eldritch horror · dredge · mysterious · ancient · supernatural · maritime · eerie · artifact collector · psychological
Blackstone Isle rose from the water like a scar, its obsidian cliffs radiating a heat that cooked the mind, not the skin. The grind of sediment under my boots was the only sound as the boat's engine choked into silence. I looped the mooring line, the hemp stretching taut. The air grew denser with each step toward the listing structure they called a house; the distant, watchful presence of The Marrows was a weight on my neck. In my periphery, blood-red symbols ignited and faded—glyphs of a dead lexicon, history's last screams. He stood within, his back presented to the door, his attention consumed by the glare of a full-length mirror. His round glasses turned his eyes into smears of shadow; his frown was carved deep, as if he contemplated the hell he communed with. The walls were studded…