A New Gothic Graphic Novel!

What would you do if a meteorite landed in your own front yard?

And not just any meteorite, but one that turns out to be some kind of mysterious force that will drain the life out of you and your surroundings?

Illustrator Sara Barkat lends her vision to H.P. Lovecraft’s timeless science fiction tale to bring you an entrancing read about a family that faces exactly this puzzling tragedy. Barkat’s interest in the intricacies of our natural and built world rises to the surface in beautifully-detailed illustrations that will send you deeper into the story—gripping both your heart and mind.

Barkat is also the illustrator of the classic story The Yellow Wallpaper and is the writer/illustrator for the existential comic strip The Sadbook Collections. (Subscribe at sadbook.substack.com). Her debut science fiction collection The Shivering Ground & Other Stories was an Indie Excellence Awards finalist.

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Excerpt

“There was once a road over the hills and through the valleys, that ran straight where the blasted heath is now; but people ceased to use it and a new road was laid curving far toward the south. Traces of the old one can still be found amidst the weeds of a returning wilderness, and some of them will doubtless linger even when half the hollows are flooded for the new reservoir. Then the dark woods will be cut down and the blasted heath will slumber far below blue waters whose surface will mirror the sky and ripple in the sun. And the secrets of the strange days will be one with the deep’s secrets; one with the hidden lore of old ocean, and all the mystery of primal earth.

When I went into the hills and vales to survey for the new reservoir they told me the place was evil. They told me this in Arkham, and because that is a very old town full of witch legends I thought the evil must be something which grandams had whispered to children through centuries. The name ‘blasted heath’ seemed to me very odd and theatrical, and I wondered how it had come into the folklore of a Puritan people. Then I saw that dark westward tangle of glens and slopes for myself, and ceased to wonder at anything besides its own elder mystery. It was morning when I saw it, but shadow lurked always there. The trees grew too thickly, and their trunks were too big for any healthy New England wood. There was too much silence in the dim alleys between them, and the floor was too soft with the dank moss and mattings of infinite years of decay.”