Volume I, Issue III:
Tom Mavroudis denies he had an entire bucket of chicken, he claims to be fasting until early May. I saw the bones though...
Volume I, Issue II:
There was a printing error with Stanely Sargent's "Trust Me", a fair deal of his tale was chopped from the story, it is reprinted below and is crucial to the tale. I'm talking with the printers to discuss a reprint, we'll see what we can afford:
"...as if his name alone should bring instant recognition. When none was forthcoming, he added, "WALTER WONSHULL, the Arkham Weekly Journal's most popular journalist!"
Wonshull hung motionless, still awaiting awed exclamations of praise and recognition that did not come. A moment later, the larger of the seated men spoke again, distractedly, to his companion. "Seems I heard Walter Winchell died 'bout twenty years er more ago, didn't yer, Jeb?"
His companion rubbed his chin and nodded. "I believe I recollect a report to that effect, Martin. So who'd ye 'spect this here fella? Don't look like he been dead twenty years to me. Ten maybe, but nowhar near twenty."
Neither man bothered to look up from his wood working.
"No, no! Not Winchell, Wonshull! Walter Wonshull," the little stranger corrected. "Just trust me, okay? I'm a writer, let's just leave it at that. I'm here to write a story about Innsmouth and the horrors that still haunt it after all these years."
Receiving no response, Wonshull cursed quietly under his breath. He then turned to the other man from the limo who was heavily loaded down with photographic equipment.
"I knew these inbred boonies were going to be a pain in the ass, Parker. It's obvious they know exactly who I am. They're just clamming up because they're afraid of what a famous writer like me might write about them," he added, sneering in the direction of the silent immobile whittlers. "Well, I don't need their cooperation; if there's anything 'fishy' going on around here, I'll find it. You can bank on that! I came here for a story and, by God, I'll get one!"
He abruptly turned his back on the two whittlers and strutted away indignantly as he extracted a small tape recorder from his coat pocket and began speaking into it.
"The reclusive, obviously half-witted descendants of those who miraculously survived the government's devastating assault on Innsmouth in 1928 can still be seen today," Wonshull dictated. "They appear as verminous forms squatting silently among the ruins, crouched in toad-like readiness as if awaiting an opportunity to spring upon the unwary. The amphibious taint upon their physical features readily suggests the FBI indeed had a greater justification for decimating the town than simple bootlegging." He obviously enjoyed his own venom.
Issue 1 Vol 1:
Stanley C. Sargent's latest book is not titled "NYARLATOPHIS ... " (that was the old title) but is
"THE TAINT OF LOVECRAFT".
We've butchered David Conyers name in the first issue. Please excuse all the other amalgamations and permutations of his name.
Tom Mavroudis denies he had an entire bucket of chicken, he claims to be fasting until early May. I saw the bones though...
Volume I, Issue II:
There was a printing error with Stanely Sargent's "Trust Me", a fair deal of his tale was chopped from the story, it is reprinted below and is crucial to the tale. I'm talking with the printers to discuss a reprint, we'll see what we can afford:
"...as if his name alone should bring instant recognition. When none was forthcoming, he added, "WALTER WONSHULL, the Arkham Weekly Journal's most popular journalist!"
Wonshull hung motionless, still awaiting awed exclamations of praise and recognition that did not come. A moment later, the larger of the seated men spoke again, distractedly, to his companion. "Seems I heard Walter Winchell died 'bout twenty years er more ago, didn't yer, Jeb?"
His companion rubbed his chin and nodded. "I believe I recollect a report to that effect, Martin. So who'd ye 'spect this here fella? Don't look like he been dead twenty years to me. Ten maybe, but nowhar near twenty."
Neither man bothered to look up from his wood working.
"No, no! Not Winchell, Wonshull! Walter Wonshull," the little stranger corrected. "Just trust me, okay? I'm a writer, let's just leave it at that. I'm here to write a story about Innsmouth and the horrors that still haunt it after all these years."
Receiving no response, Wonshull cursed quietly under his breath. He then turned to the other man from the limo who was heavily loaded down with photographic equipment.
"I knew these inbred boonies were going to be a pain in the ass, Parker. It's obvious they know exactly who I am. They're just clamming up because they're afraid of what a famous writer like me might write about them," he added, sneering in the direction of the silent immobile whittlers. "Well, I don't need their cooperation; if there's anything 'fishy' going on around here, I'll find it. You can bank on that! I came here for a story and, by God, I'll get one!"
He abruptly turned his back on the two whittlers and strutted away indignantly as he extracted a small tape recorder from his coat pocket and began speaking into it.
"The reclusive, obviously half-witted descendants of those who miraculously survived the government's devastating assault on Innsmouth in 1928 can still be seen today," Wonshull dictated. "They appear as verminous forms squatting silently among the ruins, crouched in toad-like readiness as if awaiting an opportunity to spring upon the unwary. The amphibious taint upon their physical features readily suggests the FBI indeed had a greater justification for decimating the town than simple bootlegging." He obviously enjoyed his own venom.
Issue 1 Vol 1:
Stanley C. Sargent's latest book is not titled "NYARLATOPHIS ... " (that was the old title) but is
"THE TAINT OF LOVECRAFT".
We've butchered David Conyers name in the first issue. Please excuse all the other amalgamations and permutations of his name.
