• Cthulhu Lies Dreaming

    A collection of cosmic horror stories, fragments of the truth. Treat them with the caution that they deserve.

  • Cthulhu Lives

    A collection of modern horror stories without the splatter, without the Hollywood, and without the fifteen-inch black rubber cocks.

  • Red Phone Box

    The bastard brain-child of the inimitable, and slightly bent, Salome Jones, Red Phone Box “is a monster made of words by 28 Dr. Frankensteins”.

  • Silverwater

    A story of malversation and power, of love, friendship and betrayal, and of asteroid mines and power plants.

  • Lovely Biscuits

    He’s that guy on the news, in the artist’s sketches, the one staring blankly into the near distance while before him the judge in her powdered wig makes a vain attempt at the imposition of order, at quieting the cacophonic courtroom; the bloke, could you see him in the flesh, whose clean-shaven lip, where once dwelt […]

  • Furious Eye

      Atticus Brood, Purveyor of Periodicals, Publisher of Strange Fictions, and Broadcaster of the Unsounds, tossed the manuscript into the waste-paper basket in disgust. Fucking nonsense. Was he really this desperate, to be actually reading his slush-pile? Perhaps it was boredom. Certainly nothing much of publishable interest had surfaced of late, despite his having increased […]

  • Flint. Smoke.

    Flint squatted in the undergrowth, his broad steel blade lying across his knees, and the collar of his drizabone turned up against the rain. He peered out from beneath the wide brim of his hat, the mouth of the cave just visible, a dark grin amongst the gum trees farther up the escarpment. The line […]

Gethin Lynes is a novelist, comics writer and a general peddler of parables.  This is his opinion engine.  It is full of expletives.  And politics.  And the future.  And parenting.  And things...  All of which are his own, etc.

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  • No “u” in Qantas
    It’s seventeen minutes past five in the morning, precisely an hour and twenty six minutes since the diminutive ruler of my existence woke up and decided he wanted some strawberries. As it turns out, on this particular occasion this was not an especially painful time to get up. After all, in what appears to be […]

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RESPITE

The stone is weeping. This is not a metaphor, much as I’d like it to be. No, the stone is literally weeping. The humidity’s gone got itself up again; the air reaching near equilibrium with the sluggish waterway across the road, and the moisture is seeping out of the fucking walls. Greetings from out here on […]

OFF MEDS

The frenzied, psychedelic chirruping of the frogs is silenced by a gunshot. And another. And then another. It is 9:22pm, twelve hours to the minute since the last report of gunfire echoed along this little stretch of the Delaware Valley. Greetings from out here in canal country, where things are getting stranger by the day. […]

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