Back in 2020 I was a university writer in residence in Palmerston North, and in my little Arts Centre flat, in the middle of a city that was deserted due to pandemic lockdown, I was next to a church. In fact, from my top floor bedroom I could see the church tower looming directly over, and more than once I lay awake at night, imagining monsters clambering down it and eyeing me up for supper. Unlike Mr. Blake in "The Haunter of the Dark," however, I did not break in and ransack the place for supernatural oddities. Perhaps if he'd had better manners he wouldn't be dead. 

Still, the first half of "Haunter" was satisfyingly disturbing, as the aura of evil surrounding its particular church percolated through the text. Then it went full-on cosmic horror and I stopped taking it seriously. If imagined monsters staring down into my bedroom don't cause me to lose sleep then you cannot expect the same, slouching in and from another galaxy, to do better. It's just not scary. I'm sorry, H.P., but it isn't.