Dime Novels From Oblivion

If you're too lazy to read the story you can always listen to the narrated version by Jessica Taylor! Check it out here All the curtains were drawn, and the lights turned out. He looked at the row of outlets on the wall just above the bed and wondered what it was all for. Marius had never been to the hospital before; he had never even seen a doctor before. Being immortal meant death had never been a consequence, so there was no need to worry about his health. He had been known by many names and held many titles during his tenure as an unholy creature of the night, so many so, at this point he could scarcely remember what his birth name was. Such things held significance for the living, for people who needed to be defined by something they hoped would last longer than their finite lives Perhaps it was to preserve a legacy, a way for mere humans who have no understanding of eternity to try and live forever. Marius knew a legacy amounted to little more than a memory and w

(The costume and photo were both done by horror personality Ozo the Clown. Follow him https://www.instagram.com/ozotheclown/) Midlothian was a small town, inhabited by only 689 people in all. The houses, barns, and fields formed an oasis in the fields of man-sized grass and impenetrable forests that surrounded the town like a moat. It stood seemingly unmoved by time's ceaseless current. It remained unchanged even as the rest of the world around it dissolved in a maelstrom of chaos and destruction. Midlothian was situated somewhere in the bowels of a country that had long since disappeared. No one there had been around when the fabled Goliath nation that stretched between two oceans existed. As a consequence, it had faded from Midlothian's collective memory and was relegated to the realm of myth by concurrent generations who couldn't even remember it's name. Midlothian had survived the death throws of the mighty civilization largely because of how isolated it wa

Fannon propelled through the eternal void in solitude. He watched with ceaseless intent for any sign of humanity in the endless nothingness. His ship was a lonely little dot of light racing along the surface of an ebony sheet. It was among the most lonely corners of deep space, devoid of any starlight and absent the glow of any planets. There was only black. The vessel was quiet. There was only the humming of the propulsion engines and the rhythmic pulsing of his infant son's life support system. The tubes and wires made an artificial umbilical cord that merged him with the machine; its heated confines were like it was a mechanical womb. The machines kept the child maintained in perpetual stasis. He never got tired, and he never got sick, he never cried, but he also never grew. Their celestial life vessel could do little more than preserve the child in a state somewhere between life and death. That would only end when the equipment powered down, or the life-sustaining formula ceas