Then, just now, I went into my bedroom to find something else, and Lovecraft looked down on me. He's dull metallic grey. His head is elongated, his eyes blank discs. It's a bust of the author I received years ago for winning an award, and it's always seemed scary. For a while I dressed him up in a D'Artagnan hat, complete with plume, and a pair of sunglasses with pink heart-shaped rims. But a young visitor wanted those for her Barbie. Now he has a bronze-blond fright wig. And "fright" is the defining word.
The narrator recalls a moment when they noticed a bust of H.P. Lovecraft in their bedroom. This metallic grey sculpture has an unsettling appearance, with an elongated head and blank eyes, which has always given off a spooky vibe. Initially received as an award, it has become a point of fascination and fear for the narrator.
In the past, the narrator attempted to make the bust less intimidating by dressing it...
