Old Bones is at it again, wearied from years of slumber under Beldam Woods (not, as I long thought, apropos of the violent misfortunes that befall its wanderers, Bedlam Woods).
There is a convoluted mythology at work here, spanning several novels and short stories of Moore’s work, and the earth-dwelling god with the power of manipulating the underlying structure of organic fauna, assimilating them for armor and sustenance, feeding off the marrow and the aroma of toxic fungal spores, is also cursed, or gifted, with the dreams of his victims ossifying within him as he harvests, fulfilling his malicious purpose.
This is not a Halloween tale, but the structure of the mythos is enmeshed with the season. It’s not intended as a setup for further reading, but there is too much expanded story alluded to for this to be an entirely satisfying standalone.