“Can I tell you a story Boss?” The kindly old man that I knew as Harvey Abberline had asked me in a distant and almost wistful tone in that distinct foreign accent of his that I guessed was from somewhere in the United kingdom on the very last day he had come into my coffee shop in a gentrified little town on the outskirts of Indiana’s even more gentrified Hamilton county. He had ordered a tall pumpkin spice latte with a single shot of espresso like he always did around that time of year in the six or so years he’d been a regular and he had been his usual, cheerful self when he came through the door, greeting me…

“I dunno Chris, eldritch abominations are kind of old hat at this point ” My brother Terry had said after reading over a rough draft of the latest story I was writing. His words stung more than I think he intended them to because though I wouldn’t admit it outright, I knew that they were true. “Oh come on Terry! I don’t have to reinvent the wheel every time I sit down to write.” I had huffed back at him somewhat annoyed. “True, but stories with big, creepy, indefinable entities are just so… overdone. Lovecraft cornered that market decades ago, and the internet is absolutely saturated with stories like that.” “Well what kind of creatures do you think I should…