Have You Ever Known Anyone To Actually Use the Word Eldritch?

[Published in Terror Tales Online]


Two horror writers were walking along the street when the first one, who was as ugly as hell itself, said to the other, “So, Michael, you had any stories accepted lately?”
“As a matter of fact I have, William,” said Michael, who was also ugly but not as heavily as his companion.
“That’s absolutely fantastic!” said William. “What is the publication?”
“Horrible Tales of Death and Terror.”
“How tremendous!” said William with a chuckle.
Michael eyed his friend suspiciously. “Do I detect a degree of sarcasm in your response to my news?”
“You do. And it isn’t just a degree, it’s a lot more than that.”
“What? How come?”
William stopped for a moment and paused before answering. “Michael, what was the name of the magazine that accepted your work last week?”
“Fantastic Nightmares.”
“And the week before that?”
“Ghoulish Rhapsody.”
“And before that?”
Michael thought for a few seconds. “Absolutely Scared Shitless.”
William laughed loudly.
“Why are you laughing?” asked Michael.
“Can’t you see?” said William, choosing to continue on his way, with his friend toddling beside him.
“See what?”
William gazed to the sky, and gathered his thoughts. “Michael, how many horror stories have you had published now?”
“One thousand four hundred and forty six.” There was no hesitation in this response.
“That’s a hell of a lot, Michael. There’s no denying you are one successful horror writer.”
“Thanks.”
“So what’s this latest story called?”
“The Thing that Lurked in the Corner of the Room.”
William couldn’t stop himself, he halted again and laughed so much it made his ribs ache.
“William, what’s wrong with you today?”
“Have you never considered producing anything other than traditional horror?” said William, rubbing the tears from his eyes.
“No. Why should I?”
“Because it’s all so ridiculous! Don’t you think so?”
“Why is it ridiculous?”
“Tell me,” said William. “This new story of yours. I bet it contains the word eldritch in there somewhere, am I right?”
“Yes. Twice.”
“Michael, have you ever known anyone to actually use the word eldritch?”
“Not in conversation, no. Why? What’s the problem?”
“The problem is that traditional horror has become extremely tiresome. The names of the magazines and books, the names of the stories, the predictable nature of the plots involved. It’s become so ridiculous it’s disappeared right up its own arsehole. Traditional horror isn’t horror at all these days, it’s just laughable.”
Michael appeared shocked at this outburst. “William, how can you say that? Look at all the work you’ve had published. You’re a damned good horror writer. Tell me you’re joking, right?”
“Yes, I’ve had horror stuff published. But when was the last time? You’re so wrapped up in your eldritch world that you haven’t even realised my name hasn’t been around for over a year now. The truth is that I’m not motivated to write traditional horror any more. And when I read those books and magazines I can’t stop myself from laughing.”
“Laughing? But they are meant to be horror stories!”
“Yes, they’re meant to be, but nowadays the real world is more horrific than anything fiction can offer. People are switching on the news and shuddering in terror at what they see.”
“But there’s still a place for horror, right?”
“Yes, there’s a place for it. Inside some ancient museum, I reckon.”
“William, I can’t believe you’re saying all this.”
“I’ve just come to my senses.” He paused and glanced sideways at his friend. “Michael, how many times have you included a corpse in your stories?”
“Almost every time I write there’s a corpse in it somewhere. That’s all a part of horror, isn’t it?”
“Of real horror, yes. Horror in real life. Dead bodies in fiction are just boring. Have you ever actually seen a corpse for real?”
“No. But…”
“There you are then. Times are changing, Michael. Horror is developing, evolving like everything else.”
They turned a corner, and began to approach William’s house.
“But look at all the horror greats of the past, William. Lovecraft, Hodgson, James, and all the others. These writers were fantastic, an inspiration to us all.”
“You said it, Michael. Horror greats of the past. This is now. Lovecraft? He was just seeing how many times he could use the word eldritch in his stories. Hodgson? How can anyone sit in an armchair and watch the moon rise and fall? As for M R James, you read his stories and you’re just waiting for the ghost to turn up.”
“William!” said Michael. “What’s got into you?”
His words were ignored. They had reached William’s house, and his friend grabbed his keys to unlock the front door.
“I’ve got something to show you,” said William as they entered.
“What is it?”
“I told you horror had evolved. Well take a look at my latest work.”
They walked into the lounge and Michael was stunned, for lying on the carpet was a man. Upon inspecting the still figure he saw an accumulation of blood around the area of his head.
“William? Is he…?”
“Dead? Yes, he is, Michael.”
“But… how? Who is it?”
“It’s just someone who called selling double glazing. You know how annoying these chaps are. So I shot him.”
“What? You shot him?”
“That’s what I said. Like I said, horror has been replaced by real life. People are discovering new ways to chill the spine. You really ought to come to terms with it, Michael.”
Michael turned away and released a torrent of vomit on the carpet. William noticed that he had also wet himself. He didn’t suppress his amusement.
“The real thing is a lot different from the corpses in your stories, isn’t it, Michael?”
“Where did you get the gun? What are you doing with a gun, William?”
“This?” said William, producing a handgun from inside his jacket. “These are easier to get hold of than you think. Imagine the power you feel holding one of these in your hand.”
“William, we have to phone the police. You shot a man!”
William was dumbfounded. “The police? You must be joking! You’d turn in your best friend, would you?”
“No! I mean, well, we have to tell them. Make out it was an accident or something.”
“An accident! I shot the fucker in the head, Michael!”
“Yes, but, shit, I can’t believe you shot someone. Jesus fucked! It’s so horrible!”
“Horrible? Fuck horror! Horror is dead!”
He extended his arm and shot his friend twice in the head. Michael slumped to the carpet at once without a sound. Blood oozed from a deep wound in his scalp.
“I told you, Michael,” he said quietly. “Horror is dead.” And a chill sizzled up his spine.