The Fisherman: Lovecraftian Horror

Marcus Liotta

A short story in the spirit of H.P. Lovecraft and other horrific tales.
Vivid depictions and thought-provoking concepts all wrapped within one dark tale. As always, a staggering conclusion can be found, one sure to leave a reader breathless.

They came here often, the quiet docks beside an otherwise calm silvery expanse. But today, something was wrong. The fish fled as if to stay would induce genocide, and yet no visible foe existed. What about the man in yellow slicker? What possible secrets might he hold beneath that cloak of darkness?

Feature Type: Horror - Short Story
Print Length: 27 Pages
Parental Guide
Graphic depictions of horror, including imagery which may not be suitable for children. No swearing.
Author’s Recommendation:
Adult or Age 13+

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

“Impossible!” Ben couldn’t believe his eyes let alone the frantic words of another soul babbling at his side. That same individual who had seemingly made such exaggerated claims, and yet all of them rang true.
They stared for much longer than made sense. Stood frozen, held awestruck by the magnificence of what terrifying entity lurked not much farther than arm’s reach.
Much like deer caught in headlights of a speeding automobile, they were captivated and unable to pull away. That hideously nauseating creature knew no boundaries, and though their experience felt an eternity, the entire span was no more than a few short seconds. Still long enough to be stolen away by a being so inhuman it was beyond describing.
The smell though, oh god the smell! It reeked of road kill, a dilapidated raccoon whose very body had been eaten away by countless maggots and untold vermin. Once in open air, the putrid odor permeated within nostrils of large predators, those who until now would have fondly nipped away.
No more.
But this was no nature walk, nor was it a pleasant stroll through the woods. Out here upon the beach one did not expect such a large and visceral experience, that of tightly knit fingers wrapping around throat and yanking toward an inescapable fate!
Before now these two men never knew such agony. Bones snapped even as vocal cords struggled to let loose terrified howls. The very thing which tore them asunder with sadistic glee, it captured their screams and held them from carrying any worthwhile distance.
No, to be found out wouldn’t suit its purpose. It enjoyed their squishy innards, the squeaks and sloppy gasps which escaped half rent bodies. These toys flailed about, helpless until life left their cold and worn-out remains.
Still the thing played with one even as the other was munched upon. Snapping and gut-wrenching noises were made, each intentionally loud by a gleeful demon.
Finally it was done. No more entrails for tossing about, nor was there reason to linger in this place. The alien being left one man’s baseball cap surrounded by a circle of gore.
Waves crashed against the area, taking red human wine back out to sea. Never was considered those family members who might wonder where loved ones hid away. Eventually the hat itself disappeared beneath an unsavory current, tumbling about a swirling mess of water which stole away any sense of justice these individuals could have hoped for.
Come morning only scant bone fragments remained, and not enough to tell what had occurred the prior evening. Gulls picked at what they could, though this amounted to nothing. A smell persisted, not of bodies but rather the thing which had torn them asunder.
Fun and games.
A large balloon-like ball careened over the sand, followed by children’s footprints. One complained of the aroma yet thought nothing more of the dreadful occurrence.
Why would they?

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About the author

Marcus Liotta is a Technocrat, Hacker, and Social Engineer; he believes good can only prevail with great effort and sacrifice.

He is also an Author and Public Speaker.

Originally from Chicago IL, Marcus has walked a career in Information Technology. He enjoys observing the reality which surrounds us while contemplating a greater meaning behind shrouded complexities.

Logic, he believes, is the singular reliance any can hold true to until the end of time.

His own favorite authors, and those who inspired him as a child are:

A.E. Van Vogt, H.P. Lovecraft, Ray Bradbury, and Ursula K. Le Guin (among many others.)

For new releases and updates, please visit:

Follow the author!

“Reality is binary. Right and Wrong, Good versus Evil. Beyond the veil exists only Black or White, for there is no Gray.”-Marcus Liotta 

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Additional Information

Marcus Liotta
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Published on
Apr 28, 2018
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Best For
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Fiction / Horror
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Content Protection
This content is DRM protected.
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Eligible for Family Library

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A poetic telling of one man’s terrifying ordeal, that of a tumultuous experience which may leave him gone and thrust upon the hands of oblivion.
Will he escape the foul thing which seeks to destroy him?

Feature Type: Short Story
Genre: Lovecraftian Suspense / Horror
Traditional Print Length: 26 Pages
Parental Guide
Brief depictions of blood, cursing, and heart-wrenching suspense. May scare young children.
Author’s Recommendation:
Adult or Age 13+

Get up to date information on book signings, events, and contact the author directly at his website.
Author website:

Excerpt reprinted with author's permission. Copyright 2018.

How could this happen? Somewhere in the depths of his soul Jared asked himself, will I survive?
Perhaps if said aloud one might pick apart this statement as mere sarcasm. Surely he referred to that lighting strike, the uproar far away and echoing across countless buildings. The floor shaking, making one quiver and question whether any structure was truly sound in the face of mother nature.
After all, Jared couldn’t possibly be serious.
Oh, but he was, for this notion never conveyed the full magnitude of his dire predicament. Sure, such a dreary melancholy day prevailed, those thick droplets falling upon a populace whose sole goal was to stay warm and dry. Rooftops flooding, overwhelmed by the uncanny persistence of a storm whose sway would seemingly never end.
Down in streets below a thick current might persist, pooling in certain areas to make our automobiles useless, discarded was that assumed human superiority when recognizing this ceaseless onslaught.
Ironic he thought, to be wrapped up in all of this evolutionary success, and yet realize one could see no hope. Glancing back into the office space, that computer of his had finally shut down. He knew this only due to the black screen, its prior glow no longer shown across the desk which even now was scattered about with countless papers from various clients. They expected him, needed help with the many affairs of a courtroom which they could not comprehend. Law was scary like that, clearly written and yet easily misinterpreted by the common man, requiring great skill when merely deciphering the proper terminology.
Many years ago he expected another outcome, never assuming a law degree would be his calling. How silly of him, to always believe himself capable of some other more adventurous career. He should have known those stories of excitement were lies, fabled tales meant to persuade children into trying harder for something which would only relieve them of hard earned money.
Of course, one never desired excitement after it arrived, often the very concept saw grasping at failure. We always assume a more livelier existence could be quite enjoyable, so new and different. Never considered however is why this idea prevails, when indeed such life would be fraught with incessant danger. What was the saying? The grass is always greener…
And so it is.
Jared let out a deep sigh.
The longer he dallied the worse things would get. Knew this and still he stood rigid. There was an instinct in us all, to stay where one is secure and familiar. Knowing where all objects remained, and should even a pencil be out of place, suspect some apparition might have moved without physical direction.
In that home, office, vehicle, they were all places of refuge, assumed safe. If people only knew how true those beliefs were, that in the darkness evil did indeed reside.
He swallowed saliva pooling along tongue, sensing his time was finally up. Somewhere in that prevailing darkness, out in the cold night whose freezing wind would draw goose bumps upon naked skin, yes out there in the dreadful and perpetual shroud brought on by this damnable storm!
It lingered.
What was it?
From #1 New York Times bestselling author Stephen King, the most riveting and unforgettable story of kids confronting evil since It—publishing just as the second part of It, the movie, lands in theaters.

In the middle of the night, in a house on a quiet street in suburban Minneapolis, intruders silently murder Luke Ellis’s parents and load him into a black SUV. The operation takes less than two minutes. Luke will wake up at The Institute, in a room that looks just like his own, except there’s no window. And outside his door are other doors, behind which are other kids with special talents—telekinesis and telepathy—who got to this place the same way Luke did: Kalisha, Nick, George, Iris, and ten-year-old Avery Dixon. They are all in Front Half. Others, Luke learns, graduated to Back Half, “like the roach motel,” Kalisha says. “You check in, but you don’t check out.”

In this most sinister of institutions, the director, Mrs. Sigsby, and her staff are ruthlessly dedicated to extracting from these children the force of their extranormal gifts. There are no scruples here. If you go along, you get tokens for the vending machines. If you don’t, punishment is brutal. As each new victim disappears to Back Half, Luke becomes more and more desperate to get out and get help. But no one has ever escaped from the Institute.

As psychically terrifying as Firestarter, and with the spectacular kid power of It, The Institute is Stephen King’s gut-wrenchingly dramatic story of good vs. evil in a world where the good guys don’t always win.
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