You wake up and find yourself in a horror franchise, what franchise would you prefer to wake up in and why?

I would prefer to wake up in the Scream movie franchise.  I already know everything that happens so all I would have to do is be vigilant.



You find yourself as the “Final One”  which monster / villain would you most like to go up against ands why do you think you would survive?

I would love to go up against the werewolf.  I think I could survive because all I have to do is wait for the night to end.  I just need to find a place high enough to hide or a bunker.  I could do it.



And which creature would you least like to go up against?

An enormous spider because I don’t like big bugs.


You find yourself in Scooby Doo, which character are you, and who would most like to have as the other members of Mystery Inc?

I would be the villain.  I love this show so much, but I would want the Addams family to be the other members of Mystery Inc OR I would want it to be the old mystery inc crew and then try to stop them or force them to become evil.  I could be pulling the strings in the back and make the plot twists better.


Pinhead pops round for an evening of fun, what are you pains and pleasures?

Maybe go to a fair and play a pop the balloon game so they don’t feel out of place.




The Wishmaster gives you three wishes

1.  You can wish to write in any franchise
2. You can wipe on franchise from the minds of everyone
3. You can date your horror crush

What do you chose?
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I would like to choose the first option.  I would love to write in the Star Wars franchise during the prequel era.  I think Corusant would be an amazing setting to base any number of stories in and I think it.

Nia is caught in the crosshairs of an unraveling family. When she is left with her Aunt Matilda, some creatures from the swamp's watery depths are curious . . . much too curious. Now Nia must figure out what is going on.

Perhaps a somewhat obvious subject for this entry, and certainly one that's been commented on, analysed and dissected to the Nth degree. But, when it comes to horror soundtracks, some subjects are impossible to ignore. 


Whilst the latter instalments in the Alien franchise would take it down a more action-horror route, the original Alien remains one of the most consummate 


exercises in quiet, claustrophobic tension and existential dread ever created in cinema. 


And nowhere is that more apparent than in the film's score. 


Whereas many film soundtracks require context in order to appreciate, the quiet, chilling frames and escalating, discordant wails of Alien exercise a fascination all their own. The sublime use of vast and aching silences, punctuated by chillingly isolated frames of coldly distant notes in the film's opening sequences establish a sense of cosmic dread; communicating without a word or moment of exposition one of the film's most abiding themes: 


Lovecraftian, cosmic insignificance. 


Out amongst the stars, in the vast and hideously empty darkness, humanity itself is anomalous flotsam, a scrap of nothing with delusions of poetry. Whilst the physical threat posed by the eponymous xenomorph is significant, the greater horror of Alien is existential: The cast of characters are, from the outset, established as beyond expendable. Within the horrific, capitalist class-structures in which they operate, selling their labour to a faceless corporation whose influence is at least as profound and horrific as any Lovecraftian deity, in the environment of outer-space itself; the vast, crumbling, industrial mining-ship they operate, the strange and unknown  worlds they are obliged to explore. Everything in the film, from the visuals to the score, to the scraps of discussion we overhear almost as interlopers and voyeurs, is designed to convey the utter irrelevance of these over-ambutious apes, and their hubris in daring to walk amongst stars they aren't meant to know, and that are, at best, coldly indifferent to them. 


The score communicates this quality through startling economy and minimalism; when silence serves, silence reigns, and is often as chilling, shocking and disturbing as any musical cue. When the latter is required, the score is economical to the point of brutalism, sparing in a way that allows the natural sounds of the environment do much of its work (even in moments of utter terror, such as when we spy something descend from the rafters behind a character in the foreground, isolated, singular notes of discord or suspense are utilised, which have the effect of emphasising the industrial rumblings, hissings, clangs and bangs of the perpetually-in-disrepair Nostramo). 


One of the most powerful examples of bizarre, haunting visuals complemented by minimalist musical strains comes when the crew descend to the surface of the uninhabited world designated LV-426: 


Having discovered a downed alien craft whose design, in classic H.R. Giger style, simultaneously resembles an immense, bio-mechanical phallus and a pair of splayed women's legs, the crew discover what may or may not be the ship's cockpit, where a gigantic, fossilised alien form sits fused with its command throne. The image is so strange, so unsettling, it has the effect of making the audience collectively gasp; a reaction helped along by minimal musical rattlings that sound almost tribal, like bone-drums being played around the camp-fires of some other-worldly jungle. 


Later, following moments of the most extreme and distressing body-horror, with a murderous, bio-mechanical nightmare loose on the ship, Tom Skerrit's Captain Dallas descends into a series of vents and tunnels, armed with a flamethrower to dispatch the creature. In what is one of the most iconically fraught sequences in this or any film, the rest of the crew track both Dallas and the monster by use of motion sensors that beep and blip more urgently the closer the pair come to one another. The electronic beeps and blips of the device themselves are terrifying beyond belief, but when complemented by a score so subtle as to be almost subliminal, the scene becomes an exercise in escalating dread unlike any other. 

Then, there's the manner in which the score escalates and elaborates as the situation aboard the Nostramo decays. This single factor, this unknowable, alien, animal thing, destabilises one of humanity's most profound accomplishments; a ship that can traverse the stars themselves. All it takes to utterly desolate this marker of humanity's accomplishment is that one molecular element of chaos. 


And the score reflects exactly this: 


Transitioning from the minimalist isolationism of previous chapters, the score slowly accrues and accrues, culminating in Lieutenant Ripley's blind chase through the Nostramo, where discord wails and screams and clashes with the klaxons and hisses and tormented engine sounds of the ship itself. 


Then, a lull; a moment of false peace, in which it seems she's escaped, only for the xenomorph to be present inside the escape pod with her, the musical discord that marks its revelation matched perfectly to the sinuous, serpentine motions of the beast itself. 


And, ultimately, when all is done, the beast blasted out of the airlock, Lieutenant Ripley retreated into the same hyper-sleep from which she arose at the film's beginning, a slow, serene, but faintly uncertain, distressing credits sequence across the emptiness of space, the score quietly insisting that waking existence is the nightmare, and that Ripley, in the precious years in which she drifts, dreaming, is perhaps the fortunate one. ​

THIRTEEN FOR HALLOWEEN THIRTEEN HORROR SOUNDTRACKS: THE MIST
​THIRTEEN FOR HALLOWEEN 2022:  THE LAST BROADCAST
THIRTEEN FOR HALLOWEEN 2022: THE LEGACY OF KAIN: SOUL REAVER
​THIRTEEN FOR HALLOWEEN: AMERICAN MCGEE'S ALICE
​THIRTEEN FOR HALLOWEEN: THIRTEEN HORROR SOUNDTRACKS - SHADOW MAN

Halloween has just packed its bags and left. That doesn’t mean that we can’t spend long cold winter nights watching horror movies, right? One thing that horror movies usually excel at is getting that blood pumping, there’s a cold of living crisis affecting the world at the minute so forget about putting the central heating on and just watch horror movies – the blood pressure will provide all the warmth you could ever require.

Speak No Evil was suggested to me by an author friend. He promised it would scare the living shit out of me and that the ending was like nothing he’d ever seen before. It’s a a Danish domestic horror from writer and director, Christian Tafdrup. It’s a story about a family who becomes acquainted with some new friends whilst abroad. They hit it off and they have a son the same age as their daughter. It’s all a bit too perfect so when they’re invited to come to stay with them, they finally decide why not? What could possibly go wrong?

It really batters home the idea that confrontation is a dish most people don’t wish to eat from. It’s uncomfortable, tastes bitter, and can change the dynamics of relationships beyond repair. British culture is entombed in the idea that we must always be polite. What’s a bit of confrontation if it keeps you and your family safe?


SYNOPSIS

On a vacation in Toscana, a Danish family instantly becomes friends with a Dutch family. Months later, the Danish couple receives an unexpected invitation. It doesn't take long before the joy of reunion is replaced with misunderstandings.


Never speak to strangers isn’t that what every child is taught growing up? It’s a real shame that adults in horror movies fail to remember that early lesson. Bjorn and his wife, Louise meet new friends in Tuscany, they hit it off and they decide to take their invitation to stay with them. They bring their daughter, Agnes so that she can play with their son, Abel. He is unable to communicate verbally due to a congenital condition in which he was born without a tongue. They travel to the Netherlands to the remote home in the woods. The atmosphere and the musical score are leading you down a deserted path with nothing at the end but watching eyes and suspicious behaviour.

Their hosts, Patrick and Karin initially seem like friendly, amiable hosts. It’s just the little things that have Bjorn and Louise puzzled and concerned. Patrick pushes Louise to eat meat, knowing full well she’s a vegetarian, the way he pulls Abel off the slide to let Agnes have a shot. It’s not the actions of a loving father or a good host. He pushes through the couple’s boundaries with no consideration for their feelings.

So here I am going to address the first thing that kind of boiled my piss. Patrick and Karin took the couple out for dinner and drinks. Sounds like a nice thing to do for your guests that have never experienced the country’s cuisine, right? The first major red flag for me was the fact that they’d organised a babysitter for their child without consulting them. I think I’d have most definitely put my foot down at that. They didn’t know who this person was, or what their experience with children was like, they knew nothing about him and yet acquiesced. The cherry on top was when Patrick drove them home – drunk. NOPE, nope and nope.

So eventually the mother, Louise decides it’s time to leave after discovering her daughter in bed with the couple. It’s a step too far for her – I mean really it was a step too far at the first step when discovering how they speak to their son…but I guess I digress. They pack up their stuff and leave but they need to return as Agnes has discovered that she’s left her toy rabbit behind. I’m all for being attached to stuff but at this point, I was nearly shouting at the tv ‘and fucking turn back – tell her you’ll buy the biggest stuffed rabbit in the world. Do not go back!’ of course, they went back.

The third act of the story is really where it takes off. The music, the creepy sense of dread, and the discovery made by Bjorn eviscerates the view that this was a kindly invitation extended between two couples. The ending left me feeling numb and angry at the parents especially their refusal to spot and act upon red flags.

Although played to a different tune, Patrick and Karin are intelligent serial killers. They develop unique ways of luring in their victims, but they like to play with their psyche first, making them question reality before it’s too late to act upon it. A game of cat and mouse. Little Abel was the hook. Without the child, their actions would be more detectable but with Abel, they just appeared like a family that has its struggles, like all of us. Abel was their smokescreen and the ultimate destruction of Bjorn and his family.

One line that truly foreshadows the future is ‘That’s very heroic of you.’ Spoke by Patrick when referring to Bjorn coming back for his daughter’s rabbit – that should have been a signifier of what was to come. Why would returning for a rabbit be heroic? So many undertones to the constant conflict with Bjorn between heroism and cowardice. Politeness and the unwillingness to be confrontational about some of their host’s actions play a central role. When he finally stands up for what he believes in, it’s much too late, any boundaries they’d had previously have been well and truly trampled.

Hi there, I’m Yvonne. Book Reviewer/ General all-round Nerd
​
Well, what can i say about me? I’m a 32 year old married woman and mum to 3 crazy boys, aged 12,5 and 3. My eldest has a genetic condition that causes a visual impairment so as you can imagine life can be very chaotic and provides many challenges along the way but I would 100% never change any of them. They fulfil my life beyond measure.
​
I Adore Books – I adore shouting about books! I’m a reviewer of all genres, whether that be Epic Fantasy, Gothic Horror, a historical romance or a race-to-the-end thriller. I will read them all.

June 1976 saw the Sex Pistols play the Lesser Free Trade Hall in Manchester. Despite the venue having a capacity of only 400 people, a great many more souls than that have claimed to be present for that epochal gig. The Clash gig at the Rainbow Theatre almost exactly a year later would hold the same import, with many incorrectly claiming they were there simply for the sheer kudos of being present for the West London punks history-making appearance.


There are other several seemingly trivial live events that can claim such a paradigm-altering nature – 2009’s “Chuckle Trek: The Lost Generation” at the Futurist Theatre in Scarborough featuring the slap-sticking squabbling siblings being another notable mention – but as I sat there in the Birmingham’s M.A.C., I could not help but think that history was being reshaped yet again.

Many prestigious talents have frequented The M.A.C. since its inception in 1962 – as well as Andrew Lawrence – but few could have suspected that this Midlandic shell of concrete, brick and glass would ever house the greatest living horror writer that ever greatly lived – the self-proclaimed master of the macabre known as Garth Marenghi.


In a literary event that could only have been eclipsed by the discovery of a last manuscript by F. Scott Fitzgerald (I.e. “The Great Gatsby 2: This time it’s Gatsbier”), Marenghi had emerged from the darkness (figurative darkness – in his own words he’s not a spelunker) and released his Meister work TerrorTome, a triptych of terrifying texts. This evening was one of many to promote said work, being part of a tour of obligatory-publisher-requirement proportions.


The hallowed text itself has been reviewed already on these equally hallowed pages, and I was already clutching at my copy of the ominous opus as I stepped into the comparatively mundane cinema room of the Midlands Arts Centre. I wondered to myself – and also aloud, startling an unsuspecting stranger - if any of those present were fully aware of the importance of this date. There was, however, an enthusiastic sense of anticipation amongst the gathered throng. As they thronged away to find their seats, perhaps indulging in a soft drink, catering size packet of fruit pastilles or Craft Ale, this humble soul wondered if this was what it was like as the meek gathered to watch Jesus’ sermon on the mount – or to be one of the few ITV audience members present at the moment watching Rainbow when Bungle was replaced by a slightly less terrifying Bungle.

As the Archduke O’ Darkdom girded his loins in preparation of meeting his fans, we were treated to the first episode of Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace, the seminal 1980’s horror drama cum medical procedural TV show. I was a little embarrassed on Garth’s behalf at this stage, with some of the audience failing to take this gripping ahead-of-its-time drama as seriously as they should. Dramatically moving scenes were met with derisory laughter, and I was hoped that Marenghi himself was out of earshot – hopefully in the far-off chambers of the Green Room indulging in a diet coke and perchance half of a Twix.


Watching it again with an eager audience couldn’t help but remind me of the how ground-breaking the show truly was for its time, and wonder that how – despite being banned for its radical nature and polemic content – it ended up serving as the template terrible for a great many shows to come. Without Garth’s formative fingerings breaking the mould, would shows such as Midnight Mass, Supernatural, Stranger Things or Up the Elephant and Round the Castle, et al, ever have even existed?


No. They wouldn’t. That’s the answer.

With a suitably atmospheric flourish of dry ice, Marenghi took the stage. Not literally, but in that he found a suitably positioned chair and sat in it. For a moment, it was as though he’d never been away – with a lean physical stature (muscular and compact, like corned beef) matching his gargantuan talent and intellect, he instantly dominated the room.


A short reading from the first book of TerrorTome followed, the Deacon of dread holding Court over the captivated assemblage with every uttered verb, noun, adjective and ellipsis. There was a subtle tonal shift in the room – there was a remote chance given today’s soaring fuel bills that they’d switched the heating off in the room to save a bit of cash, but there was nary a soul in that room that didn’t feel a chill creeping down their spine.

Words have power – I should know, I’ve seen Peter Andre reading excerpts from his definitely not Ghost-written biography “Peter Andre: All About Us” – and, as he carefully related the tale of the books hero Nick Steen and his erotic (horrotic?) dalliances with his cursed typewriter, you could have heard a pin drop. In fact, I did.


Garth is indeed a humbly gracious man, and any ardent fan of Marenghi’s work would have been happy with that excerpt – to hear the words spoken by the great man himself – but the evening concluded with a lengthy question and answer session.


The mystery of his longevity was revealed, with one particularly giddy fan eager to find out how a man in his thirties during the filming of Darkplace 40 years ago had barely aged – “A Pact” was the short yet elegant answer. He was also keen to clear up the rumours of any bad blood between him and Clive Barker with an honest yet elegant retort (“That’s bullshit”) and we learned not only of the reason for the failure of a number of his cinematic projects, but also of his sheer contempt hatred for editors and everything that they stand for.

​With that peer behind the curtain into the life of the great man, the evening drew to an end with a signing. Armed with my copy of TerrorTome purchased earlier in the evening for the exact value stated as the recommend retail price, I eagerly approached the man who – alongside Jeremy Clarkson – I consider responsible for inspiring me to put pen to paper, a Saint Christopher of horror guiding me down the eldritch path of dark scribe.


Barely able to believe that my book was signed by those same hands that crafted the believable and horrific worlds in Slicer, Afterbirth, R.I.P.P.E.R. and Juggers, my evening – nay, life – was made. A handshake was declined – not only because of COVID concerns but because it was clear from his expression that Marenghi found me physically repulsive – but a photograph was permitted and I allowed my bare elbow to touch his clothed one, hoping that some of his talent would rub off on me. Reader, it did not.

Sadly, the mood was instantly dispelled. Tara, my wife, embarrassed not only Garth but everybody in the room by handing him a Bluray copy of the movie Possum to sign. Despite having nothing to do with Garth - being written by Matthew Holness – Marenghi obliged out of pity for her, signing it in Matthew’s name. I hastily shuffled out of the room, thoroughly ashamed by the whole exchange and that my evening had been, effectively, ruined. Divorce is a strong word, but there we are.


Was the evening life changing? Definitely. As I read this review and realise that – in comparison to Marenghi’s masterful command of our mother tongue – my own clumsy scribblings resemble nothing more than the output of a single monkey and typewriter produced in a noticeably finite amount of time. I was hoping that to have shared a room with such a genius would have been inspirational, but it has been anything but – the act only succeeding in reminding me that the likes of us mere mortals can never attain such levels of majesty.


TerrorTome is available from all good bookshops, and some merely adequate ones.


Your humble correspondent, David Court

David Court is a short story author and novelist, whose works have appeared in over a dozen venues including Tales to Terrify, StarShipSofa, Visions from the Void, Fear’s Accomplice and The Theory. He’s also a freelance writer for Slash Film, and has a weekly Film radio show on Noisebox Radio – Court on Film - about Film Soundtracks.


His last collection, “Contents May Unsettle,” was released in 2021. As well as writing, David works as a Software Developer and lives in Coventry with his wife, Aslan the cat and an ever-growing beard. David’s wife once asked him if he’d write about how great she was. David replied that he would because he specialized in short fiction. Despite that, they are still married.

Today we welcome Tom Brown, illustrator, lunatic, singer, dreamer, Co-creator of and artist for Hopeless, to Ginger Nuts of Horror with a showcase of his artwork.  If you would like to commission him for Book cover, CD/Album cover, promotional art, Comics covers/Alternate covers, art for your kickstarter campaign, tattoo design or personal commission, please email him at Hopelessmaine @gmail.com (Removing the space) Or use this contact form.

Finally, here is  the cover art I did for Mr Cannyharme by Michael Shea. This was commissioned by Derrick Hussey at Hippocampus Press. This gave me an opportunity to do some urban mythos horror and to try to suggest a great deal about setting and the breaking of reality and the horrors behind the prosaic. This is also (though the cover art doesn't really suggest it) a strangely redemptive story in a lot of way. 

​I also did the cover art for Mr Shea's short fiction collection featuring The Autopsy. (Also Hippocampus Press) The Autopsy has now been adapted as episode of Guillermo del Toro’s Cabinet of Curiosities for Netflix. I seem to be attached to Shea's work with this publisher and I'm massively chuffed and honoured.

Tom Brown was raised by books in much the same way that Tarzan was raised by apes but with much less dramatic results. He got his first professional illustration gig when he was thirteen and has been working in the field since then. (Taking time out for meals and such) He is also half of the primary creative team responsible for Hopeless, Maine.

CV includes work for Penguin/Random House, Chaosium, Archaia, Hippocampus Press, Centipede Press, Gallant Knight Games and work with individual authors, musicians and creatives. If you would like to commission him for Book cover, CD/Album cover, promotional art, Comics covers/Alternate covers, art for your kickstarter campaign, tattoo design or personal commission, please email him at Hopelessmaine @gmail.com (Removing the space) Or use this contact form.