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    A Night in the Lonesome October
    A Night in the Lonesome October
    A Night in the Lonesome October
    Ebook263 pages4 hours

    A Night in the Lonesome October

    By Roger Zelazny and Gahan Wilson

    4.5/5

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    • Mystery

    • Supernatural Beings

    • Supernatural

    • Investigation

    • Friendship

    • Talking Animals

    • Detective Story

    • Haunted House

    • Amateur Detective

    • Animal Companion

    • Occult Detective

    • Great Detective

    • Occult Rituals

    • Nighttime Adventures

    • Power of Friendship

    • Animals

    • Supernatural Creatures

    • Halloween

    • Animal Companions

    • Suspense

    About this ebook

    A Night in the Lonesome October is Roger Zelazny’s homage to gothic horror and early horror movies. It is at once delightful, humorous, poetic, and gleefully dark. Whenever a full moon falls on All Hallow’s Eve the conditions are such that a gate may be opened to allow the Elder Gods to return from the Nether Regions to which they have been banished. Snuff, a preternatural guard dog, and his owner Jack the Ripper, are closers—that is, they and others of their persuasion arrive in the time and place where the gate might open, in order to prevent the Elder God’s return. Each chapter encompasses a single day in the month of October. Many of Zelazny’s fans read a single chapter each night every October. Wonderfully illustrated with 32 Gahan Wilson Illustrations this cult classic is a delightful and macabre fast-paced romp. Without a doubt one of Zelazny’s best.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWilder Publications, Inc.
    Release dateApr 20, 2021
    ISBN9781515451129
    Author

    Roger Zelazny

    Roger Zelazny burst onto the SF scene in the early 1960s with a series of dazzling and groundbreaking short stories. He is the winner of six Hugo Awards, including for the novels This Immortal and the classic Lord of Light; he is also the author of the enormously popular Amber series, starting with Nine Princes in Amber. In addition to his Hugos, he went on to win three Nebula Awards over the course of a long and distinguished career. He died on June 14, 1995.

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    Reviews for A Night in the Lonesome October

    4.5/5

    36 ratings2 reviews

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    • 4/5
      Although it drags a bit near the middle the first and last third were very entertaining. Lots of tropes are present and often twisted around, much to the delight of the reader. Some lines are quite funny, but this is overall a best-of monster short novel. A perfect read for a cold and windy October night.
    • 5/5
      One of the books I randomly read. It has aged so well. Perhaps I am simple.

    Book preview

    A Night in the Lonesome October - Roger Zelazny

    A Night in the Lonesome October

    I am a watchdog. My name is Snuff. I live with my master Jack outside of London now. I like Soho very much at night with its smelly fogs and dark streets. It is silent then and we go for long walks. Jack is under a curse from long ago and must do much of his work at night to keep worse things from happening. I keep watch while he is about it. If someone comes, I howl.

    We are the keepers of several curses and our work is very important. I have to keep watch on the Thing in the Circle, the Thing in the Wardrobe, and the Thing in the Steamer Trunk—not to mention the Things in the Mirror. When they try to get out I raise particular hell with them. They are afraid of me. I do not know what I would do if they all tried to get out at the same time. It is good exercise, though, and I snarl a lot.

    I fetch things for Jack on occasion—his wand, his big knife with the old writing on the sides. I always know just when he needs them because it is my job to watch and to know. I like being a watchdog better than what I was before he summoned me and gave me this job.

    So we walk, Jack and I, and other dogs are often afraid of me. Sometimes I like to talk and compare notes on watchdogging and masters, but I do tend to intimidate them.

    One night when we were in a graveyard recently an old watchdog came by, though, and we talked for a time.

    Hi. I’m a watchdog.

    Me, too.

    I’ve been watching you.

    And I’ve been watching you.

    Why is your person digging a big hole?

    There are some things down there that he needs.

    Oh. I don’t think he’s supposed to be doing that.

    May I see your teeth?

    Yes. Here. May I see yours?

    Of course.

    Perhaps it’s all right. Do you think you might leave a large bone somewhere nearby?

    I believe that could be arranged.

    Are you the ones who were by here last month?

    No, that was the competition. We were shopping elsewhere.

    They didn’t have a watchdog.

    Bad planning. What did you do?

    Barked a lot. They got nervous and left.

    Good. Then we’re still probably ahead.

    Been with your person long?

    Ages. How long’ve you been a graveyard dog?

    All my life.

    Like it?

    It’s a living, he said.

    Jack needed lots of ingredients for his work, as there was a big bit of business due soon. Perhaps it were best to take it day by day.

    Chapter 1

    October 1

    Made the circuits. The thing in the Circle changed shapes, finally making itself look like a lady dog of attractive person and very friendly disposition. But I was not fooled into breaking the Circle. It didn’t have the smell part down yet.

    Nice try, I told it.

    You’ll get yours, mutt, it said.

    I walked past the various mirrors. The Things locked in them gibbered and writhed. I showed them my teeth and they writhed away.

    The Thing in the Steamer Trunk pounded on the sides and hissed and sputtered when it became aware of my sniffing about. I snarled. It hissed again. I growled. It shut up.

    I made my way to the attic then and checked out the Thing in the Wardrobe. It was scratching on the sides when I entered but grew still as I approached.

    How’s everything inside? I asked.

    Be a lot better if someone could be persuaded to turn the key with his paws.

    Better for you maybe.

    I could find you lots of great bones—big ones, fresh, juicy, lots of meat on them.

    I just ate, thanks.

    "What do you want?"

    Nothing special just now.

    Well, I want out. Figure what it’s worth to you and let’s talk.

    You’ll get your chance, by and by.

    I don’t like waiting.

    Tough.

    Up yours, hound.

    Tsk, tsk, I replied, and I went away when it began using more abusive language.

    I went back downstairs, then passed through the library, smelling its musty volumes and incense, spices, herbs, and other interesting matters, on my way to the parlor, whence I stared out the window at the day. Watching, of course. That is my job.

    Chapter 2

    October 2

    We took a walk last night, acquiring mandrake root in a field far from here at the place of a killing by somebody else. The master wrapped it in silk and took it to his work space direct. I could hear him engage in good-natured banter with the Thing in the Circle. Jack has a long list of ingredients, and things must be done properly on schedule.

    The cat Graymalk came slinking about, pussyfoot, peering in our windows. Ordinarily, I have little against cats. I can take them or leave them, I mean. But Graymalk belongs to Crazy Jill who lives over the hill, in towards town, and Graymalk was spying for her mistress, of course. I growled to let her know she had been spotted.

    About your watching early, faithful Snuff, she hissed.

    About your spying early, I responded, Gray.

    We have our tasks.

    We do.

    And so it has begun.

    It has.

    Goes it well?

    So far. And you?

    The same. I suppose it is easiest simply to ask this way, for now.

    …But cats are sneaky, I added.

    She tossed her head, raised a paw and studied it.

    There are certain pleasures to be had in lurking.

    For cats, I said.

    …And certain knowledges gained.

    Such as…?

    I am not the first come calling here today. My predecessor left traces. Are you aware of this, faithful watcher?

    No, I replied. Who was it?

    The owl, Nightwind, consort of Morris and MacCab. I saw him flee at dawn, found a feather out back. The feather is tainted with mummy dust, to do you ill.

    Why do you tell me this?

    Perhaps because I am a cat and it amuses me to be arbitrary and do you a good turn. I shall take the feather away with me and leave it at their window, concealed amid shrubs.

    I prowled last night after my walk, I said. I was near your house beyond the hill. I saw Quicklime, the black snake who lives in the belly of the mad monk, Rastov. He rubbed against your doorpost, shedding scales.

    Ah! And why do you tell me this?

    I pay my debts.

    There should not be debts between our folk.

    This is between us.

    You are a strange hound, Snuff.

    You are a strange cat, Graymalk.

    As it should be, I daresay.

    And she was gone amid shadows. As it should be.

    Chapter 3

    October 3

    We walked again last night, and the master was hunting. He had donned his cloak and said to me, Snuff, fetch! And from the way he said it, I knew that it was the blade he required. I took it to him and we went out. Our luck was varied. That is, he obtained the ingredients he was after, but only with considerable turmoil and an inordinate passage of time. We were discovered near the end. I gave warning, and we had to flee. It was a long chase, till finally I hung back and nipped the other on the leg. We made good our escape, with the ingredients. As he was washing up later, Jack told me I was an excellent watchdog. I was very proud.

    Later, he let me out to prowl. I checked Rastov’s place, which was dark. Out and about business, I supposed. Lying behind a bush near Crazy Jill’s, I could hear her chuckling within and talking to Graymalk.

    They had already been out. The broom beside the rear entrance was still warm.

    I was especially careful at Morris and MacCab’s. Nightwind can be very potent after dark and could be anywhere.

    I heard a small tittering from the nearly bare branches of a cherry tree. I sniffed the air, but Nightwind’s gritty signature was not on it. There was something else, though.

    The small laughter, so high-pitched a human might not hear it—came again.

    Who’s there? I asked.

    A cluster of leaves unrolled itself from the tree and darted down, stitching the air at blinding speeds about my head.

    Another who watches, came its tiny voice.

    The neighborhood is getting crowded, I said. You may call me Snuff. What may I call you?

    Needle, it replied. Whom do you serve?

    Jack, I answered. And yourself?

    The Count, it said.

    Do you know whether Morris and MacCab found their ingredients?

    Yes, it replied. Do you know whether the crazy woman found hers?

    I’m pretty sure she did.

    So she is abreast of us. Still, it is early….

    When did the Count join the Game?

    Two nights ago, it said.

    How many players are there?

    I don’t know, it answered. Then it soared high and was gone.

    Life was suddenly even more complicated, and I’d no way of knowing whether they were openers or closers.

    As I made my way back I felt that I was being watched. But whoever it was, was very, very good. I could not spot him, so I took a long, long way about. He left me later to follow another. I hurried home to report.

    Chapter 4

    October 4

    Rainy day. Windy, too. I made my rounds.

    Up yours, cur.

    Same to you.

    Hi, things.

    Slither, slither.

    How’s about letting me out?

    Nope.

    My day will come.

    It’s not today.

    The usual. Everything seemed in order.

    How’s about a collie? You like redheads?

    You still haven’t got it right. S’long.

    Son of a bitch!

    I checked all the windows and doors from the inside, then let myself out the back through my private hatch, master Jack sleeping or resting in his darkened room. I checked everything again from the outside. I could discover no surprises of the sort I had discussed with Graymalk the other day. But I did find something else: There was a single paw-print, larger than my own, in the shelter of a tree to the side of the house. The accompanying scent and any adjacent prints had been washed away by the rain. I circled far afield, seeking more evidence of the intruder, but there was nothing else. The old man who lives up the road was in his yard, harvesting mistletoe from a tree, using a small, shining sickle. A squirrel sat upon his shoulder. This was a new development.

    I addressed the squirrel through a hedge:

    Are you in the Game?

    It scurried to the man’s nearer shoulder and peered.

    Who asks? it chattered.

    Call me Snuff, I answered.

    Call me Cheeter, it replied. Yes, I suppose we are. Last minute thing—rush, rush.

    Opener or closer?

    Impolite! Impolite to ask! You know that!

    Just thought I’d try. You could be novices.

    Not new enough to be giving anything away. Leave it at that.

    I will.

    Stay. Is there a black snake in it?

    You ask me to give something away. But yes, there is: Quicklime. Beware. His master is mad.

    Aren’t they all?

    We chuckled and I faded away.

    That evening we went out again. We crossed the bridge and walked for a long, long while. The dour detective and his rotund companion were about, the latter limping from his adventure of the other night. We passed them twice in the fog. But it was the wand Jack bore this night, to stand at the city’s center with it and trap a certain beam of starlight in a crystal vial while the clocks chimed twelve. Immediately, the liquid in the container began to glow with a reddish light; and somewhere in the distance a howling rose up. No one I knew. I wasn’t even sure it was a dog. It said a single word in the language of my kind, a long, drawn-out Lost! My hackles rose at the sound of it.

    Why are you growling, friend? Jack asked.

    I shook my head. I was not sure.

    Chapter 5

    October 5

    I breakfasted in the dark and made my rounds of the house. Everything was in good order. The master was asleep so I let myself out and prowled the vicinity. The day would not begin for some time yet.

    I walked beyond the hill, to Crazy Jill’s place. The house was dark and quiet. Then I turned to head for Rastov’s ramshackle abode. I caught a scent as I did, and I sought its source. A small form lay unmoving atop the garden wall.

    Graymalk, I said. Sleeping?

    Never wholly, came the reply. Catnappery is useful. What are you after, Snuff?

    Checking an idea I had. It doesn’t really involve you or your lady—directly. I’ll be walking to Rastov’s place now.

    Suddenly, she was gone from the wall. A moment later she was near. I glimpsed a glint of yellow light from her eyes.

    I’ll walk with you, if it’s not secret work.

    Come, then.

    We walked, and after a time I asked, Everything quiet?

    At our place, yes, she replied. But I heard there was a killing in town earlier. Your work?

    No. We were in town, but it was a different sort of work we were about. Where did you hear of it?

    Nightwind was by. We talked a little. He’d been across the river into town. A man was torn apart, as by a particularly vicious dog. I thought of you.

    Not me, not me, I said.

    There must be more of these, of course, as the others seek their ingredients. This will make the people wary, the streets better patrolled between now and the big event.

    I suppose so. Pity.

    We reached Rastov’s place. A small light burned within.

    He works late.

    Or very early.

    Yes.

    In my mind, I traced a path back to my own home. Then I turned and headed across fields to the old farmhouse where Morris and MacCab resided. Graymalk continued with me. A piece of the moon began to rise. Clouds slid quickly across the sky, their bellies tickled by the light. Graymalk’s eyes flashed.

    When we reached the place I stood among long grasses. There were lights within.

    More work, she said.

    Who? came Nightwind’s voice from atop the barn.

    Shall we answer?

    Why not? I said.

    She offered her name. I growled my own. Nightwind departed his perch to circle us, finally alighting nearby.

    You know each other, he remarked.

    We are acquainted.

    What do you want here?

    I wanted to ask you about that killing in town, I said. You saw it?

    Only after it had occurred and been discovered.

    So you did not see which of us was about it?

    No. If indeed it were one of us.

    How many of us are there, Nightwind? Can you tell me that?

    I don’t know that such knowledge should be dispensed. It may come under my prohibitions.

    A trade then? We list the ones we know. If there is one among them you do not know, you furnish us with another we do not know—if you can.

    He swivelled his head around backwards to think, then said, That sounds fair. It would save us all time. Very well. You know of my masters, and I know both of yours. That’s four.

    Then there is Rastov, with Quicklime, Graymalk offered. Five.

    I know of them, he responded.

    The old man who lives up the road from me seems of druidical persuasion, I said. I saw him harvesting mistletoe the old way, and he has a friend, a squirrel called Cheeter.

    Oh? Nightwind remarked. I was unaware of this.

    The man’s name is Owen, Graymalk stated. I’ve been watching them. And that’s six.

    Nightwind said, For three nights now a small, hunched man has been raiding graveyards. I saw him on my patrols. Two nights back I followed him by the full of the moon. He bore his gleanings to a large farmhouse to the south of here—a place with many lightning rods, above which a perpetual storm rages. Then he delivered them to a tall, straight man he addressed as the ‘Good Doctor.’ It may be they are seven, or perhaps eight.

    Would you show us this place? I asked.

    Follow me.

    We did, and after a

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