Datlow, Ellen (ed) - Lovecraft Unbound / Датлоу, Эллен (ред) - Лавкрафт освобожденный [2023, epub, ENG]

The Crevasse / Расщелина short story by Dale Bailey and Nathan Ballingrud The Office of Doom short story by Richard Bowes Sincerely, Petrified short story by Anna Tambour The Din of Celestial Birds short story by Brian Evenson The Tenderness of Jackals short story by Amanda Downum Sight Unseen short story by Joel Lane Cold Water Survival short story by Holly Phillips Come Lurk with Me and Be My Love short story by William Browning Spencer Houses Under the Sea / Дома поглощены волнами моря novelette by Caitlín R. Kiernan Machines of Concrete Light and Dark short story by Michael Cisco Leng short story by Marc Laidlaw One Day, Soon short story by Lavie Tidhar Commencement novelette by Joyce Carol Oates Vernon, Driving short story by Simon Kurt Unsworth The Recruiter short story by Michael Shea Marya Nox short story by Gemma Files Mongoose / Мангуст novelette by Elizabeth Bear and Sarah Monette Catch Hell novelette by Laird Barron That of Which We Speak When We Speak of the Unspeakable / Тот, чьё имя не выразить словами short story by Nick Mamatas

Izrael Irizarry stepped through a bright-scarred airlock onto Kadath Station, lurching a little as he adjusted to station gravity. On his shoulder, Mongoose extended her neck, her barbels flaring, flicked her tongue out to taste the air, and colored a question. Another few steps, and he smelled what Mongoose smelled, the sharp stink of toves, ammoniac and bitter. He touched the tentacle coiled around his throat with the quick double tap that meant soon. Mongoose colored displeasure, and Irizarry stroked the slick velvet wedge of her head in consolation and restraint. Her four compound and twelve simple eyes glittered, and her color softened but did not change, as she leaned into the caress. She was eager to hunt and he didn’t blame her. The boojum Manfred von Richthofen took care of its own vermin. Mongoose had had to make do with a share of Irizarry’s rations, and she hated eating dead things. If Irizarry could smell toves, it was more than the “minor infestation” the message from the stationmaster had led him to expect. Of course, that message had reached Irizarry third or fourth or fifteenth hand, and he had no idea how long it had taken. Perhaps when the stationmaster had sent for him, it had been minor. But he knew the ways of bureaucrats, and he wondered. . . .