Edward Martin III

"Three times Randolph Carter dreamed of the marvelous city, and three times was he snatched away while still he paused on the high terrace above it." Thus begins H. P. Lovecraft's epic tale of the courageous dreamer Randolph Carter and his search for the mystical sunset city by petitioning the gods of Kadath. During his journey, he travels deep into the world of dream, to the edge of the world, to the moon and back, and to the heights and depths of human and... inhuman experience. Written by Edward Martin III

Six men, weekend scavengers, enter an abandoned mine in search of swag. While they're underground, the mouth of the mine caves in and they are trapped. One by one, they fall prey to someone or... something... that is stalking them in the suffocating darkness.

The phone just rang. Who's on the other end ?

There is a beast in the fog. A hungry thing with claws and wings, that stalks unseen, that destroys everything and everyone it pulls in.

A woman, smoking a cigarette, dressed all in black, waits while expounding on her insecurities.

None of us ever really know how we affected the world around us until it's too late. The Dead explores that space, focusing on the personal, private, and disturbingly intimate confessions offered by people at a wake -- when they think there is no audience but their own ears and their departed friend. The Dead is what we leave behind.

Flesh of my Flesh chronicles mankind’s final hours in the last great war for existence. An embedded research team reveals themselves to rescue their own beleaguered rescue party. This triggers a snowball of betrayal, jealousy, love, and redemption, punctuated by bullets, pain, and death. After the bullets, pain, and death come more revelations.

A woman is torn between her love for her family and the fate slated for her by her ancestors.

Brianna discovers that sometimes, even if there is chemistry between two people, some people are resistant to that chemistry. For such folks, she'll need to plan a bigger dose.

Sometimes, "Till death do us part" doesn't quite apply.

Shadowdog illustrates one of the profound differences between the H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival and all other film festival...