The secret correspondence between Conan and Cthulhu. :)Could be as much fun as the eulogy to Conan's 75th birthday.
A beginning:Tuesday was a typical mail day--a Sharper Image catalog, two credit-card offers, a local coupon book that always goes straight to the trash--with one exception. A postcard, covered with meticulous, tiny handwriting covering every available square inch of the surface. A postcard, written to me... and written in a hand that I recognized from years of reading reproductions of that same cursive.It was a postcard from H.P. Lovecraft. And the last sentence said, "He dreams no more... he dreams no more."
Well done, Cliff. You managed to creep me out with those last eight words. For if he dreams no more, he sleeps no more...
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