It is uncommon to fire all six shots of a revolver with great suddenness when one would probably be sufficient, but many things in the life of Herbert West were uncommon.
Six Shots by Moonlight
by H. P. Lovecraft, 1922

Sometimes you can not find sleep? Everything seems menacing to you, and the shadows hide some_thing? I know, then you are tempted—just to escape the shadows’ presence—to switch on your television set … but at this time of night only the late Bob Ross (1942-1995) cometh from across the Styx, willing to be your companion on the screen, reciting: “We don’t make mistakes here, we just have happy accidents. We want happy, happy paintings. If you want sad things, watch the news. Everything is possible here. This is your little universe.”—which maketh things even worse. Just for a minute or so you think about entering the Internet’s unfathomable rotten depths. You refrain, but nevertheless fire up the computer. A rendition of Eliphas Lévi’s pentacle appears, strangely transposed to 21st century looks. And then some levels of Doom III will calm down your nerves, won’t they?

The things in the shadows keep on pestering me: “Why is there violence and gore in computergames?”—Why is there violence and gore in film, in literature, … in art? Robert Crumb jumps from his seat, knocking over the tiny coffee table, shouting: “YEAH! But is it art?,” and goes on mumbling “You tell me, because I don’t know.” Thank you, Robert, childhood hero of mine. Anyway, let’s give the floor to H. P. Lovecraft’s apparent heir, Mr. Stephen Edwin King:

The horror movie, like the sick joke, has a dirty job to do. It deliberately appeals to all that is worst in us. It is morbidity unchained, our most base instincts let free, our nastiest fantasies realized … and it all happens, fittingly enough, in the dark. For these reasons, good liberals often shy away from horror films. For myself, I like to see the most aggressive of them—Dawn of the Dead, for instance—as lifting a trapdoor in the civilized forebrain and throwing a basket of raw meat to the hungry alligators swimming around in that subterranean river beneath.
    Why bother? Because it keeps them from getting out, man. It keeps them down there and me up here. It was Lennon and McCartney who said that all you need is love, and I would agree with that. As long as you keep the gators fed … (King 1993 [1981]: 205)

If you are not content with psychosocial and functionalistic explanations, and instead want to experience the thing itself, there is someting for you … Artist Bum Lee “has an interesting online flash game called the De-animator. The game is based on stories by H.P. Lovecraft. The object is to shoot horrifying zombies as they approach you. If you don’t kill the zombies they will get you and sometimes rip off your head. Yet another great time killer.” In Bum’s video & animation section is more spooky stuff from beyond the twilight zone, like “The Fly” [.mov | 9.2MB], or “Shadow Theatre” [.mov | 6.2MB]. But his creepiest tale from the crypt definitely is “The Joy of Portraiture” [.mov | 34.6MB]
via entry at gamersgame

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