Cthulhurotica Read online

  CTHULHUROTICA

  Revised Edition

  Edited by Carrie Cuinn

  Cthulhurotica © 2010, 2011 Dagan Books

  Stories copyright © 2010, 2011 by the authors.

  Artwork copyright © 2010, 2011 by the artists.

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-0-98313-730-6

  Printed in the United States.

  Electronic edition typeset in Garamond.

  Cover illustration by Oliver Wetter.

  Design and layout by Carrie Cuinn.

  Electronic edition layout by Mark S. Deniz

  Dagan Books

  http://daganbooks.com

  Logo by Fiona Lynn Zimmer

  This revised edition corrects a few small errors and introduces new art, including several original pieces by Galen Dara.

  For Howard

  CONTENTS

  ASTROPHOBOS BY H.P. LOVECRAFT

  INTRODUCTION BY CARRIE CUINN

  DESCENT OF THE WAYWARD SISTER BY GABRIELLE HARBOWY

  THE C-WORD BY DON PIZARRO

  INFERNAL ATTRACTORS BY CODY GOODFELLOW

  DADDY’S GIRL BY MADISON WOODS

  VICTIM OF VICTIMS BY ANONYMOUS

  THE CRY IN THE DARKNESS BY RICHARD BARON

  RIEMANNIAN DREAMS BY JUAN MIGUEL MARIN

  TURNING ON, TUNING IN, AND DROPPING OUT AT THE MOUNTAINS OF MADNESS BY AHIMSA KERP

  SONG OF THE CATHERINE CLARK BY MARIA MITCHELL

  BETWEEN A ROCK AND AN ELDER GODDESS BY MAE EMPSON

  THE FISHWIVES OF SEAN BROLLY BY NATHAN CROWDER

  FLASH FRAME BY SILVIA MORENO-GARCIA

  TRANSFIGURED NIGHT BY K.V. TAYLOR

  THE LAKE AT ROOPKUND BY ANDREW SCEARCE

  IPSA SCIENTIA BY CONSTELLA ESPJ

  AMID DISQUIETING DREAMS BY LEON J. WEST

  THE DREAMLANDS OF MARS BY TRAVIS KING

  THE ASSISTANT FROM INNSMOUTH BY STEVEN J. SCEARCE

  THE SUMMONED BY CLINT COLLINS

  SENSE BY MATTHEW MAROVICH

  OPTIONAL ON THE BEACH AT THE FESTIVAL OF SHUG NIGGURATH BY GARY MARK BERNSTEIN

  LE CIÉL OUVERT BY KIRSTEN BROWN

  ASTROPHOBOS, CONCLUSION BY H.P. LOVECRAFT

  ESSAYS

  CTHULHU’S POLYMORPHOUS PERVERSITY BY KENNETH HITE

  THE SEXUAL ATTRACTION OF THE LOVECRAFTIAN UNIVERSE BY JENNIFER BROZEK

  CTHULHUROTICA, FEMALE EMPOWERMENT, AND THE NEW WEIRD BY JUSTIN EVERETT, PHD

  ILLUSTRATIONS

  CTHULHUROTICA BY OLIVER WETTER COVER

  GLYPHS BY CARRIE CUINN

  INTO THE DARKNESS BY GALEN DARA

  THE WIDOW'S WALK BY GALEN DARA

  INFERNAL MACHINE BY GALEN DARA

  SHIRLEY'S DEMON LOVER BY GALEN DARA

  WHATELEY FAMILY PORTRAIT BY KIRSTEN BROWN

  WANDERING BRIDE BY GALEN DARA

  LOVECRAFTIAN LOVE BY GALEN DARA

  DEEP ONES BY GALEN DARA

  WOMAN, YELLOW BY GALEN DARA

  LOVE FROM THE BLACK LAGOON BY GALEN DARA

  YOUR FISHEATER BY STEPHEN STANLEY

  THE WHATELEY ESTATE BY GALEN DARA

  ANNA BY GALEN DARA

  THE BOX BY GALEN DARA

  THE BRIDES OF TINDALOS BY KIRSTEN BROWN

  GREAT RIFT BY GALEN DARA

  PLUS ADDITIONAL INTERIOR IMAGES BY CARRIE CUINN

  ASTROPHOBOS

  By H. P. Lovecraft

  In the midnight heavens burning

  Thro’ ethereal deeps afar,

  Once I watch’d with restless yearning

  An alluring, aureate star;

  Ev’ry eye aloft returning,

  Gleaming nigh the Arctic car.

  Mystic waves of beauty blended

  With the gorgeous golden rays;

  Phantasies of bliss descended

  In a myrrh’d Elysian haze;

  And in lyre-born chords extended

  Harmonies of Lydian lays.

  There (thought I) lies scenes of pleasure,

  Where the free and blessed dwell,

  And each moment bears a treasure

  Freighted with a lotus-spell,

  And there floats a liquid measure

  From the lute of Israfel.

  There (I told myself) were shining

  Worlds of happiness unknown,

  Peace and Innocence entwining

  By the Crowned Virtue’s throne;

  Men of light, their thoughts refining

  Purer, fairer, than our own…

  INTRODUCTION

  By Carrie Cuinn

  The book that you are holding in your hands started out, as so many others have, in a half-serious conversation about the future of Weird Erotica. Well, maybe not all books start by fetishizing zombies or Halloween nightmares, but many of them do find their genesis in the ideas sprouted from a group of writers indulging in a little humorous word play. Eventually one of those creative people takes a thought a little more seriously than it was intended, and a misplaced word becomes an idea — which becomes a book. Cthulhurotica was born from the same fires; when the topic of Lovecraftian erotica came up, I was immediately struck with the sense that I knew exactly what I wanted to do with the concept.

  Explaining the ideas behind this book starts with acknowledging that I love Howard Phillips Lovecraft’s writing. I’ve read every one of his stories that I could find, I have collections by a couple of different publishers sitting on my bookshelf, and have gotten through a decent-sized chunk of his poetry. I have watched documentaries about his life and B-movies based on his work and have played quite a lot of Munchkin Cthulhu and Call of Cthulhu and a few other games with Lovecraftian themes. I’ve delved into the writings of his contemporaries and friends, most notably August Derleth, Robert Bloch and Robert E. Howard, and I’ve read Lord Dunsany’s The Gods of Pegãna and a few of the “King in Yellow” stories. I am not an expert but it is safe to say that I am a big fan.

  What I mean is, I am a fan of the man’s work, and what it spawned. The man himself? I don’t think we’d be friends. You see, old H.P. had a well-documented disgust, an all-purpose loathing, for anyone he considered less than himself, and nearly everyone who wasn’t a white male from New England appears to be on that list. Women, people of color, homosexuals, religious people, and immigrants all inspired a variety of colorful epithets. He expressed his feelings in vividly disgusting terms, and invoked archaic insults should one of these lesser creatures happen to appear in a Lovecraftian story – or in one of his many personal letters. Much ink has been spilled on the discussion of his obvious racial fears and possible sexual ones. It has been argued simultaneously that Lovecraft was an innocent product of his time or that he was a nasty, hate-filled man. Evidence seems to support the latter, at least for Lovecraft’s early life. Why, then, do so many people admire him?

  He was a brilliant writer, and a prolific one, penning fiction, poetry, and approximately two hundred personal letters to fellow writers. His literary creations are thick with obscure words and creative spellings, dripping with adjectives, and heavily embellished with description. His body of work ranges from the slightly cheesy to the truly terrifying. Whole companies have sprung up because of, and are supported by, the manifold spawn of his mind. The monsters he envisioned are alien, inhuman, and often slimy, both frightening and intriguing readers for the last 90 years. The now-labeled “Lovecraftian Univ
erse”, also called the Arkham Cycle and the Cthulhu Mythos, brought us such memorable fictional locations as Innsmouth and Arkham, Massachusetts, both of which have gone on to appear in popular fiction (Batman’s “Arkham Asylum”, for example) along with the monsters who live there.

  Lovecraft gave us subjects with such potential.

  Enter Cthulhurotica.

  When I read HPL’s works, even when I was swallowed up by everything that he put in, I couldn’t help noticing what he left out. Where was the romance? I asked myself. Or the love? Where were the women investigators? I’d grown up on Nancy Drew books and wondered why there wasn’t a plucky niece rummaging through the dead uncle’s desk drawers, looking for clues to the mysterious circumstances surrounding his death. I looked, but couldn’t find a femme fatale anywhere. Nor could I find a college professor with a handsome live-in “friend” (as it probably would have been described at the time). When the hero sets off to a foreign land, or entertains visitors, where was the not-white but equally educated and interesting contact from another country?

  Where was the secretary with the tight sweater and the heart-shaped ass?

  While Lovecraft implied by omission his disdain for the things I was missing, he never completely ruled them out, instead composing a world where there was much his characters didn’t have access to. I always preferred to think that strong women and loving couples and flirting and passion and a hundred other delightful emotions existed, somewhere, in Lovecraft’s world, and we just didn’t get told that story. Which begs the question: what if these realistic, flesh and blood and sex and sweat characters did meet up with Lovecraft’s? What if the Arkham Cycle took place in a Universe where every human emotion was possible?

  Much has been written about what Lovecraft put into his stories. What we needed was a book that showed off the potential in what he left out.

  The idea grew and spread, multiplying over the Internet until I began to see people mentioning the concept who had no connection to me at all. I also ended up with many more submissions than I could put into the book, allowing me to pick and choose the ones I felt worked the best as part of the evolving collection. The writers whose work appears here crafted stories that immediately struck me as having a core of fear, despair, or curiosity (all Lovecraftian emotions) and each included those otherworldly elements for which the master is so well known. As I selected stories, and began to look at art, the book coalesced into something tangible.

  There are a number of people that I have to thank for helping this idea along into a real book. First and foremost among them are the contributors – the writers and artists who took me seriously long enough to create the works you’ll find here. Even those I rejected, I appreciate, for taking the time to submit something to me at all. Those I accepted have my gratitude, for not only submitting work but for being so damn brilliant at the same time. While I thank each of them, there are some specific things for which I must express my appreciation:

  To Galen Dara, who never shied away from a challenge, who brought all of my tentacled-dreams to life: thank you. Your art made this book something much more than what it would have been without you. You made Mythos erotica lovely. And you came back for more when I asked for help updating the book from the first edition.

  I will always be grateful.

  Thank you to Jennifer Brozek, for suggesting Cody Goodfellow to me (whose story, “Infernal Attractors” is exactly as good as I was hoping it would be) and for writing her own essay, “The Sexual Attraction of the Lovecraftian Universe” which appears at the back of the book. Cody said yes when I asked him to write for me, and was delightful to work with in a way you don’t always expect more established writers to be. Steven J. Scearce initially overwhelmed me with his enthusiasm, but as I got to know him I discovered that his amazing energy is funneled into his writing as well. He turned in a carefully crafted and well-researched piece that includes, I can say, the most Lovecraftian tone in the book.

  Kenneth Hite is a monster of Lovecraft-based lore, and in his short essay “Cthulhu’s Polymorphous Perversity” there is enough raw information to make any reader a near-expect on Lovecraft if they take the time to read everything he references. Kirsten Brown allowed me to use two pieces of her art, and then surprised me by submitting a story of such strength I could do nothing else but use it to end the collection.

  Matthew Marovich wrote the only noir submission I received, and did so in such a way that I can imagine the smell of the gunsmoke and the feel of motel sheets. Silvia Moreno-Garcia retold the King in Yellow story in a modern, gritty fashion, showing us the only obvious choice when faced with cinematic madness. Gabrielle Harbowy begins the collection with a sensuous tale of what happens when a curious sister comes visiting, and a cultist doesn’t buy sturdier locks for his basement. Galen Dara produced three different images for the book, each reflecting a different example of the relationships possible in a place where man and woman and monsters meet.

  Mae Empson gives the world Greek myth for a Mythos universe, and in the process not only added to existing Mythos fiction, but showed us something new. She was also kind enough to go over the completed text for a final round of proofing. Nathan Crowder and Leon J. West both brought the creepy in a way I can’t help but admire, as long as their characters stand very, very far away from me. Dr. Justin Everett, PhD, a professor of writing and Weird fiction scholar, handled my request for an essay with great seriousness, and his writing reflects the love he has for this genre.

  K.V. Taylor, in addition to giving us a story that actually makes being alone on a deserted island both terrifying and sexy, has also been (along with Madison Woods and Travis King) a great cheerleader to the rest of the contributors, and her sharp eye caught a few last-minute typos I’d missed. Travis King also carefully reviewed the advance copy of the text and was able to help me correct some important things that needed correcting, for which I am grateful. A big thank you goes out to Lillian Cohen-Moore, for reading and pointing out flaws in sentence structure and grammar, and to Richard Baron, who accepted over 600 additional words in the process of editing, and handled everything with such grace.

  Don Pizarro gave me a subtly clever look at a man who loved a woman who might be a monster, but isn’t quite one, yet. He also provided hours and hours of support and conversation about theme, layout, and editing. In the process of being a sounding board for the book, he became my friend. He deserves more credit for editing Cthulhurotica than he was willing to accept at the time, but I won't ever forget.

  Between you and me, this is his book too.

  Readers expecting a collection of monster sex stories might, after all, be disappointed. The characters within these pages are all quite human, though they sometimes dally with creatures who are not. This book turned out to be about the kind of people who live in a world where monster sex is possible, and it looks at how that world and those people would have to operate. Of course, it’s still unbelievable sexy, and scary, and creepy, and that’s exactly what I wanted it to be. Cthulhurotica may be a book that HP Lovecraft would never have read, but it began because of him, and exists in spite of him. It is, and always will be, my way of thanking the man for all the words he gave to me over the years.

  For Howard.

  Carrie Cuinn

  DESCENT OF THE WAYWARD SISTER

  BY GABRIELLE HARBOWY

  It was an unfortunate and shameful predicament that led me to seek lodging with my estranged older brother. We were strangers raised by the same parents with more than a decade between us, like serial lodgers with only a house and a pair of kindly if distant landlords in common. I knew nothing of his secrets, nor he of mine.

  His was a stately row house on a venerated downtown block. It was the sort of street along which young businessmen walk with ambitious longing, and ladies make a show of disembarking from their carriages so that other ladies might see them welcomed inside. I came to his doorstep in the evening, in the rain, with the glow of the streetlight forming
a halo behind my bedraggled, dripping hair. My brother was a stern-looking man, but I was accustomed to charming my way into the hearts of stern-looking men. The words spilled past my lips: I confessed to him that a grave misunderstanding with a young gentleman had ruined my station, and that I had nowhere else to go. Upon my repeated apologies, sobbed between solemn assertions that I would not inconvenience him and only needed a safe place for my reputation to convalesce in privacy, he took me in with a nod and a long-suffering sigh.

  At once, he arranged for me the sorts of diversions appropriate for a lady: music lessons, and embroidery, and dancing. It was an unexpected kindness, perhaps evidence of how deeply he had been moved my plea. Or perhaps to keep me occupied while he was away all day, toiling at whatever labor provided him the financial resources for such a well-situated home. He did not discuss his work with me, and I did not ask. When he returned home in the evening, we dined in formal silence at opposite ends of a long, impersonal table. After coffee, he received callers and retreated to his study, leaving me once again on my own.

  I rarely saw him. Still, hints of his secrets soon began to make themselves apparent. The servants – for he had several – were not at sufficient ease with me to treat me as one of their number, as I would have preferred. However, they were unaccustomed to another presence pacing the halls by day, and forgot to guard their tongues. They whispered about him, about the house, about the visitors, about the need to keep a vigilant eye on me to prevent me from wandering where I shouldn’t. There were doors, I learned, that were perpetually locked. To these rooms the house servants were forbidden entry, and strict punishment might befall any well-meaning girl who rearranged his books, or so much as shifted his papers.