Stephen's Reviews > The EC Archives: Crime SuspenStories, Vol. 1

...........THE DOUBLE-CROSS REVIEW...OF DEATH...........
The following is an homage to the pulpy noirtasticness of CRIME SUSPENSTORIES by EC COMICS


3:00 A.M. Upstairs in a rundown room in a rundown house deep in the heart of a city with no name. I'd been reading for hours, my eyes going back and forth like the swish-swishing of a windshield wiper. Outside the room, rain was dropping in buckets like swells over the bow of a rusty boat. I knew I needed to sleep, but I didn’t want to stop reading... I couldn’t stop....I was Afraid to stop. I had to finish before...before...well I’ll get to that.

The dame next to me in bed, my wife, stirred in her sleep. Her green eyes opened heavily, looking like emeralds reflected through smoky glass. She purred something in a lazy, bedroom voice that sounded like, “TURN OFF THE FUCKING LIGHT I’M TRYING TO SLEEP”...but I ignored my little kitten and gave her a nice firm pat on the bottom.

Later, after she'd offered to surgically remove my testes if I didn't let her sleep, I decided, on my own mid you, to get out of bed and turn off the light. Scratching my danglies to assure myself they were still attached, I grabbed the book and my smokes and headed downstairs to the kitchen. Outside, the rain kept falling, relentless as death and taxes.

Downstairs I made my way past the cat who looked right through me, dismissed the intrusion and casually went make to licking its butt. I went to the kitchen and dropped some ice in a tumbler. I looked back up stairs where my wife was sleeping, and then quietly grabbed the large butcher knife from the drawer.


Walking slowly back towards the bottom of the stairs....I headed past them to the bar where I cut the tape off a new bottle of Scotch. I poured myself three fingers and drank it down in a gulp. It burned like VD but I calmed my nerves. I poured another hooker from the bottle, lit up a smoke and dropped down onto my couch with a sigh.

It was gonna be one of those nights. One of those nights that won't let go, that creep inside you and nest like rats. I shook my head telling my self to clam the self-pity. I told myself I didn't have a choice, so stop belly-aching and get to it. Somehow, someway, I had to finish the book by morning. Otherwise...otherwise...it would be too late.

Trembling, I tried to brush the thoughts from my head like cobwebs in a haunted house. I downed the rest of the Scotch, lit another smoke and continued to read. So far, I'd been through 24 stories, gems like:

Murder, My Boomerang,
Snapshot of Death,
Dead-Ringer and
A Moment of Madness.

Stories that made me shake in my socks like a junkie after a 3 day bender. Still, I slowly...ever so slowly... turned each page and pressed on.

With 12 more to go by morning, it was gonna be close. I had to make it. I had to try. I started working my way through the next batch, hands sweating like preacher in a whorehouse. Reaching for the Scotch bottle and another smoke, I came to the next piece, Mr. Biddy…Killer. It was corker about a man looking to get rid of his wife...permanent like, and scared me so bad I was trying to back my way straight through the chair.


As the night wore itself out like a prize-fighter on a punching bag, I continued on. Next was The Gullible One and then The Sewer. Tales that had me jumpier than a six-legged kitten on a hot plate. I drank and read and smoked.. and then drank some more….always reading, never stopping except to try and calm the beating of my heart.

Finally...with the sun just beginning to creep up over the horizon like fire coming up from a struck match, I came to the last story. I had very little time left...was that a noise?... probably nothing...just the nicotine and my nerves singing me a lullaby.

Upstairs, I could here the woman begin to stir. She must have reached over and felt the coldness from the other side of the bed because I thought I heard her silky voice saying, “DID THAT FUCKING MORON STAY UP ALL NIGHT READING AGAIN?” It was clear to me she wanted me to come hold her, maybe give a little of the old heave and ho, but I had to finish. I had to...before it was too late.

Finally, here it was, the last story. A frightful tale called Jury Duty, about an execution that didn’t take and a condemned man out for some payback. It spooked me so bad I thought I might just cash it in right there. Somehow, I got through it...barely...but I got through it.


As I finished, I crushed out my smoke and sat there shivering with relief. I had done it. I had finished the book and I still had over an hour to spare. The sun was shining down on me like a cop on the beat, but I didn’t care. I had time. More than enough time to shower, put on a fresh suit and throw some coffee down my throat.

Then they would see. I would show all of those wise guys down at the library when I walked in at 9:00 a.m. on the dot...and returned the book, avoiding their dumbshit late fees and *gulp* an uncomfortable visit from library police. Sure, I had to stay up all night reading, and my eyes were redder than a wino's nose, but I had done it...and no one would be coming after me.
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Of course...I still needed to figure out what to do with the dead hooker I had stashed in my trunk, but I suppose that would keep for the moment. For now, I was on easy street...without a care in the world...
Wait a minute...what's that sound coming from the trunk?...it sounds like...no, it couldn't be...I saw her dead...but that must mean....oh no, it can’t be...NOOOOOO!!!!.........The End?

5.0 stars.