Robert Bloch's Shambler From the Stars
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Quote at Progressive.com. Progressive Casualty Insurance Company and Affiliates. National average 12-month savings of $793 by new customers surveyed who saved with Progressive between June 2021 and May 2022. Potential savings will vary. This podcast is supported by FX's English Teacher, a new comedy from executive producers of What We Do in the Shadows and Baskets. English Teacher follows Evan.

a teacher in Austin, Texas, who learns if it's really possible to be your full self at your job, while often finding himself at the intersection of the personal, professional, and political aspects of working at a high school. FX's English Teacher premieres September 2nd on FX. Stream on Hulu. Welcome to the first episode of the Curious Matter Anthology.

I'm Jonathan Pezzi, your host and the writer-creator of this show. Like you, I'm completely addicted to podcasts, but my love of audio dramas started way before the likes of Homecoming, Limetown, and Blackout. It started for me a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, when at the age of 10, I found an odd, worn-out, and coffee-stained black box with crumpled corners and scotch-taped seams.

It was sitting innocuously in a pile of thrown away toys and broken electronics at a local garage sale. But this box was something different, something special. It had a gold foil hologram title that read, "Star Wars: The Original Radio Drama." Those 13 episodes printed on six clear plastic audio cassettes changed my life forever.

For those who don't know, the Star Wars radio drama was originally produced by NPR in conjunction with BBC Radio in 1981. It's available now as, well, as a podcast as it happens. And look, I had of course seen Star Wars, but listening to that 5 hour and 57 minute version of the space opera blew my young mind. It was this epic experience in sound.

Even coming through the shitty headphones of my yellow Sony Walkman, it transported me to the landscapes of Tatooine and into the halls of the Millennium Falcon and put me right in the pilot seat of Luke's X-Wing as we did our best to stay on target. It had a visual clarity that no special effect, not even the ones created by ILM, could match. Needless to say, I wore those tapes out.

I realized not too long ago while listening to one of my favorite scripted podcasts that the Star Wars radio drama was the spark that started it all for me, that started my love of genre storytelling. Well, let's be honest, it's an obsession.

By genre, I mean science fiction, supernatural horror, and fantasy. I call them the "what if" genres because they live by that single conceit: time travel, elves, demigods, sentient robots, space pirates. Anything is possible if you simply ask "what if?" Heinlein, Le Guin, Tolkien, King, Lovecraft, Asimov, Matheson, and of course Lucas, the list goes on and on.

These people taught me that the only limitation in life is the scale of your imagination. In honor of Halloween, we are diving headfirst into the realms of supernatural horror with our very first episode, Shambler from the Stars. It's an early tale from legendary author Robert Bloch. Now, Bloch is most famous for his novels American Gothic and Psycho, which became the basis for the Alfred Hitchcock film, and more recently Bates Motel. I know, I know. Show canceled too early.

long before he had the idea for that creepy hotel on the highway.

This very young, very green 18-year-old Robert Block created a tale inspired by his pen pal and mentor, H.P. Lovecraft. If you don't know who Lovecraft is, just Google Cthulhu and prepare to be amazed. That's spelled C-T-H-U-L-H-U, I think. Anyway, all you I Heart Norman Bates fans, you can thank Lovecraft because he's the one who encouraged Block to write professionally. Okay, so here we go.

First published in the September 1935 issue of Weird Tales, our story follows a young aspiring writer much like Block himself. So turn up the volume and turn out the lights, sit back and enjoy Shambler from the Stars. The Journal of Robert Blake, April 5th, 1933.

Ticket? Tickets, please. I am finally what I profess to be, a writer of weird fiction. As far back as I can remember, I've been enthralled and fascinated by the unknown. I have walked the midnight paths with Poe and combed the realms of horrific stars with Baudelaire. But most of all, I relish the delight and madness found in tales of ancient lore. Tickets, sir? Uh, oh, uh, yes. Here, here you go.

Final destination for you? I'm bound for Providence to see a friend. Well, a correspondence. An acquaintance, really. Very good, sir. Enjoy your travels. A man must live. And I am by my nature both physically and spiritually unfit for manual labor. And for a time I was close to utter economic disaster. It was then I decided to write. I procured a battered typewriter and a ream of cheap paper and a few carbons.

I would write of horror, fear, and the riddle that is death. Because why not? At least that was my intention. My vivid dreams became on paper jumbles of ponderous adjectives. Slowly but surely I adjusted my ideas and began to master the more obvious tricks of the trade. At last one of my stories finally met with favor. Then a second, a third, a fourth...

My stories afforded me a somewhat meager livelihood, and for a time that sufficed. But not for long. Vampires, werewolves, ghouls, and mythological monsters, these were things of little merit. I wanted to create something real, not just the ephemeral pulp I'd turned out for the magazines. The creation of such a masterpiece has become my crusade. I long to learn the songs the demons sing as they swoop between the stars.

Then I could write something of value. And so I began searching for the isolated thinkers, people who shun the light and search for lost wisdom in the lonely places of the world.

I was like a baby fumbling in the dark. But by mere happenstance, a letter arrived at my home. It was in response to an ad I desperately placed in the back of a pulp magazine. The letter's author was a mystic dreamer from New England by the name of Randolph Carter. Randolph was a writer of notable brilliance and wide reputation among the discriminating few.

an avid scholar who learned many strange things as a boy in witch-haunted Arkham. It was from him that I learned of the ancient books and strange lore that made necessary this journey from my home in Wisconsin. And it's towards him that this train slowly carries me. He guardedly shared snippets he had uncovered. Our letters traveled back and forth with such velocity that there was rarely a week where we did not hear from each other.

After many months, he finally consented to send me the key to my endeavor, for in his research he alone had collected a secret record of places and personages that might have the knowledge I seek. So armed with Randolph's list, I set off like Galahad in search of my grail.

Denials, evasions, refusals.

Hello? Is this Robert Blake of 620 East Knapp Street, Milwaukee? Speaking. Who is this? We know you, Mr. Blake. We know where you live. If you value your sanity, your life, the lives of all you love, you will forget you ever heard the name Dagon.

Evidently, the alleged possessors of such lore were angered that their secret should be thus unveiled by a prying stranger. But after months of failure and dead ends, Lady Luck finally turned her attention.

Is this Satrap Books? Uh, the ad referred me to South Dearborn Street, but there wasn't a sign. Welcome to Satrap and Farnibus's Rare and Antique Books and Manuscripts. Is there anything I can assist you with, young man? Yes, actually. I'm looking for a rather narrow spectrum of hard-to-find prints. I was told your store specializes in tomes of...

an occult nature. We have been known to carry the odd collection of this and that. Do you have something specific in mind? Would you by any chance have a copy of a book, um, called The Necronomicon? Uh, by, uh, uh, I'm not sure how to pronounce this. A. Alazred. Sorry, not a title I'm familiar with. Okay, okay, okay. Uh,

How about Francois Honor Belfort's Cult de Goule? Or the Liber Ivonis? Perhaps it's English translation? Never heard of them. Sure someone isn't having a go with you? No, uh, yeah, perhaps you're right. I'm sorry to bother you. Uh, do you mind if I just peruse the shelves? Have at them. Let me know if you find anything interesting. Aristotle, Julius Caesar, Dante...

Shakespeare. Shakespeare again. He's clearly not selling as well as he used to. What's this? Iron bindings? Clasp too. The inscription on the cover looks like it was painted by hand. Faded. Hard to read. Let me see here. Dair-ver-miss. Mysteries. The Mysteries of the Worm.

Let's just, uh... crack you open and take a look. Latin. Ugh, my worst subject. Hmm. No pictures. What's this? Passages in some sort of hieroglyph or rune. Translata et analibus traditum permanus enum... Ludwig Prynne? Why do I know that name? Hmm. Burned at the stake, I believe. Whoa. What a find. Sir? Uh, sir?

Ah, you found something! Look at that! Um, yeah, this one. Are you familiar with it? Where did you acquire it? DeVirmis Mysteries. Hmm... Worms? About angling, I suspect. Bought it at an estate sale, I seem to recall. Owner died suddenly or some such. Got the whole lot for a steal. You interested in fishing, are ya? Um, how much for it? How 'bout... call it a dollar.

I should really be charging you too, but seeing as you came all the way out here on a prank, I'm feeling pitiful. Done. Um, here you go. I'll ring it right up. Wait! I'll be right back for you. I addressed a hasty letter to my friend in Providence that very day. Could this book be the very thing I was looking for? I waited with bated breath for his response.

Dear Robert, Thank you for your recent letter praising me of your find, and if it is genuine, then what a find it is. From your words, I uncover that you have a little familiarity with Ludwig Prynne, but in the interest of presenting the information as I have it, below I have included a brief history of the man and his exploits.

Prince perished at the stake in Brussels when the witch trials were at their height. A strange character to be sure, alchemist, necromancer, reputed mage. He boasted having attained a miraculous age when he at last met his fiery end. He was said to have proclaimed himself the sole survivor of the ill-fated Ninth Crusade.

And indeed, there was a knight in the lists of that name. Ludwig attributed his sorcerer's learning to the years he had spent as a captive among the wizards and wonderworkers of Syria. During his captivity, he claimed to have encountered djinns and ifrits of elder eastern myth. At any rate, his declining years were spent residing secluded in a forest near Brussels, the country of his birth.

Manuscripts still in existence speak of devil worship and accounts that he was attended by familiars and invisible companions. Peasants shunned the forest, claiming that hellish things ambled in the shadows and loosed bone-chilling eldritch cries at the moon. Take what you will from that, but there was no mention of the creatures on record after Prince's capture. He was in their prison while awaiting trial that he penned De Vermis Mysterius.

How it was ever smuggled past the guards is a mystery in itself. But a year after his death, it saw print in Cologne. It was immediately suppressed, but a few copies slipped through the Inquisition's fingers and were secretly circulated. Imitations and fakes have come to light over the years in an attempt to, uh, part gullible enthusiasts from their wallets.

Only the Latin original is accepted as genuine, and of those, only a handful exist. The secrets of the old Archmage have been held tight by a select initiated few.

To conclude, I will add this: I think it is important to proceed with care, Mr. Carter. If this tome is indeed authentic, as you claim, there may be unforeseen and inescapable consequences in unlocking the secrets held within. As a scholar of such things, one parable has banged its drum time and time again in my many years of study.

Arcane knowledge always exacts its price. With some things, it's not good to learn too much. You must travel to Providence at once and stay as a guest in my home. Here, we may endeavor to ascertain the authenticity of Prince Loss' grimoire. And together, we shall determine the next steps. I will await your arrival. Most sincerely, your friend, Randolph Carter.

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Reporting live from under my blanket, I'm Susan Curtis with Dunkin' at Home. Breaking news, pumpkin spice iced and hot coffees are back. I'll pass it to Mr. Curtis with his blanket for the full story. That is so right, Susan. You know, it's never too early to get in a spicy mood. I'm talking cinnamony goodness that's so tasty, people don't want to leave their blankets either. Back to you. No, back to you. All you. The home with Dunkin' Pumpkin Spice is where you want to be.

Coming up on Providence Station, disembark here for Providence. Mr. Carter? I do hope I have the right address. Robert, welcome. You have it with you? On your person? Nice to finally make your true acquaintance. I do not recommend long journeys by rail. A plague on the back. Prince Book. Yes, why yes. I have it right here. Safely stowed in my case. Let's get you inside.

It's not good to linger in public long with such things in hand. Nothing rejuvenates the Constitution like a bath and a meal. Thank you for your hospitality. You're quite welcome. No one should attempt to plumb the Cyclopean depths on an empty stomach. Then without further delay, I shall produce the article of interest. Intricate scrollwork. Beautiful. The binding is iron. The raised bands appear to be something else, though.

Lead, perhaps. Curious. Mm. Vellum. Not rag or pulp. That's good. That's very good. Strong odor. I noticed that. The sewing tape, see here? Maggot-ridden. And the edge, eaten away. Perhaps by rats. Is that a good thing? Well, if this is a forgery, it's old. Very old. I knew the moment I saw it on the shelf that this one was a prodigious find. And these runes. Not Germanic. Sumerian...

Rylian... I need a moment. May I peruse the shelves while you ponder? This is quite the collection. Ars Magna Ultima, Atlantis and the Lost Lemuria... Remi's Demonolatry? In English? I've never even heard of the Yellow King. Perhaps... Wait, wait. Are you cold? You must put on a sweater. You're trembling. These are incantations. So it's genuine.

I believe this to be the sum of Brynn's revelations. A treasure trove. This is evil knowledge. Who's to say what demon-dreaded lore these pages contain? This is exactly what I've been looking for. Something real. Something really real. You are young. Seek inspiration on safer shores.

Exercising the rotten wisdom that texts like this contain is dangerous. Very dangerous. But worth it. Have you ever come across anything this revelatory? This close to the source? You said it yourself. The man called forth spirits and claimed to be 350 years old.

You've spent your whole life in search of knowledge like this. Don't you want to find out the truth? Was Prynne really a keeper of mystic secrets or just another loon burned at the stake for his madness? Yes. Okay. Okay. Hot dog! I'll start here with the chapter on familiars.

I can feel something happening. It's like the air is buzzing. What was that?

Okay, Randolph, maybe you were right. Maybe, maybe we shouldn't do this. We can't turn back now. The gate is open. It's so cold. And that light, where is it coming from? It's like a window into... Where is that?

There's something trying to make its way through. Randolph, for the love of God, cast this thing back! That sound! What is it doing to you?

The oil lamp... I've got to get to the oil lamp! Beast, back to whatever pit or dark star you crawled from! Burn, demon, burn!

The Journal of Robert Blake, October 1st, 1933.

I stumbled for hours through those twisted streets and quaked with renewed and idiotic laughter as I looked up and the burning and ever-gloating stars eyed me furtively. The fire on the hill was visible for many hours as I wandered in a daze. Was it all some illusion?

In that lamplight, I had seen Randolph's features contort into a grimace of insane agony. His body rose unsupported from the floor. Mid-air, eyes glazed, his hands clutching convulsively at the thing. The book, I could almost swear Prynne's writings had vanished before my eyes. But I can't be sure, can't be sure.

Those final moments are a blur, a blur of horrid memory. Randolph Carter's sagging body, dangling in space, head bent backwards, his body thinning, draining its fluids into a husk before my eyes. The thing was also there, grotesque, bloated, and obscene, lurking in the shadows. A headless, faceless, eyeless bulk. That star-born monster haunts my dreams.

I do not know if the fire cleansed that beast from our realm, but the immolation of that grand Georgian home succeeded in erasing all trace of our folly. After a long while, I became calm enough to board a train, calm throughout the entire journey back to Wisconsin. But the security found in the blanket of one's own home eludes me now. At night,

When the stars gleam, the visions return. I seek refuge now in the arms of opiates, in a vain attempt to ban those leering memories from my sleep. But after these long months, I really do not care anymore, for I shall not be here long.

I have the curious suspicion that I shall again see that shambler from the stars. I know that when it comes, it will seek me out and carry me down into the darkness that holds my friend. I almost yearn for that day, for then I shall learn once and for all the mysteries of the world.

I hope you enjoyed this presentation of Shambler from the Stars. It was written, produced, and edited by me, your host, Jonathan Pezza. Our cast included the voices of Matt Hoban, Jeremy Pezza, and Catherine Mews. The score was written by Gustav Holst as part of his Planet Suite and was performed by the U.S. Air Force Heritage of America Band. Shambler from the Stars is a work in the public domain and was produced in accordance with U.S. copyright law.

If you have a suggestion for future episodes, or you just have a question or feedback about the podcast, I'd love to hear from you. The email is jonathan at curiousmatterpodcast.com. And check us out online for more information at www.curiousmatterpodcast.com.

Here on Curious Matter, we dedicate each of these episodes to a used bookstore. In this highly curated media world, used bookstores are one of the last places where you can walk in and have that serendipitous and magical experience of discovery. Because no matter who you are and what you love to read, that perfect book is sitting on one of those shelves waiting there just for you.

So this episode goes out to the $10 or less bookstore in Northridge, California, and to the door writers group that meets there. You can find them online at 10-dollar-bookstore.com, or better yet, if you live nearby, go for a visit and buy a book.

But wait, there's more. Did you know Shambler from the Stars has a sequel? Coming up in two weeks on the next episode of Curious Matter, Robert Blake's adventures continue in H.P. Lovecraft's Haunter in the Dark. So make sure to subscribe today and thank you for listening. The Fable & Folly Network, where fiction producers flourish. This is Ai reporting. He's at the Lao Chang Restaurant, Changchun, northeastern China.

It's, uh, spring, 1997. Once it's started, I'll leave him in Ming's hands. That's a joke. Ming doesn't have hands. And what do you do, exactly? Besides dance with strangers? I work for the postal service. You're a postman? Weird, right? This croutier? What is it? It's just a bit strange. A letter for me from Hong Kong.

And there's no stamp. I need stamps to write a dead person? Yep, there's a cost. How much? A pound. A pound of flesh. A pound of you. It seems like a lot. Lift up your shirt! What's that? Just hold this. We are done now. Ow! It's gonna hurt. What?

The very worst thing that could possibly happen. Sara, please write back. If your letter can find me here, then I think we have a lot to talk about. Saludos, Raul. The very worst thing that could possibly happen.

An audio drama in nine parts. Produced by Wolf of the Door Studios. Out now. For more information, please visit WLFDR.com.