The Blight Before Christmas

Horror on the Orient Express proof copy

Lovely news this morning from the Kickstarter update: the proofing PDF of Horror on the Orient Express has been released to all the folks who backed the project at PDF level and above. What a marvelous and frequently creepy Christmas present. After all of our many hours talking, writing, editing and playing this massive new edition it is a real thrill that it is finally in the hands of the people who made it possible: the backers.

What happens next is that we do one last sweep for errant typos with the kind help of 1,274 friends, and then the book goes to the printer in late January 2014. Those of you who didn’t back the PDF will be able to buy a copy from the Chaosium website then. We will include a link here once It Lives. You can believe that we are planning a splendid party when we get our own physical copies.

And now it’s holiday time. Here’s a little festive poem for you all. I originally wrote this for the Chaosium Digest, Volume 9, Issue 4, published for Christmas 1994. Great Cthulhu, that was over 20 years ago. Curiously enough, this was the very same issue where Mark’s scenario Deadwave first appeared. Thanks Shannon Appel, for editing the Digest all those years ago and to multiverse.org for hosting a copy these days.

THE BLIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

‘Twas the night before Christmas at the Crack’d & Crooked Manse,
And I cursed all weak stomachs as I set out the traps.
I had pleaded for strychnine, and pleaded in vain,
For the mice were all stirring as Christmas time came.
My meditations were ruptured by a rap on the door,
Of such force and foreboding I was flung to the floor.
To the front room I hastened; through the curtain I saw,
A caller not human, but a tiny jackdaw!
His beak sharp and wicked; his feathers a’bristle,
And affixed in his beak was a well-sealed epistle!
The door at once opened, and the strange message given,
The black bird took flight ‘cross the moon’s gibbous ribbon.
I called out a cheer, as he gave one last caw,
For what did I hear but a faint, `Nevermore’!
I read the crabbed Latin to my friends’ sleepy faces:
`Fellow searcher after horror haunting strange and far places-,
`College chum, soul-buddy, companion in fright,
`Yours, Wilbur Whateley (Arriving tonight).’
Oh the flurry! The scurry! The things to be done!
My friends made excuses and left at a run.
I searched out my copy of the Necronomicon,
And removed and then hid that damned p. 751.
The dog lay by his kennel with a .44,
And fired off six shots as Wilb stepped through the door.
For yes! there he was, my companion of years,
His face, lean and saturnine, wreathed in fond leers;
A bundle of tentacles wrapped round his waist,
And his byakhee steaming from the black gulfs of space.
Oh the merriment, the riots, the japes and the shouts!
The volley of fire from the back of the house!
We talked of old times and our pals in the brood,
Then raided the kitchen for cephalopod food.
Wilb exclaimed in delight at the small noises off,
`Tis not a mouse but a tiny shoggoth!’
So we piped a weird tune, and lured it into a sack,
(Would make a good present for Y’Golonac).
By then dawn was afoot, and Wilb had to take flight;
His byakhee would melt were it touched by the light.
A handshake, a grin, one more chorus we sang;
And his last words called back as the winged horror sprang:
`The greeting for all seasons, if I’m not mistaken,
Is “Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn.”‘

By Penelope Love, with Mark “Black Gulfs of Space” Morrison.
Apologies to Clement Clarke Moore, H.P. Lovecraft & Edgar Allan Poe.

It’s been a great year for us. We hope it’s been a great year for you! Here’s to more adventures in Worlds Beyond in 2014.