title: Mists of the Miskatonic: Tales Inspired by the works of H.P Lovecraft (Mist of the Miskatonic) (Volume 1)
author:  Al Halsey 
description: When most everyone else was fawning over prancing, sparkling vampires, Al Halsey was toiling away writing about zombies. Fantasy zombies, western zombies, zombies and more zombies. To say it is an obsession is an understatement. Very few zombie movies have escaped his cadaverous eye. He resides in Lewiston, in the Lewis/Clark Valley of the Idaho panhandle, where he has lived all of his life. Al is a graduate of Lewiston High School and Lewis-Clark State College, both in his home town. He has spent the last twenty-six years working with children with emotional and behavioral problems and training other professionals to do the same. Even though most of his coworkers at his day job consider him mentally ill, he generally enjoys his career. Thank goodness it is a secret that when he was twelve, he thought he was H.P. Lovecraft reincarnated. In his free time he trains in martial arts, plays paintball, tells his rescued cats to get off the counters, consumes large quantities of Thai food unapologetically, and loves music. His favorites are Tantric, Theory of a Deadman, Rob Zombie, Nickelback, the Offspring, and he is a regular concert goer. He visits Montana and the Oregon Coast regularly, and is a connoisseur of fine dining: Arbys. Als biggest accomplishment is his 17 year old son. Considered by some to be the neighborhood curmudgeon, he wears this title as a badge of honor. He also hates writing biographies. You can catch up with Al on Twitter, Facebook and on his website. His series Hellgate, Montana is soon to be released by Permuted Press.
zlib_text: 
  
  
  H. P. LOVECRAFT
  
  
  # COLLECTION
  
  
  
  
  
  THE STRANGE HIGH HOUSE IN THE MIST
  
  
  In the morning, mist comes up from the sea by the cliffs beyond Kingsport.
  White and feathery it comes from the deep to its brothers the clouds, full of
  dreams of dank pastures and caves of leviathan. And later, in still summer
  rains on the steep roofs of poets, the clouds scatter bits of those dreams,
  that men shall not live without rumor of old strange secrets, and wonders that
  planets tell planets alone in the night. When tales fly thick in the grottoes
  of tritons, and conchs in seaweed cities blow wild tunes learned from the
  Elder Ones, then great eager mists flock to heaven laden with lore, and
  oceanward eyes on tile rocks see only a mystic whiteness, as if the cliff's
  rim were the rim of all earth, and the solemn bells of buoys tolled free in
  the aether of faery.
  
  
  
  
  
  Now north of archaic Kingsport the crags climb lofty and curious, terrace on
  terrace, till the northernmost hangs in the sky like a gray fr