“To boil the seas. To smash the forests. To crush the cities.”


Wilbur Whateley has the power to do all these things.  Dunwich folk believe the backwoods cretin to be just another inbred hill-freak, but he’s actually the scion of deviant and unhallowed gods; his purpose on this earth is to fill it with a horror which will eradicate all mankind.  See, Wilbur is inclined to agree with his otherworldly father, that human beings are filthy, wretched, nearly brainless animals who do not deserve to live.  


But he’s also half human, and as time goes by he finds himself longing for the one thing he’s not likely ever to possess: love.


Wilbur will find it, however, in the last week of his life–a love so pure, so honest, so incontestably sincere that it almost changes his mind about the unworthiness of mankind.




“Yog-Sothoth be praised...”


Only hardcore horror scribe Edward Lee would dare sequelize Lovecraft’s The Dunwich Horror in a manner so explicit and so sublimely obscene.  Where Lovecraft revealed his horrors in between the lines, Lee puts them under a most perverse microscope to exploit every abominable, erotic, and lust-soused detail, and hook-drags the reader through a screaming black arcade of jerkwater sex, articulate gore, and unmitigated grotesquerie.



A novel of unutterable horror and undiluted love.

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