Free Cthulhu Lives!: An Eldritch Tribute to H. P. Lovecraft by Greg Stolze, Tim Dedopulos, John Reppion, Lynne Hardy, Gabor Csigas, Gethin A. Lynes Page A

late in the war, to complete what they’d started in 1940 – a disturbance had occurred in his street. A woman had become hysterical, telling anyone who would listen that a ghastly apparition had manifested itself and carried off her lodger. The reporter, in a condescending tone, had ridiculed her tale. However, he did deign to speculate that the Germans might be experimenting with an abhorrent new type of bomb. Perhaps something which released some form of phosphorescent vapour that might be imaginatively interpreted by the highly-strung.
    No particular importance was attached to the disappearance of the lodger, who was described as an itinerant. The report noted that no structural damage was evident where the new bomb had supposedly fallen. This, it went on to say, was in keeping with the street’s reputation as a lucky one. During the Blitz proper of 1940, bombs had fallen north, south, east and west of it, leaving it an untroubled oasis of calm.
    James filed this piece of information away, and searched further. Nothing interesting. He tried a different tack, and found an article on place names. As he’d expected, Hobstone was presumed to have originally been Hob’s Town, but since the name predated any evidence of a settlement on the site, it was reckoned a mystery. So far, so laconic. There was a cross-reference to a piece of old folklore, though – a haunted forest. A young maiden had rashly wandered inside for a tryst with her beau, only to emerge alone and witless, babbling about “Phantoms from the Rock”. The source for this almost-forgotten tale, apparently, was Celtic.
    Clues. Bits of a jigsaw. But if you put them together just so...
    “Finish up son, we close in ten minutes.”
    James gave a start. It was one of the assistant librarians. He hadn’t heard the man approach. Walking quietly in a library became a habit, apparently. Despite students’ preferred hours, the library still shut resolutely at ten. Blimey. He’d been there twelve hours, and had missed an important lecture.
    He gathered himself together and left the library. What else had he missed? He looked at his phone, which had been on silent since he’d first sat down. Four missed calls, one from his mother, three from Mel. Six texts – Ralph, Ralph, Mick from the chess club, his younger brother, Mel, Angus. He opened the last. “Got it. Dinna forget the tequila.” Christ, the man even texted in a Scottish accent. He made a detour to the Asian supermarket popular for selling the cheapest booze. Then he called Mel.
    “Hi. Yeah, sorry, I was in the library... Looking stuff up of course, what do you think?... No... no... Ah, I’m really sorry, I can’t. I’m totally knackered... Yeah, of course I’ll call you tomorrow... Yes, really... Yeah... Bye.”
    He hung up, aware that the call hadn’t gone as well as it might have. He walked to the tube station, and made his way back to his digs.
    Alone with the stone, James sat and stared and wondered. It seemed that the stone was older than the house, which had been built around it. But how much older? Had it really been around in the fifteenth century? If so, did the Celtic legend suggest that it was older still? A thousand years old? Two thousand? Ten thousand? It had clearly been cut and shaped by the hand of man – or, at least, by an intelligent entity – but how and why had it remained so fresh and sharp through the centuries? And what caused it to glow?
    He drew his curtains and turned out the light. The glow was still there, as before. Faint, bluish, mesmerising. Once again he got the feeling that the stone was somehow aware of him, and was returning his gaze. He got up and moved experimentally round the room. The glow followed him, or seemed to. He forced a laugh. It was just an illusion, like those paintings whose eyes followed you round the gallery.
    Nevertheless, it was unnerving. He turned the light back on and willed himself not to look at the stone. He tried shutting his