda bread & sweet butter, then Penne Toscana: a house favorite: penne pasta sautéed with fresh tomato, leaf basil, chopped garlic, light marinara sauce (vegetarian), or English Fish & Chips; Icelandic cod filet deep fried in our own Bass ale beer batter, with English Chips; on the side:  lemon wedge, tartar sauce, malt vinegar & tomato ketchup, or Farmhouse Steak & Mushroom pie: diced filet mignon, simmered with quartered button mushrooms in a rich beef demi glace, topped with mashed potatoes and browned in the oven; fresh steamed vegetables, then English Sherry Trifle: traditional English sponge cake soaked in sweet sherry layered with strawberries, custard & whipped cream

Menu as above: $21 per person, inclusive of tax at 8.75%, or guests can pick any two courses for $17 per person, including tax.

This pricing and menu is available only to HP Lovecraft Festivalgoers, and is not available to the general public.

The theater schedule is as follows:

7pm-7:30 - Shopping, Mingling, Not Correlating One's Contents
7:30 - 7:40  Official Intro, Raffle
7:40-9:10  "The Thing on the Doorstep"
9:100-9:25  Break, Raffle
9:25 - 9:55   Macabre Fantasy  "Statement of Randolph Carter" (radio drama)
9:55 - 10:10  Break, Raffle
10:10 - 11:15  "South Park: The Complete Coon Trilogy"
11:15-11:30  Raffle, Shopping, Carousing
11:30- wee hours - Whale & Ale party (with happy hour specials) and Lovecraft Pub Trivia (hosted by filmmaker Frank Woodward)

Saturday, September 29

Brunch 'n Fun at the Grand Vision Annex, a few doors down from the Warner Grand Theatre.

The brunch menu will consist of eggs, bacon and/or sausage, potatoes, toast, apple or OJ, cold cereal and milk.  Rumors of a cash bar at this event fills one with mimosa wishes and Irish coffee dreams.

Card and video games will be played throughout brunch.  Be prepared for celebratory howls and good natured ribbing.

Noon-12:30 = Filing-in, seating, mastication (food served until 3pm)
12:30 - 1pm = Prayers to Cthulhu (Cody Goodfellow)
1pm - 1:45pm = Hello, The Future (musical performance)
1:45 to 2:30 = Author Readings
2:30 - 3:15 = Panel Discussion, guided by the fitting theme "cosmic horror."
3:15 - 3:40 = Oral Storytelling
3:40 - 4pm = Wind down, head out to theatre

The oral storytelling is a Portland tradition started by Scott Glancy telling "The Dog's Head Story". It involves getting up and telling a true anecdote (you can stretch the truth) about an unusual or spooky occurrence in real life... Something where, because we are into Lovecraft, we look at the real world differently.

Back at the Theater:

4pm - 4:30 = Shopping
4:30 - 4:40 = Raffle, Intro #2
4:40 - 5:25 = "Real Ghostbusters" & "Scooby-Doo"
5:25 - 5:35 = Break/Raffle
5:35 - 7:05 = Shorts Block #1
7:05 - 8:35 = dinner/shopping
8:35 - 8:45 = Howie award to Michael Reaves
8:45 - 10:15 = shorts block #2
10:15 - 10:25 = break
10:25 - 11:00 = raffle, filmmaker & screenwriter awards
11:00 - 11:30 = The Evil Clergyman
11:30 - late = Raffle/After Party at Grand Vision Annex

There will be a cash bar at the after party for the Grand Vision Annex, with complimentary dessert.

SATURDAY SHORTS SHORTS BLOCK #1 (85 minutes)
Bumper - "Five Year Old Niece Explains Cthulhu", "Wasted Land" Trailer
"Space Bugs" - 05:31
"Shine 3D"  - 02:49
"Chompers 3D" 2:30
(3D glasses will be available for these two movies)
"George Jones and Giant Squid" - 14:15
"The Artifact" - 3:49
"Music of Jo Hyeja" - 20:02
"Bedtime for Timmy" - 02:50
"The Captured Bird" - 12:13
"Doctor Glamour" - 19:31


SATURDAY SHORTS BLOCK #2 (87.5 minutes)
Bumper - "Cthulhu for President"
"Cultist Co" -  01:08
"Feed A"  -  10:51
"In Between"  - 14:45
"Gamma"  -  06:47
"Odokuro"  -  06;16
"Seizures"  - 19:16
"Stay at Home Dad"  -  15:00
"Shunned House " - 11:00


Sunday, September 30

"The Lash of St. Francis", a Lovecraft-themed scavenger hunt designed by Roselle Hurley, will run in the San Pedro Historic area.

All participants will meet at 11:30am, at either the theater or the Whale & Ale (most likely the latter).

There, they will receive directions and guidelines on the adventure. The cost is $5 per team, not per person.

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The official trailer for the 2013 H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival Los Angels is now up on Youtube, and posted for your convenience below:



See you down in the bay, Cosmicominauts and wonderful Weirdlings.  This fest should be a cornerstone of your Lovecraftian year, as it is for us.  See you all in two weeks.  Be there, or being boringly square (as opposed to interestingly non-Euclidean).

GET YOUR FRIGGIN' TICKETS HERE!!

(just in case you missed the link in the capture to the photo above, the "Elegant Aged Pewter Cthulhu Pin" from Queen Penguin Production available by clicking this Etsy link)

Cosmic Horror Returns to the Bay of L.A.: Tickets Now Available for the 2012 H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival Los Angeles

Original Festival and Poster Art by Nicholas Collins

September is the Burning Season in Los Angeles.

Rain is a memory. Everything shunned by irrigation and the army of imported gardeners stumbles, dries, and dies. The heat is such that residents are reminded that the marine layer has its limits and we are, indeed, subject to the ravages of an American summer that seems to get hotter every year.

Then the flames come, down from the high country, chewing up hillsides and turning palm tress into 50 foot birthday candles; taking back what we think we own and digesting into the sandy dust that is as old as the stars that birthed it.

Yes indeed, September is the perfect time to run from the city and suburb and head to the ocean, where the air is still clean and the waves still remember our long ago march from the reef. Come September, we'll all gather by the sea, where we'll be safe. Right?

Not exactly...

September in L.A. also means madness filtering down from the incomprehensible void beyond space and time, as the annual H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival Los Angeles turns quiet, quirky downtown San Pedro into a garrison of cosmic horrors our feeble minds are unable to process. Yes, true believers, the festival is back, and bigger than ever. Kicking off September 28th, the HPL FF LA 2012 provides a safe haven for Lovecraftians from far and wide to gather at the edge of the continent to beat hideous drums, watch features and shorts, engage in a Cthulhu Prayer Breakfast, listen to author readings and panel discussions, shop, congregate, debate, Q&A, eat, drink, and be merry - all while wearing a fez.

This is year three of the festival's move south to Los Angeles, and the gala keeps growing. Attendance nearly doubled last year, and is expected to take a huge leap forward again in 2012 (please see reports from festivals of years past here and here).

I will provide more details as we grind towards September's end, but for now, check out the conveniently hyperlinked-up press release below, and purchase your passes now via Brown Paper Tickets before they become scarce.

The Grand ol' Warner:  Deco to Die For - photo by Fez-o-rama's head monger Jason Rodgers

The H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival® - Los Angeles

September 28 and 29, 2012

NOTE: Although this is "Carmageddon II", and the 405 freeway will be closed between the 10 and 101, the 110 and 105 will be open, and the festival will continue. Don't be afraid of the freeways!

The H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival® promotes the works of famed American science fiction and horror author H.P. Lovecraft through motion pictures by both professionals and amateurs, current and classic, national and international. The festival was founded in 1995 by Andrew Migliore in Portland Oregon to promote and encourage film and television adaptations of Lovecraft's great works and other, similar weird tale writers such as Edgar Allan Poe, M.R. James and Robert E. Howard.

This is the third year the HPLFF-LA® has played at the classic art deco Warner Grand Theatre in San Pedro, California.

The HPLFF-LA® is partnered with the Grand Vision Foundation, a nonprofit volunteer-run 501(c)(3) organization.

Grand Vision's mission is to preserve and promote the historic Warner Grand Theatre and foster artistic, cultural and educational activities in the Theatre and the Harbor/South Bay area of Los Angeles.

We are sponsored by the San Pedro Historic Waterfront Business Improvement District (PBID).

Tickets purchased here are cheaper than at the door.

FRIDAY NIGHT SPECIAL EVENTS

5pm to 7pm - Join us for dinner at the nearby Whale & Ale, a Victorian-era themed English pub.

Reservations must be made directly with the Whale & Ale here or on their Facebook page.

The are offering us a special discounted meal (salad, choice of entree, dessert) for fest-goers at $21 per person, tax included or, for $17, choose any two entrees off the menu.

Make your reservations directly with the Whale & Ale for Sept. 28, between 5 and 7pm.

11:15pm to 1am - A post-festival party as the Whale & Ale bring us a happy hour menu and prices: $4 English tap beers, house wines, cocktails & a special Happy Hour food menu.

SATURDAY SPECIAL EVENTS

Noon to 4 pm - Brunch 'n Fun at the nearby Grand Vision Annex. Enjoy a delicious catered breakfast from Happy Diner along with indie Lovecraftian games (card, board, and video), spooky author readings, story time, digital art show and the inimitable Cthulhu Prayer Breakfast led by Cody Goodfellow.

THIS IS A SEPARATELY TICKETED EVENT. PURCHASE TICKETS WITH YOUR FESTIVAL TICKETS.

Admission includes food but not alcoholic drinks. Cash bar for 21+, bring photo ID.

11:30 pm to 2am - Post-fest party at the Grand Vision Annex. Cash bar
Theater Schedule

Friday (September 28) - doors open at 7pm

Macabre Fantasy Radio Theater will present a live audio drama of The Statement of Randolph Carter.

Films announced soon!

Saturday (September 29) - doors open at 4pm

The Real Ghostbusters episode "The Collect Call of Cathulhu" - Written by Michael Reaves and originally aired in 1987, this is the first introduction of Cthulhu to the small screen, and a classic, landmark episode.
The Ghostbusters must track down a stolen copy of the Necronomicon. Many inside references mentioned in the dialogue for the HPL fans.
Winston - "Cathulhu? I heard of him. He's bad, right?"
Egon - "He makes Gozer look like Little Mary Sunshine."

South Park: The Coon Trilogy - uncut and uncensored, the kids take on Great Cthulhu himself after he was summoned from BP drilling on the moon.

Scooby-Doo: Mystery Incorporated: Season 1 episode "The Shrieking Madness" -- Following the break-up of Mystery Inc., the gang decides to move on with their lives by touring a nearby university, but they are forced to delay their plans when the campus is terrorized by a mysterious creature known as Char Gar Gothakon, whose screams can destroy anything in its path. With the voices of Jeffrey Combs as "H.P. Hatecraft" and Harlan Ellison as Himself.

Short Subjects: the latest and best independent shorts from around the world

Doctor Glamour by Andrew W. Jones

more films announced later!

GUESTS

Our special guest for 2012 is Michael Reaves, a writer known for scripting series such as Batman: The Animated Series, Star Trek: The Next Generation and The Twilight Zone. An anthology he co-edited with John Pelan, Shadows Over Baker Street, features Sherlock Holmes stories set in the world of Lovecraft.

Mr. Reaves will receive the Howie Award for his contributions to Lovecraft cinema, penning the classic 1987 episode of The Real Ghostbusters entitled "The Collect Call of Cathulhu", the first time Cthulhu appeared on television.


AUTHORS:
Cody Goodfellow
Denise Dumars
T. E. Grau
Michael Tice
Bryan Thao Worra

VENDORS:
Fez-o-rama
Badali Jewelry Specialties
The H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society
more on the way!

Visitors can stay at the Crowne Plaza Hotel (three blocks from the Warner Grand in the historic district of San Pedro) at a discount. Use code HPL when booking online (discount only good until 8/28).

This festival is presented courtesy of the H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival® and Lurker Films (www.lurkerfilms.com).

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This is one of the few times in Southern California when fans of cosmic horror and the Weird can come together, drink beer and wine from large paper cups in a movie theater, and just soak in two full days of Lovecraftiana. It shouldn't be missed. It CANNOT be missed. Come down to the bay and dream with us squids, won't you?

The Man Under the Hat Behind the L.A. Fest - Aaron Vanek

(TICKETS AVAILABLE HERE)

Story Excerpt: "Free Fireworks", Published in 'Horror for the Holidays', Edited by Scott David Aniolowski for Miskatonic River Press

As we sally forth into the heated months while still lurching from the shadow of Memorial Day - summer's unofficial launch party - we now look forward to the next holiday on the docket, which has always been one of my favorites.  Independence Day.  The 4th of July.  The Night of Lost Fingers.

Hot on the heels of my acceptance into Dead But Dreaming 2 for Miskatonic River Press, renowned editor and writer Scott David Aniolowski put out the call for submissions for MRP's follow up anthology, titled Horror for the Holidays.

I batted around a few ideas like a brainless kitten sparring with a semi-sentient ball of string, until I struck upon a setting in a near future world that reflected much of the horrors that are currently loosed upon this tired planet, while adding in a healthy dose of what could happen if the stars align just right (which, in turn, would be so very wrong).  The result was the story "Free Fireworks," which I am excerpting below.  What I've provided gives nothing away, but also might foster the impression that this is just a war story.  I've set it up to be a bit more than that, but to say anything further would spoil the fun.

Please note that contrary to the understandable misconceptions of some, Horror for the Holidays is NOT just Christmas/Chanukah/Kwanzaa stories, but covers a full raft of those special days created to bring us such comfort and joy, as the ToC shows:

Horror for the Holidays

Table of Contents

Introduction by Scott David Aniolowski

TALES OF ROSH CHODESH

The Tomb of Oscar Wilde by W.H. Pugmire

TALES OF VALENTINE’S DAY

Love and Darkness by Oscar Rios

Be Mine by Brian Sammons

TALES OF PASSOVER

Cthulhu Mhy’os by Lois H. Gresh

TALES OF EASTER

And the Angels Sing by Cody Goodfellow

The Last Communion of Allyn Hill by Pete Rawlik

Mrs. Spriggs’ Easter Attire by Joseph S. Pulver Sr. and Tara VanFlower

Seasons of Sacrifice and Resurrection by Adrian Tchaikovsky

TALES OF MOTHER’S DAY

Mother’s Night by Ann K. Schwader

TALES OF THE FOURTH OF JULY

Free Fireworks by T.E. Grau

Doc Corman’s Haunted Palace One Fourth of July by Don Webb

TALES OF VJ DAY

Translator by James Robert Smith

TALES OF HALLOWEEN

Hallowe’en in a Suburb by H.P. Lovecraft

Moonday by Will Murray

The Trick by Ramsey Campbell

TALES OF THE DAY OF THE DEAD

El Dia De Los Muertos by Kevin Ross

TALES OF GUY FAWKES NIGHT

Treason and Plot by William Meikle

TALES OF REMEMBERANCE DAY

The Dreaming Dead by Joshua Reynolds

TALES OF THANKSGIVING

Entrée by Donald R. Burleson

TALES OF YULE

Keeping Festival by Mollie Burleson

Wassail by Tom Lynch

TALES OF CHRISTMAS

Krampusnacht by Joshua Reynolds

The Christmas Eves of Aunt Elise by Thomas Ligotti

Letters to Santa by Scott David Aniolowski

Keeping Christmas by Michael G. Szymanski

The Nativity of the Avatar by Robert M. Price

There are some BIG names in there, folks.  And it isn't often that you can pick up an anthology that lines up Ligotti with Campbell, Lovecraft with Price, Pugmire with Goodfellow.  This is a rich, deep, varied collection of horror and Mythos tales that truly belongs on the shelf of any full realized Weird Fictionista.

Give the excerpt a read if you're keen, and if you enjoy it just a bit more than a kick in shorts, please pick up the complete version of the story  in Horror for the Holidays, available directly through the Miskatonic River Press mothership, or via the industry-consuming creeps at Amazon.com.

Free Fireworks

by T.E. Grau

(Excerpt)

The sun was setting, finally, and the cicadas took up their song.  The daylight hours of July 4^th seem to last an eternity, adding anticipation to that moment when the night sky first goes from dead to alive, thrilling and frightening in equal measure.

From the rooftop of their apartment building, William took a deep breath, and caught a waft of countryside air, blowing in from the west, pushed on by the sunset.  For a brief moment, he could smell the honeysuckle, flavored with fresh tilled loam of the farm where he grew up, where he used to run through the wooded creek beds and crawl through culverts, playing war.  It was mid summer now, and the crops would have been growing so quickly you could hear the corn stalks creaking and popping in the fields as they thickened and reached up toward the hazy sun.  The beans needed to be walked, and the hogs were fattening in the mud, looking for a low spot in the fence.  The bailers would be out, scooping up the first cutting of fragrant alfalfa drying in the fields, exposing a hidden civilization of earwigs and clicking beetles that gathered under the hot wetness beneath.  William closed his eyes and took another breath, hoping to uncover more memories, but this time only smelled smoke.  A neighbor had just lit up one of those ridiculous cone fountains on the far side of the roof.  Children danced around the guttering sparks like wild Indians; like the heathens we all once were.  Jacob got up from his contemplation of a late-lingering Junebug and joined in.

William frowned.  He had grown to hate the smell of smoke, of burning things, which now filled him with horror when it was such a pleasant experience in his youth.  He hated that he was an expert in smoke, noticing the nuanced differences of chemicals and wood, rubber and flesh.  He hated the things he had done while other things burned.  He missed the smell of burning trash on the farm, when the sharp pungence of combusting plastic was just a Kool Whip container dripping into the coals, when the odor of burning hair and muscle was just the calcine remains of a bird shot squirrel.  

Down below, a muffled hush swept the Square, nudging William from his reverie, as the mournful strains of “Taps” began.  This was the lament of the widows and the heartbroken left behind.  William looked back at the door leading to the roof.  He fetched Jacob and brought him close, listening to the song begat during the Civil War – the first Civil War – but made so common the last few years that it became an Independence Day hymn.  It was written by a youth from the North, who ran away from his family to attend music school in the South.  There, he wrote a simple, mournful tune.  That young man died on the field of battle, fighting for the Confederacy, and the song was discovered in the pocket of the bloodied corpse by his shocked father, who was an officer in the Union Army.  The officer asked his superiors if the Union band could play it for his dead son.  They refused his request, as they’d be damned if their band would play a tribute to the enemy.  He pleaded, and was finally offered a single bugle.  The grieving father gave the song to the bugler, who played the funeral dirge to the lone body who had written it.  “Taps.”

William looked down at Jacob, who was watching the veterans’ parade with right hand raised to brow in a stiff salute practiced for so many hours in front of the mirror.  His grandfather, who fought, killed, and died a little in the haunted jungles of Vietnam, would have been proud.  William smiled sadly, wishing that Jacob would run away to music school, to leave this city and this war and this grim and uncertain future behind, but Jacob would have nowhere to run.  Music schools were the stuff of fairy tales these days.  Music was the drum beat of battle and schools were now campuses of war.

            The battalion band took over, playing John Phillips Sousa as the parade proceeded through the Square.  A shout went up, and grew.  Men saluted.  Women threw flowers and blew kisses.  Children watched with wide eyes.  It was a celebration of those who survived and sacrificed so much to keep this country free. 

As the sun dipped below the horizon, bathing the world in that sweet hue of magic hour blue, the first volley of organized fireworks launched into the air, exploding in bellowing showers of multicolored sparks taking on fantastical shapes… Flowers, sunbursts, fiery spirals like the flash of galaxies.  Jacob jumped up and down, clapping his hands and trying to whistle through his fingers like his father taught him.  Somewhere in their apartment, William could almost hear the dissonant sax music rising in volume.  Abigail needed to be up here, but she just couldn’t.  William understood that, as best he could. 

            The fireworks continued, unleashing burning glory in the sky.  Brief, fiery sketches thrilled the crowd.  The Square cheered each glimmering salvo.  Bellowed like Vikings.  People were drunk now, forgetting their fear in the haze of liquid hope.  William watched the burning patterns branding the darkness reflected in Jacob’s eyes.  He picked up his son, so he could get a better look.  

William heard a sound behind him, and turned.  Abigail stood in the roof access doorway, holding a lit sparkler in her hand, a tired, bleary smile on her face.  He set Jacob down and went to her; took her pale face in his hands and kissed her deeply, like they used to kiss when every second mattered before the porch light came on.  He looked into her bloodshot eyes, and pressed his forehead against hers.  “Thank you,” he said.  Her soft hand against his face told him everything he needed to know.  She held up the sparkler as it fizzled to a red, glowing stick, then frowned, pouting like a little girl.  William laughed and kissed her again, sometimes feeling as much her father as her husband.  He took her by the hand and walked her to the edge of the building to their son.  Jacob’s eyes lit up, but he said nothing as he hugged her tight around the waist.  William put an arm around his wife, and brought his son in close between them.  For the first time in a long time, it all felt right.  The way it was supposed to be.  The way it once was.  The All-American family, enjoying the 4^th of July under a dying sunset, with fire in the sky and without a thought for tomorrow.

Just then, a boom much lower and louder than the others shook the cobblestones.  The parade stopped abruptly, the band’s trumpeter trailing off like a deflating balloon.  Fireworks continued to fly, as the fuses were already lit, but no one was watching anymore. Murmuring silence choked the Square.  Abigail looked at William, whose face told her everything she needed to know.  Another muffled blast sounded, and another.  Triangulation.  The citywide PA system croaked to life.  Orders chattered into the night.  Sirens wailed.  Abigail fell to her knees and wept.  William looked down at her, as if it was happening in slow motion. 

A plume of black smoke billowed up from the Old City marketplace, four blocks over from the Square.  The throaty belch of a heavy machine gun fire chewed through the din.  Screams littered the Square, as the crowd scattered, grouped, rallied. 

God damn them…  On our holiday.  Just like last time.

Jacob looked down for Abigail, but she was gone.  His stomach turned.  He didn’t want to gear up and head out like this.  William took a deep breath and turned to the roof door.  A hand stopped him.  It was Abigail, holding Jacob in front of her.  She blinked away tears and smiled, laughing in spite of herself.  He walked to her and she kissed him, whispering into his ear.  William smiled, gripping the small of her back, re-etching the familiar curve into his memory.  He then hugged Jacob and looked into his son’s eyes.  William wanted to say that he loved him, but he did it so rarely, that he was worried that the boy would take it as a final goodbye.  So he just nodded.  Jacob nodded back.

And then, only two stood on the rooftop, and William was gone.  White smoke drifted over the Square.  Black smoke rose beyond.  Abigail closed her eyes. 

***

William strode quickly onto the street, wearing starchy fatigues, a modified M-240 in his hand and a heavy pack slung over his shoulder.  He blinked a few times, trying to orient himself to the frantic commotion of the Square after dressing in the silent apartment.  All around him, fellow soldiers, male and female, young and old, kissed their loved ones goodbye, while others emerged grim faced from apartment blocks still littered with bottles and trappings of the party that hid them from the outside world just hours before.  A banner of red, white and blue dangled limply from the awning of a shuttered storefront.  Under it, an old man leaned on a cane and looked up for the stars of his youth.  He didn’t move, only stared.  William looked up at the roof, where he knew Abigail and Jacob were watching, and waved.

Another explosion two neighborhoods over shook the ground and shot red-gutted smoke into the sky.  Infiltrators.  Spies gone active.  Peace had made security soft.  Made all of them soft, William thought, adjusting the tight Kevlar vest under his jacket that always fit him so loosely before.  He was adding inches, while the city was giving them away.  Give them an inch, they’ll blow up a mile.  Gunfire ripped into the night, sending everyone but the soldiers scurrying for doorways.  The man under the striped banner was gone.

William jammed a receiver into his ear and a walkie talkie to his mouth, as he jogged toward the outer wall ringing Old City, receiving intel and barking orders.  He had to man his post. 

***

The walkway cresting the wall was crowded with crouching troopers, weapons bristling outward like deadly whiskers, just like the days of castles and keeps that thrilled William’s childhood.  A teenage private, still a bit woozy after fear burned off most of his drunk, lit up a cigarette.  William shot a glare in his direction.  The kid blanched and quickly stamped out the smoke under heavy boot tread.  William shook his head.  A glowing cherry earned you a sniper’s bullet exiting the back of your mouth.  Some of these guys need more training, more time.  There was never enough time anymore.

William returned his gaze down his scope, scanning the frustrating darkness below.  He knew they were out there.  Knew they were watching, praying to the empty sky.  He could smell them.  Smell their smoke.  Exhaust, campfires, dank Turkish cigarettes… What were they waiting for? 

It had been hours since the last of the suicide attacks rattled the city and dawn was on the creep.  Insurgent recon was lacking, as they leveled a recently emptied ammo dump and part of the Old City prison, freeing two spies awaiting trial just long enough for proper justice to be rendered with the gavel fall of hollow points.  Their slapdash Trojan horse failed to open up the enemy from the inside.  Terrorists didn’t win many battles.  They just wore you down until you gave up and lowered your head.  But tonight, there would be no ‘wearing down’.  This would be to the death, and whatever waited beyond. 

William’s earpiece crackled to life.  Air support was on its way, but they were coming in from the nearest base in the Rockies, a good thousand miles away.  William tested the breeze, hoping to find a westerly tailwind.  Nothing.  Everything was still.  Quiet, within and without.  The holiday was over.  The Air Force would be late.

He looked up to the queer stars arranged in new constellations that knew not nor cared not what was happening below.  He didn’t think he’d ever get used to them, even after all he’d seen.  A shooting star carved through a patch of grayish black with a dim trail of stratospheric sparks.  Free fireworks. 

A commotion went up from the troops manning the west section of the wall.  Dots of light appeared on the hilltop about a mile outside Old City, on the grounds of what used to be a high school.  William looked through his scope as the sun groaned through the pre-dawn, dimly lightening the sky and giving the first glimpse of what was waiting in the dark.  

Short Story Review: "Transmission" from 'Dead But Dreaming 2' Gets a Horror World Hug

This is going to be a quickie, as I slowly reconstitute myself after being blended into a fine, worthless paste this last week by the rigors of the rat race combined with a nasty microbial assault, but I wanted to give a shout to Horror World - "Horror's #1 community on the web" - for the kind words printed about "Transmission" in their review of Dead But Dreaming 2, published just today on their hugely popular site by horror critic and author Dave Simms.

I get a mention as a standout, along with fellow scribes Cody Goodfellow, Brian Sammons, Rick Hautala, Darrell Schweitzer, and the Mayor of Lovecraftiana W.H. Pugmire.  Esteemed company, to say the least, and proof that my ever-expanding pool of critic bribery is paying off in spades.

I'd paste up a pull quote (as much to add space to a relatively tiny post as to peacock around a little bit in my own living room), but the admonishing tone at the bottom of the page scared the hell out of me.  Please click on through to the review and read for yourself, as clicks do everyone good.

As I've noted in the past, I'm overjoyed by the reaction "Transmission" has generated, from casual readers, to critics, to colleagues, to scholars.  It was my first finished piece of Lovecraftian fiction - and really, my first ever completed short story written for submission - so the fact that it has been enjoyed and well received makes me feel lucky and blessed beyond compare.  It helped launch me onto the path where I now teeter, and for that, I'll always been thankful for MRP kingpin Tom Lynch and International Man of Mystery (and Call of Cthulhu legend) Kevin Ross for taking a chance on some overly excited dickweed panting into his shoes in Los Angeles.

Dead But Dreaming 2 can be ordered through Amazon for the sissies, or through the Miskatonic River Press mothership website for the true lads and lasses composed of fine essential salts and strong moral fiber (or, indeed, "fibre" for my friends in Canada, the UK, and other places around the globe still struggling with proper spelling).

Coming Soon to The Cosmicomicon:  A prance down my bloodstream, and a review of Simon Strantza's Nightingale Songs.

Squid Amongst the Goggles: EOD Archbishop Cody Goodfellow Rings in the Last Year on Earth at The Queen Mary Cthulhu Prayer Breakfast

This past Sunday, whilst the majority of bipedal inhabitants of the western hemisphere were flocking to places of worship (churches, revival tents, sports bars, sports bras, shopping malls, etc.), so too were the devoted adherents of the West Coast Chapter (SoCal Lodge) of the Esoteric Order of Dagon, who undertook an open-air rite known in the common tongue as the "Cthulhu Prayer Breakfast" at last weekend's Her Royal Majesty's Steampunk Symposium, held in the Royal Salon amid the haunted timbers of The Queen Mary passenger liner, which is lashed - dead but dreaming - to the splintering edge of this bloody New World in Long Beach, California.

EOD Archbishop Cody Goodfellow - a rapidly rising figure in the Order (groomed by legendary unholy man Cardinal Robert M. Price) who hawks his celebrated Lovecraftian, Bizarro and speculative fiction as a way to afford dazzling religious frocks and ever-climbing headpieces for his far-too-infrequent public ceremonies - oversaw the Prayer Breakfast, giving his sermon, providing church news, and then the benediction, supported by the Amorphous Tabernacle Choir, of which I was a member.  I was luckily able to hide my lack of pitch and stage terror behind a green, hardened leather Cthulhu mask and writhing foam tentacle (which served as one half of the eye popping "special effects" for a slightly rejiggered rendition of John Lennon's "Imagine"). 

After a hymn or two (accompanied by John "Froggy" Skipp on keys), Archbishop Goodfellow threw off his outer cloak like an Innsmouthian James Brown, adjusted his tentacular collar, and scooped up 75-80 extravagantly adorned Steampunkers into his scaly palm like so many brass and lace Skittles.  Once in his grip, it took only a matter of seconds before the puppet master had them chortling into their murky, reconstituted "eggs" and shape-shifting hash browns, delighting young, old, and otherwise over the course of the 2 hour brunch, as he mixed in enough winks to Steampunkery into the sublimely Lovecraftian sermon on tolerance that many a corseted and goggle-chapeau'd attendee shouted out "Ia!" to punctuate a particularly salient - or oftentimes hilarious - point made in the oration.  In short, he seemed to make believers of them all.  At least for brunch last Sunday.  But, that's a start...

Pictures are still trickling in, having a tough time passing electronic customs under the old Bush-era "heresy laws."  For those needing a rare still shot to soak up all the masked goodness of my sweet moves, check out me handling my tentacle like a seasoned pro in this pic posted by Brian Bubonic on Flickr.

Whispers amongst the damp and legend-haunted halls of the EOD's SoCal Lodge tell of a planned second Cthulhu Prayer Breakfast in 2012, held at the third annual H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival - Los Angeles this September.  Details are still coagulating, but if I was a betting man, I'd go "all in" on this going down nine months hence in San Pedro.  There's something about that chewed up coastline of California, and its proximity to the South Pacific, that calls out for prayer.... and breakfast.  I'm trusting the provender will be better - and far more recognizable - next time around, while the sermon and the message will maintain the brilliance that only the good Archbishop can summon from deep inside the mystical confines of his iPhone.

Mark you calendars, prep your knees for bending, and join us on the edge of the infinite this fall.

EOD High Cardinal Robert M. Price