David Dubrow's Blog, page 56

Short Story: Fixing the World

153 KILLED, 42 WOUNDED IN TERROR ATTACK IN FRANKFURT, GERMANYFrankfurt, Germany (AP) — In a recent terror attack in Frankfurt’s popular, upscale shopping promenade known as the Zeil, ten terrorists opened fire with assault rifles, killing tourists and shoppers alike. No terror group has claimed responsibility for the attack, but a source within Germany’s Federal Foreign Office suggests that it is the work of right-wing nationalists angry at the influx of foreigners from Islamic countries. At least 30 of the victims were children.
     As the bus lurched to a squealing stop, Chloe automatically leaned in the other direction to keep from falling into the lap of the person sitting next to her, an overweight man eating an Egg McMuffin from a paper McDonald’s bag. The salty, somehow artificial smell of his breakfast made her stomach do a slow roll. How could anyone eat that disgusting junk? Processed ham from pigs raised in pens so small they couldn’t even turn around, antibiotic-laced eggs from abused chickens, GMO-laden wheat byproducts. It’s like people didn’t care anymore.                SUSPECT CHARGED IN MACON COUNTY MULTIPLE HOMICIDEOglethorpe, Georgia — James Figueroa, 47, was formally charged in last week’s multiple homicide that claimed 12 lives, including 2 teenagers. Figueroa, a native of Marshallville, was reportedly angry at the restraining order his former spouse Leticia Figueroa had filed with the court, and went to try to talk to her during a family party at the Figueroa household. After being turned away, he allegedly returned an hour later with a handgun and shot everyone in the house, including his own children.
       Swallowing, she turned off her phone and stuffed it into her shoulder bag. Why did everything always have to be so awful? Reading the news always made her feel sick. There was never anything good happening anymore. It was all just…awful. But lately she couldn’t seem to help herself. There was always another story, another horror to vicariously experience through her friends’ Facebook walls and tweeps’ Twitter feeds. She had to stay informed, right?       By the time they’d reached her stop, the fat guy had finished his second Egg McMuffin and was starting on a hash brown patty. Stepping off the bus into a cloud of petrochemical exhaust, she told herself the next time she saw him, she’d take pictures of him stuffing his fat face with genetically modified corporate slop and post it on her Tumblr.        The half-block walk to the office wouldn’t be so bad except for the construction workers digging up the sidewalk across the street. They always had to watch her as she went by, feeling her up with their smirks and stares. It was like they had a compulsion to objectify any woman who had the misfortune to walk past. What was worse was that it always made her feel self-conscious and turned even the easiest of tasks, like typing in the door code, into an exercise in repetitive failure and frustration.
BAIL SET FOR RALEIGH WOMAN INVOLVED IN TRAILER FIRE THAT KILLED FOURMcCormick, North Carolina (Reuters) — Head held high, Tyesha O’Grady, 27, walked into court yesterday accused of four counts of felony murder and four counts of cruelty to children after a fatal trailer fire Tuesday night. Police said that the children were left alone in the trailer while O’Grady left to purchase narcotics. The fire was caused by a faulty plug from a set of Christmas lights. O’Grady’s bail was set for $2 million.
       At the burr of the office phone, Chloe minimized the Yahoo News window, cleared her throat, and answered, “It’s a great…morning at Jackson Financial Technology Group, how can I direct your call?”       “Is it? You don’t sound too sure,” said an older man’s voice. Old men always seemed to want to flirt with her on the phone, as if essentializing her to breasts and a vulva was funny or cute.       Putting a smile into her voice that she did not feel, she said, “Oh, I’m sure. Do you know your party’s extension?”       “Why, no. That’s why I called the front desk.” They always had to have a witty conversation before getting to business. If this guy knew what was going on right here, in his own country, he wouldn’t be so flip. Four children burned to death, and he thought he was a laugh riot.       It was time to switch from lightly amused to coldly professional, and hope he’d do the same. “If you can tell me who you’d like to speak to, or which department, I’d be happy to direct your call.”       “I’d like to speak to the department of getting my money back because my broker blew it all on Inflatable Companion Futures,” he said, and laughed at his own joke.       Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. What went wrong in this man’s life that he thought it was okay to talk to a woman like this? “Sir,” she said firmly, “how can I direct your call?”       Still laughing, he replied, “Let me speak to Bill Penman, honey.”       “Just. One. Moment,” she gritted, and stabbed the HOLD button.
TALLAHASSEE MAN INDICTED IN RAPE OF ELDERLY WOMANTallahassee, Florida (WMOR) — A man accused of repeatedly raping an elderly woman in her home was indicted on Monday on several charges relating to the crime. Horace Butterworth, 29, a Tallahassee resident, faces charges of rape, aggravated assault, aggravated sexual battery, aggravated sodomy, and robbery. On November 31, Butterworth allegedly followed the victim to her suburban home, struck her in her doorway, and dragged her inside. No children were harmed during the incident.
       It was hard to hear her phone’s text alerts over her overheating laptop’s fan, so after a while she just decided to ignore it and focus on reading the news. Texting with Rich was going nowhere, anyway. All he wanted was to come by, screw, eat her food, and leave, and that wasn’t enough for her anymore. Especially with what was happening in Florida. How could someone do that to a nice old lady?
GOP PUSHES TO END SCHOOL LUNCH PROGRAM FOR CHILDRENWashington (AP) — Congressional Republicans, flush with victory from recent election returns, are seeking to end the school lunch program for tens of millions of needy children across the United States. The House Speaker said, “The people have spoken. They want us to cut bloated government programs, so we have decided that the easiest thing to do would be to eliminate healthy, delicious lunches for hungry schoolchildren. We will start with schools in primarily minority districts. God bless America.” It is expected, even hoped, that the president will veto any such bill that comes to his desk.
       Her phone buzzed again: more texts.       Rich, probably. Or Katie. Or Laney.        Better to turn it off than to be constantly distracted by its clamoring.       If she hadn’t leaned way off to the side to grab it, the flaming shards of superheated plastic from her exploding laptop would have shredded the flesh from her face and blackened the bones beneath. As it was, she screamed and pitched out of her chair onto the kitchen floor, curling into a fetal position the moment her hip hit the tile. What was going—       “Rise,” a majestic voice entreated. Its powerful, husky contralto could have come from either a man or a woman.       “Please,” she begged, “just take what you want and leave. Don’t hurt me!”       “I would not dream of doing so,” the voice intoned. “Never have you been safer.”       Chloe spread her fingers enough to see blinding white robes and a sandaled, pearlescent foot. Squinting, she uncovered her head, sat up, and looked at who had spoken.       It was an angel.       Neither male nor female, the figure combined the most beautiful attributes of both with high, strong cheekbones; enormous, almond-shaped eyes; flawless, luminous skin; perfect cupid’s-bow lips; and long golden hair. The angel extended a hand to help her to her feet.       A warm, electric thrill ran up her spine at the angel’s touch. “Who…who are you? And what do you want with me?”       Still holding her hand, the angel said, “My name is Tsuriel. And I want what you want.”        She wanted to look at the smoking ruin of her laptop, but Tsuriel’s eyes were magnetic, fixing her in place. “What do I want?”       “Of all the mortals I have encountered, few are more sensitive to the troubles of this world than you, Chloe.” The angel’s voice became grave. “It is because you feel so much. Have you not seen the horrors? Felt them? Do you not think that something about the world is…”       “Broken,” Chloe finished. “The world’s broken.”       Silvery tears fell from the angel’s perfect eyes to splash upon the floor like raindrops. “Yes.”       “And you want me to fix it?”       Tsuriel bowed over their clasped hands. “Only you can.”       “How?”       “I will tell you.”
FIFTY-SEVENTH POLICE SHOOTING IN TWO DAYS PUTS COMMUNITY ON EDGEBoston, MA (UPI) — Today marks the second day that local police in downtown Boston have gone on a murder spree, pulling unarmed children out of school to shoot them in the street. Fifty-eight children so far have been killed, one of whom accidentally when a bullet meant for one child exited his cranium, flew across a playground, and killed another child on the swings. Despite the horrific nature of these crimes, it’s business as usual in Boston, a city well-known for objectifying women of all ages and races. Calls to the Boston PD went unanswered, but a confidential source within the department said that the murders will continue for the foreseeable future because, “That’s just how we roll.”
       Hands shaking so much that she dropped her keys twice, Chloe barely managed to get her door open, step inside, and close it behind her before tears drowned out everything else. She slid to the floor, wrapped her arms around herself, and wept.       “What troubles you so?” Tsuriel asked from the kitchen.       “You…you didn’t…tell me…it was going to…be like…this!” she managed between sobs.       “I said it would be difficult,” Tsuriel said, not unkindly.       “But…” She wiped her face with the backs of her hands. “There was so much…so much blood. And the screaming! I thought…I thought they would…”       Tsuriel drifted over and knelt to be closer to her level. “They would thank you? Is that what you thought?”       “Yes!”        “Here,” the angel said, producing a glass of water. “Drink this.”       Chloe cradled the glass in both hands and took a sip. “You didn’t say they had…they had kids.”       “The first is always the hardest. It will get easier with your next one. Did you remove the eyes, like I said? All of them? Even the children’s? It’s very important.”       Swallowing, Chloe nodded.       “Where are they?”       “I left them in the car. I almost crashed like five times on my way home.”       Tsuriel smiled. “Very good. I fixed your laptop, Chloe. Would you like to read the news?”       “No…yes. Yes.”       “Very good.”
MASS DISAPPOINTMENT LEAVES THOUSANDS OF CHILDREN NEAR-COMATOSELos Angeles, California — In a shocking turn of events, thousands of children were struck down with mass disappointment over a disagreement on ice cream quantity. “It’s the largest mass disappointment event we’ve ever seen,” Children’s Disappointment Expert Dr. Wilson Carville said in an interview. “Honestly, I’m not sure how any of them are going to recover. It’s just terrible.” There is no known treatment for this widespread condition, but scientists are hopeful that a cure can be synthesized by 2038.

Movie Review: Mercy

There was a good deal to like in Mercy , touted as being adapted from Stephen King's short story Gramma, but the pieces didn't quite fit together in a way that made for a satisfying film.  Its great strengths were the performances and the short running time; there was a really good movie in there somewhere, but it failed to coalesce.  There will be spoilers here.

Acting: Chandler Riggs did an excellent job as George, and the lack of a marshal's hat on his head didn't detract from his performance.  He had some difficult things to do, and did them all well.  Shirley Knight as Mercy was appropriately creepy when necessary, but rather bland at other times.  The only other standout was Mark Duplass as Uncle Lanning, and we didn't see him very much; he used his comedic skills to great effect here.Supporting Roles: The other characters were entirely unnecessary and did nothing to advance the plot.  Dylan McDermott was a waste of time (I'm getting the impression that people like to put him in TV and films so that he can be a name in a list of credits).  They gave George's brother Buddy nothing to do; his thing about wanting to be a chef provided one vaguely amusing moment with sushi, but that was it.  The mom wasn't there enough, and when she was, she couldn't be depended on.Themes: Other than the supernatural themes, there were some elements to the story that were thought-provoking.  Dealing with a parent who's too old to take care of herself was touched on, but not fleshed out very much.  There were two aspects of parental abuse brought up: Mercy's abuse of her own children and George's mom's abuse of George and Buddy.  It's a fine point, but I think that it was a form of child abuse to uproot your two non-adult children and make them care for an elderly grandparent who's not only delusional, but dangerous (at one point Mercy slashed Buddy's arm open with a letter opener).  I don't know where Mom's head was, but she obviously didn't have her own children's best interests at heart.I Hastur Go Now: The Lovecraftian promise of Hastur, mentioned early on, didn't pan out at the end with the movie's climax.  The monster that came out of Gramma looked more like Swamp Thing than a demon, though I did appreciate the illustration that included the Yellow Sign (blink and you'll miss it).  The Weeping Book was also pretty neat; a kind of poor man's Necronomicon, if you will.Thrills: There were a few genuinely shocking and/or horrifying moments in the film: what happens to Buddy after they throw the Weeping Book into the wood chipper, Mercy going bananas with the hypodermic, the last phone call with George's aunt.  It's only a shame that there weren't more moments like it.Ghost Girl: The ghost girl was entirely unnecessary and clouded an already murky plot.  George's apparent psychic/supernatural abilities didn't help him to any great degree, and having him see his grandmother's excised spirit here and there was neither creepy nor poignant.  She should've been dropped like Dylan McDermott.Narration: Also unnecessary was George's narration.  Such things are usually put into a movie because the writer wants to tell you something rather than show it to you, but in this case it just felt extraneous.  If you want us to know that you and your grandmother had a great relationship before she started to die and get possessed by the spirit of a Great Old One, perhaps you should show more scenes of you two spending time together.
3 stars out of 5.  You should watch it on Netflix if you have less than 90 minutes to burn and want to see the kid from The Walking Dead in something other than a horror TV show.

Friday Links: Pyramids, Werewolves, and Worms in Your FEET

Click the links, read the stories, fill your mind with information.  It's Friday!

Terrorphoria reviewed The Pyramid: "The Pyramid, (because it needs a definite article so you don't mistakenly expect Donny Osmond forcing Anubis to guess a subject in a category based on vague clues), is a found footage horror film about a group of poorly characterized victims exploring a pyramid. There's a father/daughter archaeologist team whose "Luddite/TechnoGeek" conflict feels more artificial than the lead paint chips the writers ate as kids. This "conflict" is further stressed by the fact that she's dating adult Will Robinson from Lost In Space."At Ginger Nuts of Horror, Jim interviewed Grégory Levasseur about his work on The Pyramid: "The lighting was very important, I didn’t want this to be one of those kind of movies that had the lights around the next corner, or at the end of the corridor. I wanted to have my characters carrying the light, and we all thought it was important to have the light just where the character moves, instead of lighting the whole of the set."The indispensable R'lyeh Tribune described a different kind of story from a familiar writer: "Not all of Henry S. Whitehead’s stories are set on the islands of the West Indies, or deal with outbreaks of Voodoo threatening upper crust white society.  One of his odder tales, No Eye-Witnesses, takes place in New York City, in Brooklyn to be specific."Simon Bestwick talked about Black Static #43 with a special emphasis on the issue of  H.P. Lovecraft being the face of the World Fantasy Award: "I saw Daniel Older's petition to remove HPL's likeness from the award, and a counter-petition to keep it. I didn't sign the petition demanding HPL's removal, not least because it described him as a 'terrible wordsmith', which is PC asshattery of the worst kind - 'he was a racist, so he must be a bad writer!' But I wasn't signing the one to keep him, either, since that descended into a cretinous anti-feminist rant that like the flowers that bloom in the spring, (tra-la) had nothing to do with the case."Midnight Horrors reviewed the film The Town that Dreaded Sundown: "Finding out that the film was low budget so it could have the same filming style as the first made me like TTTDS even more. Though I have not seen the original I can see from the latest version that the original is a classic serial killer film."In Melbourne, Australia, a man had a worm in his foot.  For years: "Doctors in Melbourne found the African guinea worm, which was in two pieces and thought to have eventually died, when the man visited them due to an abscess on his foot."iHorror interviewed Caroline Knorr of Common Sense Media about kids and the horror genre: "As a parent, it is difficult to let young children make their own choices and in most cases a good parent won’t. But when it comes to horror movies, it might surprise you to know that letting your child come to you about watching one is the best way to gauge if he or she is ready or not."On this site, I reviewed  Nightbreed: The Director's Cut , and I talked about the lack of God in the horror genre.Click through and read!  You won't regret it.

Horror's Shifting Moral Center

A casual observer of supernatural themes in movies, television, and literature could easily conclude that angels are simply enhanced humans with wings, and vampires are merely enhanced (if anemic) humans with fangs,  They're superheroes.

The reasons for this are simple, but unfortunate: these characters are not part of a universe where there's a God who intervenes in human events.  Going there in a narrative sense is icky.  It gets into religion, and who wants to get involved in that?  Too often religion is equated with judgment (as though using one's intellect and ethics to determine what's proper from what isn't is a bad thing), and we can't have judgment in our fiction.  We can't have a supreme moral arbiter, especially when that hot angel over there is about to knock boots with the wisecracking-but-gold-hearted cambion detective protagonist.  It spoils the fantasy.
One of my most favorite parts of F. Paul Wilson's novel  The Keep was when the scholar character talks with the vampire Molasar and learns that the crosses embedded into the eponymous keep are part of what is imprisoning him. The cross is indeed a symbol of power and that, as a Jew, the scholar has had it all wrong: Jesus Christ was the Messiah.  He found this to be deeply disturbing news, as would any Jewish person (including myself).  Later on, we learn that it's not a cross, but the figure of a sword hilt, but the crisis was still very poignant and meaningful.

Today's vampires aren't forced back by crosses and holy water; to have that, you'd have to include the whole raft of Judeo-Christian mythology.  Because we've lost our sense of proportion, it would be considered proselytizing, and that's just evil.  It wasn't long ago that Fright Night came out, and with it a vampire that suffered injury from symbols of holiness (the way vampires used to).  Before that, we had The Exorcist , where Catholic priests were the good guys who used the power of God to exorcize a demon.  Try to find a sympathetic portrayal of a priest in mainstream television, literature, or cinema these days, where it's still considered brave to create a priest character who molests children or does something equally horrible.

In Supernatural , mumbled pseudo-Latin and nonsense-inscribed pentagrams are sufficient to exorcize or trap most demons, and the angels, as charming as some can be, are no different morally than the inhabitants of the infernal realms.  What's interesting in the Supernatural universe is that demonic possession can be cured through the use of sanctified blood, and holy water burns the possessed.  In an early scene in the episode Soul Survivor, we even see a Catholic priest, rosary and all, blessing bags of blood at a blood bank.  Where did he get the power to sanctify the blood?  It's never explored.  They have to gloss over it.  If angels can't bless things, how can priests do it?  Got me.  Ask the writers.

Modern media's deliberate avoidance, if not outright shunning of Judeo-Christian ethics as expressed in the Bible has altered the landscape of horror, shifting its moral center to nihilism.  Torture porn like the  Hostel series, ultra-violent mumblegore like You're Next , dystopian zombie melodramas like The Walking Dead , and any of the ghost stories produced in the last fifteen years prove this out.  Ethics are derived from expediency, with no ultimate moral arbiter.

Horror's big enough to contain all these things and still scare you, and you don't need the God of the Bible to tell you right from wrong.  Nevertheless, what we're seeing is the horror genre reflecting today's cultural norms in ways that, it can be argued, dilute its unique power.  If vampires, angels, and demons are just more powerful humans, why not make them aliens instead?  Or X-Men?

Movie Review: Nightbreed - The Director's Cut

When I learned that Netflix released Nightbreed: The Director's Cut for streaming, I couldn't wait to see it.  It was one of my favorite movies in the early 90's, and I was eager to see if it had the same magic and if the additional footage added anything other than minutes to the run time.

Overall, the film is still vital to the horror oeuvre, and overcomes its flaws...but just barely.  The Director's Cut improves the film a little bit.
Special Effects: Uneven.  A few stop-motion pieces were salted in but should have been left out, and several of the Nightbreed monsters were somewhat redundant.  The glowing effects on Baphomet and during the transformation from person to monster should have never been included: they looked cheap.  Despite that, some of the 'Breed were truly disturbing: the woman with half her face flensed to the muscle, the blobby-looking thing with its face by its crotch, some others.Acting: Good.  David Cronenberg was very, very creepy as Decker, but pulled off a weird sort of mildness that worked for the character.  They didn't do enough with Peloquin, who should have his own movie.  The stand-out was, of course, Hugh Ross as Narcisse.  Stole every scene he was in, and wrung the best out of some clumsy lines, making them his own.Script: Inconsistent.  The humor worked in some places, and didn't in others.  Decker interrogating the old man at the gas station was bizarre enough to be funny, but some of the laugh-lines delivered in Midian among the 'Breed just came off as lame.  Shoehorning in jokes doesn't work, even if they're funny.  Narcisse was the only worthwhile comic relief in the movie.  Best lines: "I love a coward!" and "Run, while you've still got legs!"Sets: Extraordinary.  Barker's inimitable artistic style was prevalent throughout, and provided an aesthetic that worked perfectly for the subject matter: semi-primitive, visceral, stunning.  From the malformations of the 'Breed to the cave paintings, it was extremely well done.Pacing: Flat.  The film tried too hard to be epic, and unfortunately failed.  Even with the additonal footage, it wasn't long enough to weave the film's various antagonists into a coherent enemy or provide a feeling of grandiosity: first Decker was the bad guy, then Peloquin, then Eigermann, then the rednecks, then the priest.  I understand that the 'Breed are beleaguered, but these elements didn't coalesce.  The flashback scene with Babette and Lori was interesting, but clumsy.  The efforts made to portray the passage of time didn't work: too many abrupt scene changes.  The ending of the Director's Cut, with the additional footage, rounded it out better and laid the groundwork for an extension of the story which won't likely ever come to print or celluloid.Additional Footage: Necessary.  The additional footage improved the film overall, though a few scenes weren't necessary.  The love scene in the underwear didn't work.  The press conference was interesting.  The armory scene with the guy close to ejaculating in his trousers over shotguns and piano wire garrotes was funny, if a bit excessive.  The end, where Lori begs Boone to make her a 'Breed and later forces the issue was very good, but we unfortunately didn't get to see what sort of monster Lori would become as a walking dead Nightbreed.It's been stated many times by far more perspicacious media critics than I that Nightbreed is, at its heart, a metaphor for homosexuality.  Boone is forced back into the closet by Decker, his psychiatrist, but ends up running away to be with people who are also gay.  They have to live in a secret place, deep underground (once again, in the closet), or else they'd be killed.  They're hounded by religious forces, (the priest) redneck gay-bashers, and a physician who wants to end their "curse" by killing them.  We learn that gays have been hounded for centuries by the church.  In the end, they have to hide until they can find a new haven where they can just be themselves.  Perhaps this worked in 1990, but in today's culture, it's a bit too overwrought.

Friday Links: A Week of Horrors

Here are links to some stories you might have missed over the busy week.  The brief excerpts posted don't do justice to the full stories, so please give these sites a visit.Horror author John F.D. Taff talks about the passing of Horror Writers Association president Rocky Wood.  "A few years ago, when I got serious about the whole horror writing thing again, Deb suggested that I approach the HWA and see if it was worthwhile.  So, I wrote an email to Rocky, the new president, inquiring about membership, telling him of my concerns of yesteryear and asking, point blank, if it was worth the money and effort to rejoin.  I didn’t expect much of anything."Theresa Derwin has a round-up of great horror video games.  "Mind you, horror games have always had their place in the industry. But as gaming expands—online and on mobile devices and advanced consoles—scary games are more prominent than ever. So here are a few of the best examples out there on various systems."At Ginger Nuts of Horror, Jim talks about the state of the horror community. "Things have changed over the past few years, for a start there are hell of lot of you out there writing, and making films.  And you are all chasing the magical golden pie, you want your slice, some of want the slice with that extra bit of frosting on top. Fair play to you all, I'm sure being a full time successful writer is your dream job.  And therein lies the problem it's a dream job, one that doesn't really exist anymore.  You have more chance of winning the lottery than become rich and successful from writing."Terrorphoria starts its Book Club with Slade Grayson's Autumn Moon.  "We selected Autumn Moon as this month's novel because it brings back werewolves. Not the lame Twlight ones either. The kind that Gary Busey fought, and that got all raunchy in The Howling."The always erudite R'lyeh Tribune offers up a timely analysis of Robert E. Howard's Black Canaan.  "Robert E. Howard’s nightmare about a black uprising in the deep south is unpleasant reading not so much for the horrible and violent events it depicts—which are typical of a “shudder pulp” circa the mid-1930s—as for the racist attitudes everywhere on display, and the realization that such attitudes are still ours today."Author Catherine Cavendish writes about black-and-white and witches.  "Is it me, or are there just too many sparkly witches, demons, vampires and various manifestations of the undead out there? All wrapped up neatly in glorious vivid colour, setting out on missions to save the world when really they should be scaring us behind our sofas?"Open Book Society reviewed The Blessed Man and the Witch .  "I enjoyed the quick, witty prose and found myself turning the pages just to see the stories played [o]ut. I found that each of the myriad protagonists were well thought out and spoke in their own quirky, distinct manners. Each had a voice that spoke to me and gave me reason to like the characters, despite their moral ethics and they whet my curiosity on how these pawns, or pieces of the puzzle, would fit into place. The ending left me shocked, a rare occasion these days. Although it seems incomplete on first reading, after reflecting on what happens, it makes perfect sense."On this site, I provided a review of Graham Masterton's Ghost Music and wrapped up my short story A Pennsylvania Haunting .There's lots to look at, so get clicking!

Short Fiction: A Pennsylvania Haunting, Part Three

Part One available here.  Part Two available here.

Part Three

     The soft, bloated figure lay uncovered on the living room couch, clad in the loose shirt and trousers such pathetic excuses for men wore abed. His snores resembled a pig’s grunting, and the sight of him, vulnerable in his slumber, elicited nothing but revulsion. She had already primed the eldest daughter, filling her sleeping ears with entreaties to the filthiest acts an avenging angel like herself might envision. Now this…man had his part to play.
Lightly she touched him, gliding barely tangible fingertips along his belly to the pathetic twig and berries he was no doubt so proud of. It wasn’t long before he stirred, lengthening, and if she had been capable of it, she would have vomited the bile of her loathing across his disgusting form. Just a little more, and he would be ready—
“Oh…” he whispered. “Oh, Penelope.”
The ghost froze. How did he know—
Pain transfixed her, an excruciation she had not experienced since she had been numbered amongst the quick. Looking down, she found that she had been stabbed through the guts by a pitted, narrow blade of steel.
Grinning, still gripping the impaling bayonet, the man sat up. “Worth every penny, Penny,” he said. “Amazing what you can get on eBay.”
How could he see her?
Unable to scream, she merely writhed soundlessly, like a worm on a hook.
“This is gonna be good. I’ve been waiting months for this.” She could see nothing behind his eyes. They were as dead and empty as a spider’s.
With a massive, agonizing effort, she pulled herself off the blade. How he could see her and cause her such pain were questions to be asked another time. As she unclenched her will, letting herself return to the cellar where she’d died centuries ago, she saw him get to his feet, still aroused.
It was no matter. She would revenge herself—
A new burst of pain surprised a shriek out of her, an animal howl that shook the dust off the basement shelves.
No!
Wearing only an open red coat, the man’s wife had rammed a cavalry saber through the ghost’s chest, and with a malicious curve of her mouth, began to twist it. Moisture dewed the woman’s thighs.
“Naughty, naughty, touching my husband. Lucky for you we have an…open marriage.” She licked her lips. “Of a sort.”
All the ghost could do was clutch at the saber, slicing her insubstantial hands on the edge.
“Started already?” the man asked, walking down the stairs. Freed, his tumescence bobbed with each step.
“Would I do that?”
He laughed, a high-pitched, yipping sound. “I wouldn’t blame you.” With a grunt and a sigh, he slipped the bayonet back into the ghost’s guts, eliciting a soundless scream that stretched her mouth to inhuman proportions. “God, she’s tight.”
“Feel familiar?” the wife asked her. “We went to a lot of expense to find these blades, sweetheart. Went through a lot of collectors, a lot of fakes. Shame we could only find two. I think there were four who killed you. Or was it five?”
No, the ghost begged. No.
Shaking his head, the man said, “And after all you put us through. Our children. Months of waiting, planning. Still…” He dropped his body weight, the blade slicing from her stomach through her sex. Ectoplasm, thick and glutinous, gushed from the wound.
Over her renewed screams, he said, “We’d’ve done this anyway. It’s just how we get off.”

###

Book Review: Graham Masterton's Ghost Music

I've been a huge fan of Graham Masterton since the early 1990's.  Two of his novels, Night Warriors and Flesh and Blood, occupy prized spots on my dresser, so I can see them every day.  Like most writers who've had long, successful careers, some of his books have been great, some good, and some not so good.

Unfortunately, Ghost Music wasn't so good.  This is why I didn't enjoy it:

Graham's American Problem: There's a persistent problem with the novels Masterton sets in the U.S.: they're self-evidently written by someone unfamiliar with American idiom, customs, and culture.  He's typically got very snappy, witty dialogue, which is great, but occasionally English expressions like "Who's X when he's at home?" pop in when Americans speak to each other, and it takes you out of the story and reminds you who's writing it.  His attempts to immerse the reader in American culture simply fail most of the time, because when he's not trying too hard, he's not trying enough.  I just wish he'd stop it.  American horror fans will buy books set in Poland and the U.K. if he writes them.  This problem was very much evident in Ghost Music.Stupid Protagonist: Another major criticism of the novel is that the protagonist was an absolute idiot from start to finish.  While I understand that authors who work through traditional publishers often don't get to choose the titles of their novels, it makes for a frustrating reading experience to read about a man who's obviously seeing ghosts everywhere but has no idea that he's seeing ghosts.  He's even screwing one who has the uncanny ability to shatter glass with her screams of delight at climax.  It's only near the end that he figures out that the people who appear and disappear, are dead one day and alive the next, are actually...wait for it...ghosts.  The protagonist also makes a number of very strange decisions, all of which make no sense but are vital to move the plot forward.  This is sloppy writing.  It shows a lack of respect for the reader.Bad Bad Guys: There was needless brutality in the way certain people met their end: a boy has his eyes glued shut as part of the torture he endures before dying, and a young girl is literally sewed to a mattress that is later sunk into the sea (we'll ignore how the latter can possibly be done for the purposes of storytelling).  The impetus for this brutality involves a hastily thrown-together denouement with illegal organ harvesting in the Third World and a mafia-like antagonist.
Across the board not one of his best, but I did finish it.  Two stars.

Final note: When he's on his game, Graham Masterton is extraordinary.  I'll take him over Stephen King any day. Don't take this one review as indicative of his entire oeuvre.

A Trio of Brief Horror Movie Reviews

Yesterday I was struck down with norovirus.  Every terrible symptom that comes with this illness played havoc with my body in ways Tomás de Torquemada would learn from (and be disgusted by).  So, when wracked with agonies, what can you do except watch horror movies on Netflix?

These reviews have spoilers in them.

The first one I watched was Dead Snow .  It's a testament to how desensitized I've become watching horror films that the unbelievable amounts of gore in it did not cause me to run to the bathroom, vomiting down my shirtfront.  I was doing that anyway.  Despite that it was subtitled, a lot of the dialogue worked.  There were some memorable moments: Erlend's end, the one guy whose name I never learned sewing his spurting neck wound closed, rappelling with intestines, and Martin getting his peepee bitten by a nuthunting zombie after having sawed his own arm off to prevent infection.  If you like gory, foreign, funny zombie films with people named Vegard, Turgåer, and Erlend in them, this is the movie for you.  4 out of 5 stars.

After an attempt at a nap during a particularly bad wave of nausea, I turned on The Taking of Deborah Logan , mostly because it was the first movie recommended in the list and I felt too awful to think about picking something different.  Overall, it wasn't bad, but it had little to recommend it.  The problem with this film and the one I watched after it was the same: the characters were mostly unlikable from the beginning to the end and I didn't care what happened to them.  Except for the kid, because, well, it was a kid.  With cancer.  The creepy bit with Deborah Logan sort of opening her face near the end and swallowing the kid's head was effective.  The old lady T-and-A was unusual.  I'm trying to find things to say about this movie, but can't, which shows you how unmemorable it was.  It wasn't bad, but it wasn't good, either.  2 out of 5 stars.

Terrorphoria's post on the movie You're Next  had intrigued me, so as I lay on the sofa, trying not to writhe in agony from muscle cramps and gut spasms, I put it on.  People who know about movies, especially horror movies, call it "mumblegore" and I don't give enough of a damn to Google the term to find out what mumblegore is or what other films exist in the mumblegore oeuvre.  I assume it has nothing to do with Harry Potter.  In it, a bunch of people who are absolute putzes get attacked by men in animal masks.  One person has the wherewithal to fight back, and she does, killing all the bad guys because that's just what women do in violent situations: they use their brawn, innate brutality, and hardcore fighting skills to defeat trained soldiers in hand-to-hand combat.  Yes, I know she spent time on a survivalist compound, whatever that means.  In any event, there were some funny moments to it, and some disturbing ones, but the filmmakers didn't care enough about the viewers to put forth enough effort to make us care about what was happening.  It was just an exercise in brutality.  3 out of 5 stars.  One of those stars is because was in it.

Short Fiction: A Pennsylvania Haunting, Part Two

Part One available here.

Part Two

     Like all of his sex, this new man was contemptible, barely worth her efforts.  Prosaic in his habits, insipid in his demeanor and repulsive in his appearance, he inspired disgust over loathing, amusement over anger.  Calling him something as repugnant as a man elevated him.  Nevertheless, he was an outlet.  An avenging angel like herself had a duty to perform, and in her imprisonment she could not afford to be selective.
At first she waited, allowing them to become comfortable in her home.  She was soon familiar with their proclivities and preferences, their routines and rituals.  The eldest daughter played softball, exchanging femininity for athleticism.  The youngest lived with her face bathed in the glow of electrical devices of varying shapes, sizes, and functions.  The wife, relegated to the servant’s role of cooking, cleaning, and maintaining the house, had no more ambition than the sparrows that lived in the woods nearby.
And what more could be said about the husband?  The ghost’s own father, as buffoonish as he had been, was at least capable of discussing the works of John Locke and Charles de Montesquieu, to say nothing of Martin Luther and Rene Descartes.  In tedious contrast, this new man conversed in nothing but trivialities, offering at the best of times only the blandest of rhetorical victuals.
When it came time to poison them against each other, she began with subtlety, or what passed for it.  She put a foul stink in the nostrils of his wife and daughters whenever he drew near, prompting frequent and vociferous complaints.  Capon that he was, he would remove himself to scrub his body in the bath, using a variety of soaps and unguents to no avail.  It wasn’t long before even his wife shunned him, forcing him to spend his nights sleeping upon the living room’s narrow couch.
The wife, so proud of her meager talents in the kitchen, soon drew groans at the dinner table from ruined meal after ruined meal.  It was an easy task to switch salt for sugar in cake batter, or to pour an injurious quantity of red pepper flake into an unguarded pot of stew.  The ghost's trick of luring insects into a dish was old, yes, but effective, especially when the youngest daughter, already chary of eating, was made the primary victim.  Even the expedient of bringing home meals prepared elsewhere was spoiled by frigid drafts that congealed flavored oils to cold grease and turned crisp coatings into flaccid paste.
A simple distorting of perception was all that was needed to drive the youngest daughter to neurosis.  Every mirror in the house showed her to be grossly obese, covered in rolls of acne-dotted fat.  Between her mother’s tainted cooking and her own creeping instability, the girl barely ate enough to stay conscious throughout the day.  On occasion the girl would bring home bags of sweetmeats and other such viands, and then gorge upon them until vomiting.  Her skin paled to taut whiteness, showing the warp and weft of the bones beneath.
Of all her mischief, the eldest daughter’s ruination was the ghost’s favorite, not least because the girl had been especially fond of the contemptible man of the house.  She endured his phantom stench the longest until, when they were alone, the ghost began to whisper obscene suggestions into her ear in an approximation of his voice.  He denied saying such things, but before long, she refused to subject herself to his presence.  When she bathed, the ghost would open the washroom door to give her the impression that he had been watching.  Pairs of her undergarments would be found between the cushions of the couch he slept upon, and his illusory footsteps could be heard pacing at her bedroom door.
As months passed, none of them could bear the sight of one another.  The excuse for a man meekly submitted to his ostracism, spending as little time at the house as he could.  Both daughters shut themselves away, eschewing food and company.  Bemoaning her helplessness, the wife wept into her hands.
It was glorious.
    And tiresome, eventually.  The game had lost its luster.
She would end it tonight with a caress of his manhood, and as he lay there, alone and aroused, she would call to him in his eldest daughter’s voice, begging for help.  He would go to her, rampant and foul-smelling, and her screams would wake the dead.