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Fiction, maybe?

The "what if"
we keep on a separate shelf.

Everywhere else on this site the rule is the same: sources or it didn't happen. This is the one room where we suspend it on purpose. These are stories, occult-thrillers and ancient-astronaut tales built on the bones of real people, real places, and real books, with an invented conspiracy strung between them. The history is accurate; the cosmic horror is not. Each piece says exactly which is which.

For people who want it to be real and want it to be true, and these are clearly marked as fiction.

The stories

A lone man on a desert hilltop at dusk aiming a tall array of long metal pipes, a cloudbuster, toward a thin cigar-shaped light trailing black vapor across a bruised violet sky
Fiction, maybe?

The Spacegun

A speculative occult-thriller, and a work of fiction. Every anchor is real: Wilhelm Reich and his 'orgone' energy, the cloudbuster he aimed at the sky and renamed a 'spacegun,' the 1954-55 'OROP Desert Ea' expedition in Arizona where he believed he was fighting UFOs, the August 1956 court-ordered burning of his books, and his death in a federal prison in 1957. The only thing invented is the secret cause stringing them together, that the spacegun worked, and that what he touched in the sky was looking back.
A shiny oval craft glinting above a Himalayan caravan on a high cold plateau, a faint three-sphere emblem and an eye-topped pyramid burning in the clouds above the snow
Fiction, maybe?

The Shambhala Signal

A speculative occult-thriller. The painter, the expedition, the sky-object, the symbol, and the cabinet secretary are all real; the intelligence threading them together is not. In 1927 Nicholas Roerich's caravan watched a shiny oval cross the sky over Central Asia, one of the earliest documented UFO sightings. He was looking for Shambhala on the orders of a Himalayan 'Master,' and a few years later a U.S. cabinet secretary who called him 'Guru' helped put an eye and a pyramid on the dollar bill. This is a story about a sign being planted where everyone would carry it and no one would read it.
An Elizabethan scholar in a dark study gazing into a glowing obsidian scrying mirror, an angelic child-form taking shape in the glass, a grid of strange letters on the table
Fiction, maybe?

The Angelical Tongue

A speculative occult-thriller. The man, the diaries, the language, and the spy-code are real; the thing on the other end of the line is not. Queen Elizabeth's astrologer, mathematician, navigator, her first '007', spent seven years writing down a complete language dictated by 'angels,' letter by letter, backwards. This is a story about what happens when you speak it forwards.
A blue-white binary star over a moonlit African escarpment, a faint dark companion star beside it, amphibious robed figures rising from still water below
Fiction, maybe?

The Dark Companion

A speculative occult-thriller. The people, books, and star are real; the signal binding them is not. From a blind cliff-priest in Mali to Aleister Crowley's 'Silver Star,' to the magician who in 1955 named the dark twin of Sirius, to a novelist who thought the Dog Star called him on a July night in 1973, an 'ancient contact' tale about the one star no naked eye can see.
A tall, pale, almond-eyed figure half-formed from grey-green phosphorescent carvings on the wall of an underground gallery, a bent solar cross glowing in the stone
Fiction, maybe?

The Hyperborean Doctrine

A speculative occult-thriller. The names, places, and books are real; the conspiracy stringing them together is not. An 'ancient astronaut' tale that traces the 'Aryan master race' myth from Blavatsky's Himalayan revelation to the Antarctic ice, and asks what it would mean if the lie had a cosmic-horror origin.
A 1940s pulp magazine editor's desk piled with lurid sci-fi covers and stacks of reader letters, a welding coil glowing, cavern silhouettes and flying discs bleeding through the paper
Fiction, maybe?

The Influencing Machine

A speculative occult-thriller. The welder, the editor, the magazine, and the saucer flap are real; the broadcast under them is not. A factory worker heard voices through a welding coil; a cynical pulp editor printed them as fact; a quarter-million readers wrote back to confirm. Then, weeks after the all-Shaver issue, the flying saucers arrived. A story about the medium as the antenna.