StoryLovers

Lubbock is as the surface of the Moon, Mandan's hills sleep and dream; The fogs of London drift and chill Pedestrians to the bone... Jupiter's moons go racing round Their master's immense girth, But Antares dwarfs us all in size, If size is all we're worth... There is a place in the Cosmos vast For each of us, great or small, Where everything is just so, at last, No worries there to gall.

Now, in order to relate the title-related story, I have to introduce you to some of the protagonists, first! Those of you who are familiar with Varda Astaldo, that intrepid, copper-tressed Amazon crusader against evil, know that she left her home world of Pallas Artemisia at the age of eighteen to join Galactic Fleet Academy, and that she made a name for herself as a fighter pilot during the Zhydon Invasion (indeed, she was instrumental in blowing up the main Hive of those ruthless insectoids and ending the war)--I may not have mentioned that Varda was not the first Amazon from her world to join Galactic Defense Fleet. A friend of hers, Sari Ling of Pnaar, had joined the Academy a year earlier and served in the same squadron as Varda (3903rd Squadron, XV Fleet) during the Zhydon War. After the invasion was squashed, Varda and Sari resigned their commissions and returned to their home-world, but Galactic Defense has them on a kind of retainer, so they perform trouble-shooting

It was sometime in the autumn of 19-- that I got in my motor-car and sped off into the countryside to consult Dr. Montague Mortimer McGuff--"Monty Morty" to his surviving friends--about the ruins of Stenholm Abbey and the obscure horror which had caused the inexplicable deaths of two visitors and the madness of a third. If anyone could ferret out the cause of such weird and tragic events, I knew it would be Monty Morty, whose country estate conveniently lay a mere dozen miles from the legendary ruins. Dr. McGuff resides in a cozy two-story cottage on the outskirts of Drewidston, an odd little village of some 150 odd residents; as one may infer from the etymology, "Drewidston" is a phonetic corruption of Druids' town, and indeed there is a ring of concentric standing stones just south of the village bounds, although its provenance is questionable. The stones are visible from the road as one drives into town, and I happened to spy the unmistakable figure of Monty Morty puttering about

Don't think for a moment that I am admitting to anything, is that clear? I never so much as DREAMED of doing anything in that grotesque indictment...I hope that this statement--statement, NOT 'confession'-- will clear up this entire matter so I can get back home. My name is Darnell Gustave Yves and I reside at 47 W. Ungl Avenue, Arkham...what's that? Yes, U-N-G-L, no other vowels. Don't ask me where the name came from, it's a weird town; I only live there because I study at Miskatonic University. I won't live on campus, I've heard too many unsettling stories from my classmates. I am an Art major, and that's why I came to Boston--I'm writing a paper on the career of Richard Upton Pickman, who was something of a sensation when he was working here back in the mid 1920's. We know of only six of his paintings that still exist--I believe his father burned a few, after Pickman disappeared, and no museum or gallery in Boston would touch the rest; they were bought by private collectors