There is no room for the unusual, the macabre or the outré. It is a world of salary and stock dividend, interest from the bank and monthly payments on the mortgage. The house is the home, the wife is the mother and the helpmate, the car is in the garage and books rest naturally on the shelves. To most men, the edges of the world are firm and immovable. His forehead was damp with nervous sweat. Then more swiftly it slid sideways between the tree boles, quivering faintly. Again it laughed, mockingly, and Brian Creoghan felt the touch of unseen eyes. He took a step forward into the underbrush alongside the footpath and the blackness retreated.

There was nothing in the woods to make such a shadow, a black rectangle about four feet square, roughly and there seemed to be no corners to the thing. The hairs on the nape of his neck stood up. It was afternoon in the New Hampshire hills, and night was still several hours away, yet the blackness lingered.Īfter a moment it laughed-sweet, silvery laughter that might come from the throat of a woman. It quivered between the trees like a living thing, ebony curtain shot with crimson flecks, fluttering as if the wind were shaking it. These radials feed those dimensio-spheres with the titanic energies necessary to the proper functioning of the worlds that are locked within them.īrian Creoghan came to a dead stop when he saw the blackness. Its power radials are many, hooked up as each one is to be dimensions that border the edge of Elsewhere. Its housing cover a sub-infinity of distance.

An unimaginably vast machine stands on the rim of the known universe at the very edge of no-time and no-space, where nullity becomes a positive force.

The Druid Stone by Simon Majors