When an alien intrusion mutates his fiancée into a horrific monster, grad student Michael Avery Yeager is dragged into a world of magic, super-science, spirits, demigods, parallel realities, and amazing coffee.
Given the choice of joining Eldridge & S.Q.Amos, Inc. to find a cure for the woman he loves, or lose her—even the memory of her—Michael doesn’t expect that an out-of-the-way insurance company is Earth’s sole protector against the malevolent forces that crawl out of the darkness…
...nor that an unearthly secret ties him to Eldridge.
Who knew preventing Armageddon required so much on-the-job training?
The X-Files meets The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy in this whimsical science-fiction/fantasy/horror mashup!
When an alien intrusion mutates his fiancée into a horrific monster, grad student Michael Avery Yeager is dragged into a world of magic, super-science, spirits, demigods, parallel realities, and amazing coffee.
Given the choice of joining Eldridge & S.Q.Amos, Inc. to find a cure for the woman he loves, or lose her—even the memory of her—Michael doesn’t expect that an out-of-the-way insurance company is Earth’s sole protector against the malevolent forces that crawl out of the darkness…
...nor that an unearthly secret ties him to Eldridge.
Who knew preventing Armageddon required so much on-the-job training?
The X-Files meets The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy in this whimsical science-fiction/fantasy/horror mashup!
My hand slipped into my windbreaker’s pocket for the umpteenth time to reassure myself Sindhu’s medicine was still there. She had called, concerned that a flareup was building. I could hear her fatigue and wheezing over the phone. Small wonder her lupus hit now, with all the pressure she was under.
I skidded into the parking lot of Lick Observatory a few minutes shy of two o’clock in the morning. With the lot mostly empty, I took pleasure in taking the space reserved for the facility director. Yeah, a real iconoclastic no-holds-barred rebel, that’s me.
During the hour-long charge up Mount Hamilton Road, my abused Chrysler K-car threatened to blow a gasket. After I shut off the engine, it dieseled itself into an uneasy dream steeped in burnt motor oil and blue exhaust.
I surveyed the Lick Refractor’s dome at the south end of the building. It yawned wide open with wisps of light emanating from within, a sure sign that the crew had hunkered down to serious work.
Unlocking the front security door, I shuffled past the lobby’s oversized digital clock, displaying:
01:55 PST 08:55 GMT 06/16/86
Their reminder of the ungodly hour renewed my sour mood. Any self-respecting biochemistry major who just had his doctoral thesis shredded to bits should be drowning his sorrows in a bottle of cheap tequila before last call. Or ralphing it into the streets of San Jose. Instead, I’m slumming it as a gofer for my fiancée and her astronomer coworkers.
Stomping up the half-story staircase to the observatory floor, I fidgeted with Sindhu’s prescription bottle one last time for good measure. I was toying with the idea of handing it over, then leaving to pick up where I left off on my bottle of tequila when she opened the observation dome’s entrance.
Wearing her blue and gold UCSC lacrosse sweatshirt hanging loose over hiking shorts, she greeted me with a wan smile and a cough.
I handed Sindhu her bottle of corticosteroids as my eyes probed her face. The telltale lupus butterfly rash across her nose and under her tortoise-shell glasses darkened her mahogany complexion. “Did we catch the flareup in time?”
“I think so.” She welcomed me with a peck on the cheek and a mug of coffee. “Here, you’ll be needing this.”
Accepting the first by returning her perfunctory kiss, I quaffed the second with gusto. Ah, coffee—the life’s blood of many a post-grad. And somehow, this band of star-jockeys’ java was always top-notch. Tonight, they had my favorite.
“Why’s that?” My words puffed out Sumatran steam.
“Tonight’s the big night, and it’s going to be a long one for all of us.”
“If you knew it was crunch time, why’d you forget your meds?”
“What can I say?” she said between wheezes. “I thought I had them with me.”
She popped a pill, downing it with a gulp from my mug.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“I will be in a minute.” Taking me by the hand, she pulled me into the circular telescope room. A blast of mountain air poured down from directly above, and I peered through the open dome at the night sky. Dim operations lights struggled to fill the expansive area of sterile concrete, linoleum, and steel. Even so, the space almost didn’t look big enough to house the Lick Refractor, as her coworkers busied themselves around its cylindrical base.
Sindhu must have noticed a frown screwed on my kisser, or something equally petulant. She leaned forward, scrutinizing my face as we walked. Squinting fiercely, she said, “I know that look. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t understand why I’m on this project. I’m just doing odd jobs and running errands for you guys. I feel like a fifth wheel.”
With a sympathetic pout, she said, “I can understand that. I don’t think any PhD candidate would be too pleased doing teaching-assistant level grunt work.” She gave my non-coffee’d hand a squeeze. “But I get the feeling that’s only part of it. What’s really got you down?”
I dreaded this moment. My shoulders slumped, and I tried to coax the stubborn last drop from my mug. “Nothin’.”
“Bullshit.” We stopped at a cart crammed with coffee supplies, two pounds of whole bean Sumatran, and freshly ground heaven brewing in an espresso machine that someone had smuggled out of Cuba. “Spill it, Michael.”
Using that name meant she was serious. I bared my soul, if only to get the thought of her scolding me with “Michael Avery Yeager” out of my head.
“My dissertation defense got torpedoed. My doctorate’s down the crapper.”
“Oh, no…” Sindhu’s fingertips flashed to her mouth. “How? What happened?” She shook her head with a vigorous snarl. “Never mind that—who do I kick in the nuts?!”
It was scary how quickly Sindhu could flip on the Mama Bear switch.
I intended to make it quick—a short, sharp, shock; a quick ripping off of the Band-Aid; all that get-it-over-with-quick jazz. I failed miserably. Everything spilled out, in full color and agonizing detail. With each sentence, I became more hot-tempered, more resentful, and maybe a little paranoid. I could almost feel an aneurysm ballooning inside my noggin. Taking a deep breath, I fast-forwarded to the dénouement.
“I was wrapping up my defense of developing a genetic editing technique, all of which is feasible using existing technology, when Dr. Escoffier, the fucking Chair of the Biology Department—who hasn’t attended a dissertation since Moses—interrupted my closing. He practically ordered the review board to deny my dissertation. A ‘wish list of dreams from a Sears Christmas catalog,’ he called it!”
My near-screech caught the attention of everyone. Gary Unwin looked up from the scope eyepiece to glower at me. Cheryl Greenbough, the team’s computer tech jockey, poked her head out of the scope’s base, a Phillips screwdriver in one hand, a gang of wires in the other, and concern on her face. Even team leader Dr. Petrakis managed to tear his concentration away from his digital test bench to gawk through the equipment room’s window at me. His momentary surprise reverted to his usual crooked and curious grin.
I had learned to resent that ever-present smile—the type that preceded the punchline of a terrible joke, the type that taunted, “I know something you don’t.”
Sindhu shooed her coworkers’ inquiring looks away with a wave of her hand and an apologetic, “It’s okay.”
“Ever since getting raked over the coals this afternoon, I’ve been trying to decide what to do about it. Do I write another conclusion I know is wrong, but will get me the stupid degree? Trash the whole thing and spend who-knows-how-long to write up another paper? Pull up stakes and transfer to another—”
“Don’t you dare!” Sindhu spluttered, jabbing her index finger at the ground. “You’re needed right here.”
“Am I? Remember what I said about being a fifth wheel? I’m doing nothing constructive here. Everyone is so tight-lipped about this project, I still don’t know what you guys are trying to accomplish. I feel like the janitor in a secret laboratory.” I shot an angry glance at Sindhu she didn’t deserve. She returned a knowing smile more unsettling than Petrakis’. “Wait, you’re not doing anything with the CIA, or something gonzo like that?”
“Of course not,” she replied with a sardonic grimace that told me I was being ridiculous. “But you are needed here. I have a half-hour on the scope while Gary takes a break…” She wrapped my arm in her own and squeezed tight. “…and I need some company that won’t talk my ear off with shop.”
“In case you haven’t picked up my vibe already, I don’t think I’ll be the best company tonight.”
“You let me be the judge of that.” Sindhu sat in the scope’s observation chair, flipped her glasses on top of her head, and snuggled up to the eyepiece. She adjusted the focusing knobs without looking at them, like they were an extension of her body. “And there she is, my queen of the night sky.”
I eyed Sindhu up, down, and once more for good measure. I repeated her words to her with heartfelt fondness. And maybe a pinch of lechery, to boot. Who could blame a guy? Between Sindhu’s project ramping up to a pitch fever and all my attention focused on my dissertation, we hadn’t been together for almost a whole month. Our schedules demanded that both of us sleep with half an empty bed.
“Aw, you’re sweet.”
“No, I mean it. You always seem so happy—so blissful—when you’re stargazing.”
She raised her left hand, waving its diamond ring toward the sound of my voice. “Not as much as when I gaze at this star.” She glanced away from the scope, giving me the once over as well, tinted with her own hint of yearning. “Or at my handsome Mrgav-yadha.”
My heart melted, just as stupidly and sloppily as the first time she had compared me to the brightest star in the night sky, Sirius.
She returned her attention to her telescope. However, all my thoughts of romance were crowded out by worry. I had spent the last of my money on the deposit for our engagement ring. With my degree in shambles, the jobs I had lined up were on hold—assuming they’d still exist by the time I concocted Plan B.
So I did what any red-blooded American boy would do in a crisis like this.
I panicked.
“Sindhu, let’s elope.”
Imagine if your dead-end job involved battling eldritch horrors and deciphering ancient spells while navigating corporate red tape. That's the world Christopher D. Ochs creates in Eldritch, Inc., the first book in the Michael Yeager series. It's part supernatural thriller, part sci-fi mystery, and part corporate satire—a wild blend that delivers humor, tension, and just enough absurdity to keep you flipping pages.
The story kicks off with Michael Yeager, a biochemist whose academic career has hit a dead end. Instead of reworking his failed dissertation, he's dragged into Eldritch & S.Q. Amos Insurance, Inc.—a shadowy organization that's less about claims adjustments and more about protecting humanity from cosmic horrors. Think The X-Files meets The Office but with more tentacles and magical rituals. When Michael's fiancée, Sindhu, is attacked during an incident at an observatory, Michael's personal and professional lives collide in a race against time and otherworldly threats.
Eldritch, Inc. is definitely unique. Ochs doesn't just dabble in supernatural elements—he dives headfirst into ancient mythology, alien forces, and genetic mysteries. The juxtaposition of arcane rituals and bureaucratic processes is genuinely funny, especially when Eldritch Inc.'s employees argue about office policies while battling shapeshifting enemies. Imagine fighting Cthulhu while filing a quarterly report. Bizarre...yes, but it works!
The dialogue shines, too. Michael's sarcastic asides and his interactions with his coworkers (including a blue-skinned, multi-armed soldier) add levity without undercutting the stakes. Sindhu's character is also compelling, although her transformation into a victim of supernatural forces leaves her less active later in the plot, which may feel frustrating for readers hoping for a more substantial female lead.
Eldritch, Inc. is perfect for readers who love genre mashups and speculative fiction that doesn't take itself too seriously. Fans of The Laundry Files by Charles Stross or White Trash Warlock by David R. Slayton will appreciate its mix of humor, horror, and supernatural intrigue. If you enjoy stories about underdogs facing impossible odds—especially with a side of sarcasm and cosmic terror—this book belongs on your shelf.
In short, Eldritch, Inc. is a rollercoaster of supernatural mayhem and corporate absurdity that will leave you questioning what's scarier—eldritch horrors or office politics.