by G.M.Kelly

(Sample Chapters)

Copyright © 1996 E.V.

368 pages and approximately 114,448 words.


Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.

Before you ask...

Crowley's Corner (I would say, pointing to the appropriate locations, if we were speaking face to face) is between here and there. It is between the mind and the heart in that abyss which lies on the far side of reason in the relative universe, at the edge of that something higher than reason beyond which the world of the absolute exists...if one could say that it actually exists being absolute.

The town's solid foundations were laid in reality, but it's highest façades touch upon fantasy.

In short, I would be surprised if you found Crowley's Corner on any map other than a neurological scan of my brain. Suffice it to say that if it did or does exist in the "real world", Crowley's Corner would be somewhere on the east coast, whether north or south would pretty much depend upon which direction and culture you might prefer. I am a goddamned billy yank born and bred, so most likely if you steered north you would probably stand a better chance of finding the town.

Where Crowley's Corner might be is not nearly as important as why it exists.

The small village of Crowley's Corner exists because it needs to exist. Every morality play needs a stage, every horror story needs a set, and choosing a "real life" town always begs for a plethora of problems. Who will you accidentally insult? Who might claim you have misrepresented them with a fictional character in a fictional work and decide to sue you, the famous wealthy author? You get the picture. Mostly, I will be the first to admit, choosing a town in the "real world" involves a great deal of research and some travel, which I could not afford when writing this novel and doubtless will only be able to barely afford after publication. So you see, it really would not pay to sue me. I just thought I would mention that here while I had the opportunity.

In this story it is said that Crowley's Corner is named after a colourful Irish pioneer with the somewhat biblical and not very Irish sounding name of Elias Crowley. Well, the story is fiction so of course that is a lie. The hamlet is really named after Aleister Crowley, a.k.a. Frater Perdurabo, a.k.a. the Master Therion, a.k.a. The Great Beast 666, et cetera. Born in Leamington Spa, Warwickshire, England on October 12, 1875 Era Vulgari (the year as commonly reckoned, and please note that Crowleymas is a national holiday), Crowley pursued a curious and interesting life which became wonderful grist for the rumour mill. A poet, mountain climber, world traveller, mystic and magician, with an incredible and intelligent sense of humour and more than a little leg-pulling imp in him, A.C. became the favourite target of the writers of the tabloid trash of his day, as well as the sensationalist hacks of our times, the phoney Rosicrucians, Theosophists, et al, along with the Fundamentalist religionists who were envious or fearful of him, or sometimes just downright pissed because he was a man who spoke his mind, neglectful of the personal consequences. Needless to say, a man as intelligent, talented, impishly playful and honestly outspoken as Aleister Crowley simply had to become the target of a campaign of vilification which only began with the unfair label of "the wickedest man in the world." Naturally, on at least one level, that appellation delighted A.C. for he was a rebel no less slandered than Lucifer himself. Even worse, as it is with most of today's "satanists" who claim to represent the Devil (originally Satan was merely an angel in the employment of God whose job was to test and initiate humankind to higher levels of consciousness, his name, Lucifer, meaning "Lightbearer"), the vast majority of people today who claim to represent Crowley and his teachings haven't the foggiest idea as to what A.C.'s philosophy, Thelema, is really all about and they are intent only upon using both the man's name and his work to further their own petty personal goals at the expense of Therion's memory and work.

Aleister Crowley, who died in 1947 E.V. at the age of 72 in an impoverished state but still in possession of a keen, alert mind and working to the last for the benefit of all humankind, was a real man, in every sense of the word, who lived in and travelled to real places. And Crowley's Corner, named in honour of the Great Beast, is pure fiction.

Or is it?

Pure, certainly. As pure and true to itself as anything on the relative planes of existence or levels of consciousness can be. Perhaps even more pure than that since Crowley's Corner exists just a step beyond the confines of our "real world."

Fiction, of course, but our daily existence, everything around us, everything we create is a fiction...until it is real-ized.

Therefore, while Crowley's Corner may not exist in the "real world" today, it may one day manifest either by evolution or miracle upon this relative plane of existence. It may even be that your town, even as you read this, is gradually and very subtly transforming itself into Crowley's Corner. Whether the place goes by that name or not is actually irrelevant. It exists already...between here and there.

As for Alan, Chris, Cartwright Merriweather and the rest of the actors in this little tale of horror, this humble morality play, yes, a certain percentage of their composition, to lesser or greater degrees, is drawn from my own mind, my own heart and soul. However, within these characters you will find a little bit of the person next to you, a friend, a relative, the waitress you never really tip enough...a little bit of yourself. They are just as real or unreal as Crowley's Corner. Their existence itself is not nearly as important as why they exist, and this could be said of you or me or anyone in the "real world."

Why do you exist?

Love is the law, love under will.

January 31, 1996 E.V.