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“Author Archive”
Stories written by M. Christian

Welcome to Weirdsville: They Who Lurk Below by M. Christian

Be cautioned: this month’s expedition into the odd and the unusual has a certain … well, shall we say Miskatonic atmosphere– a shuffling, looming presence that waits just on the edge of our safe domain to ravish our bodies as well as our very souls.

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Welcome to Weirdsville: Holey Fools by M. Christian

I can understand it … a bit. The same way you can look at the strangest, the most twisted aspects of human nature and often squeeze yourself into it — at least enough to get a passing glance at empathy. Blood sports? Sure, a powerful ritual of personal sacrifice, playing on the edge. Cults (i.e. religious mania)? I can see that, the sense of absolute belonging, of being certain in an uncertain world. Eccentrism? Okay, wouldn’t it be delightful to be so into your own brilliant mental landscape that a lot of ridiculous self-consciousness just gets put aside.

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Welcome to Weirdsville: Green Jaws by M. Christian

It’s coming. If you close your eyes you can hear it: a soft skittering, hovering at the edge of awareness. The sound of rustling leaves, of gravel, of soil being inexorably pushed aside. The crackling of lumber being crushed; the sharp chimes of metal being deforming by a steady, unstoppable force.

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Welcome to Weirdsville: Hellfire! by M. Christian

History has not been kind to them. If you can even find references to their Brotherhood it’s usually shaded with Christian hysteria, whispered tales loaded with the usual Catholic shockers of Satanism, sacrifice, the black mass, rituals — you name it. They say that the winners write the history books — well, I consider it a bad sign that it takes a lot of digging to uncover the truth: while they haven’t won they certainly have a good enough foothold to pretty badly taint the memory of the Amorous Knights of Wycombe.

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Welcome to Weirdsville: MERDRE! by M. Christian

Many ghosts haunt the stage. Aside from the specters of the greats (Barrymore, Bernhardt, etc.), whole genres wait in the wings for a chance at resurrection: the farce, Grand Guignol, the drawing room mystery, live radio, and many other flamboyant choruses of departed productions.

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Welcome to Weirdsville: Never Forget – by M. Christian

Trumpeting — though no one alive can hear her; thundering down the shimmering vanishing point of the old steel rails — though no one living can feel her massing footfalls; her massive ectoplasmic essence prowls the afterlife tundra of the railway yards — maybe she tries to pull the living, so inaccessible, weeds that struggle through the creosote stained ties, between the fissures of cracked concrete; maybe she tries to bathe in the town reservoir, though the water flows through her ghostly form.

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Welcome to Weirdsville: Sweet, Sweet Death by M. Christian

“Tell me, what was 15 feet high, moved at 35 miles-per-hour, and killed 21 people in 1919?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Bones, what WAS 16 feet high, moved at 35 miles-per-hour, and killed 21 people in 1919?”

“Well, before I tell ya, I’m going to first have to tell you about the sweet brown liquor called rum.”

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Welcome to Weirdsville: You Are What You — by M. Christian

The setting is fine and lavish: a stately home, the furnishings of fine lineage. Exquisite china, polished silver, an excellent cellar — the perfect elements for an extravagant dining experience. Your hosts, the father and — later — the son, are the most perfect of hosts: witty, urbane, educated, they tantalize and enthrall with rejoinder and anecdote.

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