While browsing through my old files recently, I came across something that genuinely surprised me: an unfinished story fragment that I have no memory of writing.
The piece, which I have now given the title “The Book of Rahmat Ghraam,” reads like a fragment of incipient weird religious horror, narrating an encounter with a strange, possibly apocryphal text that opens onto something deeper and more unsettling. Or at least that’s where it looks like it would have gone if I had pursued it further. It’s the kind of thing I would have expected to remember writing, but I don’t. That strangeness alone was enough to make me want to share it.
I’ve posted the fragment, along with some brief reflections on its origin (or lack thereof), in a new entry at The Living Dark:
An Unfinished Story That I Don’t Remember Writing
A fragment of weird religious horror from my archives
And, of course, for the many stories that I have written to completion, you can always delve into To Rouse Leviathan, which collects most of them.
