
 
 
Dark Fantasy, Lovecraftian Fantasy, Horror, Occult and Supernatural,
    Witchcraft and Magic
  Publication Date: October 14, 2024
  Whether she’s crawling across a sweltering bayou or swimming
    languidly through a swamp, the bog hag watches and waits.
  Join sixteen AuthorTubers as they explore the allure and mystery of the Bog
    Hag, turning her from a villain to a gal with a social calendar, a vendetta,
    or even a need to be the best she can be.
  Any and all proceeds from the sales of this anthology go to Quill Cottage
    Wildlife, a 501C3 nonprofit.
   
  Featuring A Murky Reckoning
  Garwick Greedgill is a fisherman desperate to become a legend in the realm
    where he dwells. When he pulls a horrific creature up from the polluted sea,
    he sacrifices it to the legendary sorceress who is said to live at the
    center of the bog near which he dwells.
  Yadira of the Roots is said to be the daughter of Nyarlathotep, the
    Wish-Bringer From Beyond the Stars. Will Garwick’s actions earn favor
    from the storied Bog Hag, or does another fate await him?
   
   
 
   
  Excerpt
  An Aquatic Reckoning
  Back at the dock, the fisherman hurried to the stables, paying the stable
    hand four Electrotokens to rent a cart and a pair of mules to haul his catch
    away. He promised to return the cart and the animals the next day.
  Garwick Greedgill was thick around the midsection and had a sunken chest
    and narrow frame that belied the strength of his wiry arms. His leathery,
    tanned skin bore witness to many years spent on a boat's deck under the
    sun's harsh glare. His hair was a bristly mix of silver and gunmetal gray,
    poking through the many holes in a threadbare red cap embossed with the
    emblem of a long-forgotten fishing guild. A heavy forehead and scowling brow
    framed eyes a sickly shade of murky green, reminiscent of a polluted ocean.
    His broad nose bent slightly to one side courtesy of a mishap with the sail
    boom. Countless hours spent retrieving catch after catch left his calloused
    hands stained with fish scales and innards as he searched for the grand haul
    that always eluded him.
  Garwick wore frayed puce trousers held up by a filthy, tattered flaxen rope
    belt. His once-bright cerise tunic, covered in various colored patches where
    he had mended it over the years, was threadbare. It hung loosely over his
    prominent belly. The soles of his scuffed brown boots were worn thin,
    leaving his feet vulnerable to the cold and damp. He wore a necklace of
    oddly shaped stones and bones that he believed would attract good luck. The
    longed-for luck seldom materialized.
  Garwick drove the cart as close as possible to the bog extending beyond his
    property's edge. He lived in a ramshackle hut between the bog and a
    twisting, moss-covered path that led to a meandering creek. Near the hut was
    a dingy shed. Every corner held remnants of his profession—a
    collection of rusty hooks, tattered nets, and an old, cracked barrel filled
    with miscellaneous items of dubious worth. A box containing lucky tokens
    collected over the years sat on a dusty shelf. Best of all, there was a
    wondrous grimoire. An odor of decay emanated from the book's brown hide
    cover. Garwick did not mind the strange texture or unpleasant scent of the
    tome. Based on today's catch, the grimoire's magic had already begun to
    work.
  About the Author
 
C. L. Hart, the owner and sole employee of Naughty Netherworld Press and
    Ornery Owl Ventures, is spoken of in hushed tones. She is an editor who
    writes or a writer who edits. She is also described as The Mad Scribe of the
    Northeastern Colorado Plains, The Terrible Old Woman, and The Author That
    Should Not Be. She is a member of ACES Editing Society, the Denver Horror
    Collective, First Coast Romance Writers, the H. P. Lovecraft Historical
    Society, Passionate Ink (writing as Lil DeVille), Regency Romance Writers,
    and Rocky Mountain Romance Writers.
  Ms. Hart shares a home in a remote rural town of 134 souls with her adult
    son and three cats. Her sense of fashion is best described as Early
    Twenty-First Century Unmade Bed. This disabled former nurse can usually be
    found arguing with herself about subplots or rehabilitating eldritch
    horrors.
  When not penning sanity-destroying works of dystopian fiction, Lovecraftian
    fantasy, or old-school horror with the occasional sweet romance thrown in to
    upset the cosmic apple cart, Ms. Hart enjoys creating baked goods she hopes
    will be considered palatable by someone besides eldritch horrors.
   
  Follow C. L. Hart
  Need a professional alpha or beta reader or editor?
   
  Purchase Today