In two weeks, the stars will be right for issue #21!  Here’s a sneak preview.

Beneath the Pier, by Stephen Mark Rainey: There. Something was stirring at the farthest reaches of the pier. Black emerging from black, shadow separating from shadow, it moved, crablike, out of the abyss and into their three-dimensional world, its hellish contours standing out against the swirling white foam at the base of the pylons…

An Eidolon of Filth, by W.H. Pugmire: “I hear – that which pulses between the stars – and beyond them.  I hear…”  And then his voice contorted, and he began to gag unwholesome sound.  It might have been a language, but if so it was like none I have ever encountered.  As he vomited the alien tongue, I sensed the lunar light dim above us.  Looking upward, I saw that the sky had now indeed grown black, and within it churned a movement composed of points of eerie light.  A bank of darkness began to descend…

A (~BIG~) Fishy Menu, by Joseph S. Pulver, Sr.: Carcosa. Balcony above the cloudwaves and the soundless beach. Two chairs. Table with a chessboard. Nyarlathotep [in his tall, swarthy-pharaoh, Mr. Phoenix manifestation] standing, and the King in Yellow, sitting, ready for their weekly chess game.  Everywhere: {a certain} greyness.  The cathedral deathbirds in the tower have been silent…

Dom and Gio’s Barber Shop, by Gerry Huntman: Melbourne’s modern high-rises and glossy shop frontages can’t altogether block the view of Victorian-era buildings. They were secreted deep within the city blocks, gloomily greyed and blackened by decades of city grime. They loomed on unsuspecting pedestrians wandering into the numerous one-way streets and lanes. The narrow avenues that weren’t taken over by the outdoor cafes and covered annexes were strangely anachronistic, dark and forbidding. The kind of places where, even during the day, if there was no soul in sight, a visitor would sense from all directions, a low-level, yet tangible, malignance and threat…

The Stranger’s Trail, by Tom Lynch: The fire was burning low, and the stars were blazing in the sky. After a few minutes, he sat down, still looking up at the stars. He quickly realized what was bothering him. He couldn’t find the North Star. The big dipper was nowhere to be seen. None of the constellations were right. He looked back down a the fire and took a few long, slow breaths, and checked again. They were still wrong…

Dunwich Redux, by Tim Scott: Before Peter had moved to Dunwich, he had always enjoyed stargazing. Somehow, though, the stars as seen from Dunwich terrified him, causing paroxysms of loathing. He felt every inch of the distance between the stars and himself. Too, it seemed that something gazed at Peter from between the stars, something more ancient than the Milky Way Galaxy, something completely inimical to man…

Lovecraft eZine is off to a great start in 2013!