Oh, in the frickin’ name of Set, He Whose Face Is The Word For “Darkness”, some of these rumors are ridiculous.
I understand that there are a lot of crazy, wacky scuttlebut about me. I’m a monster, I attack my staff with candelabras, I’m a Lich from ancient Alantis. It’s so very tiresome.
There is NO truth to the rumor that, should you hear of the existence of my tomes and fail to purchase them before the next New Moon, your human body will fall away, your homo sapiens mind will lose its sapiens, and you’ll become a snarling, sharp-fanged, toothful beast, perhaps ironically slaying even those you love.
Certainly not.
It is likewise absolutely insane to suggest that those who purchase not my books will, upon their (far-away, we hope!) deaths slowly arise from their graves and make their way to my tomb, near mindless save for the single thought: protect the scrolls!
I mean, for one thing, I’m not even dead while I’m writing this. Or undead.
As far as you know.
There’s also no chance you’ll be turned into a piece of furniture. None. Who got that ridiculous idea, and why is it so specific? No, you certainly will NOT have your physical body slump into death and your consciousness transferred into an elegant seat at the dining table at the Von Steuben house of the Newark Museum in Newark, New Jersey.
Wherever would you get that idea?
You really don’t have to buy my books. You can buy anyone’s books. Hell, you can even buy absolutely no books at all, even after you just read the last sentence, hear me, O Bajoombah the Enactor, hear that this has been read and entered into the mind of…
…sorry. That’s probably from some other piece. I don’t edit this stuff too carefully, which is another perfectly good reason for you to avoid buying my books, even though having knowledge of the words I write is essentially the only way to avoid being visited by Nyarlothotep.
But that’s not my fault. I can’t help it if my distinctive writing style appeals to 3000-year-old entities who herald the coming of Chaos.
I believe everyone has a right to read whatever they want. (The whole ‘You don’t have a right to read the Necronomicon because summoning the Great Old Ones and destroying the entire World has consequences for persons other than yourself’ argument is ridiculous; nobody ever gets past chapter seven. Trust me; I should know.)
In conclusion, please don’t be afraid to avoid buying my books or reading my writing. Nothing bad will happen to you, other than you’ll lose out on my genius, and also be eaten by ravening timber wolves.
But the latter is purely and entirely coincidental.
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