Round 2: H.P. Lovecraft vs Mary Shelley

H.P. Lovecraft

Special attack: Reading aloud from the dread Necronomicon


  • One of the most influential horror authors of all time
  • Utter contempt for human life


  • Doesn’t get out much
  • Prose so purple it’s practically Tinky Winky

Mary Shelley

Special attack: A mysterious, nameless protector


  • Celebrated author of Frankenstein
  • Influential figure of Romantic literature


  • May be overshadowed by her more fame-hungry husband


How we think it would play out…

H.P. Lovecraft stared morosely at Anne McCaffrey as the dread footfalls of Cthulhu faded into the distance. The first challenger was defeated and he was one step closer to becoming the Ultimate Writer, but at what cost? Had it been worth unleashing the monster-god that would destroy humanity, just to win a popularity contest?

His gloomy meditation was cut short, however, by the approach of an irate Mary Shelley – and the hulking figure, eight feet high, that followed close behind her. “Lovecraft!” she snapped. “I have a bone to pick with you.” She thrust a copy of Weird Tales in his face, and Lovecraft’s heart sank further.

Herbert West: Reanimator,” he murmured. “I always knew this day would come.”

“You took my magnum opus – my searing indictment of man’s hubris, the dangers of scientific arrogance, of prejudice and fear – and turned into a… a parody?”

“I wish I’d never written that wretched work,” groaned Lovecraft. “They paid me by the instalment, five dollars a time. How could I refuse?”

“Well, now it’s time to face the monster you created,” said Shelley. “Or should I say, the monster I created?” With that, the enormous figure behind her shambled forward to attack.

Slight and sickly though he was, Lovecraft was no slouch in a punch-up, and Shelley’s monster found it hard to land a blow on the author. He neatly avoided its lumbering limbs with surprising speed and grace, although its sheer size and strength made counterattacks impossible.

The fight ebbed back and forth, with neither side gaining much of an advantage, until finally Lovecraft managed to tear off one of the monster’s shabbily-sewn ears. Seizing his chance as the creature bent down to retrieve it, he unleashed a devastating roundhouse kick that knocked its head clean from its body.

“Stitch that,” quipped Lovecraft, before remembering that he doesn’t really do witty bon mots and re-setting his face to its customary frown.

“This isn’t over, Lovecraft!” screamed Shelley. “I’ll have my satisfaction before this contest is over, and the whole world will know what a shameless hack you are!”

“I’m afraid that might be true,” replied the panting Lovecraft, “but right now I have more pressing issues than my reputation to attend to. You see, in my last battle I unwittingly unleashed Cthulhu, that dire star-spawn of ageless aeons, whose coming presages the very annihilation of…”

“Yeah, well, good luck with that,” snapped Shelley. “But if you don’t mind, I’ve got a lot of stitching to do here.”




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