“For those about to rock, we salute you” must be one of the most famous calls to arms in the long and hallowed history of heavy metal and I would formally request AC/DC elongate their legendary set-closer to “For those about to rock, we salute you LEO DARKE!” Why? Lucifer Sam is both one of the dumbest and finest odes to heavy metal, the dark arts and horror I have read in a long time.  There are more musical references than you can poke a stick at, and believe it or not, even the long dead cult heroes Sid Vicious (Sex Pistols), Stiv Bators (Dead Boys), Philthy Animal (Motorhead) and Brian Jones (Rolling Stones) make fantastic guest appearances, from beyond the grave, in an all-dead supergroup towards the end of the novel. Things do not get any better than Sid mixing it up with Philthy!
 
Lucifer Sam was a metal-heads dream boat of a book and it is unlikely anyone else will enjoy it so much as lifelong fans of loud guitars, as the multitude of sly references and jokes were a joy to behold. Heavy metal has always been particularly self-referential and many bands have enjoyed poking fun at themselves, rivals or their fans. Lucifer Sam really runs with this idea and has a lot of fun in turning it into a horror novel which plays upon heavy metal’s oldest cliché; that it is the music of the Devil. Since Ozzy sang “Generals gathered in their masses, just like witches at black masses” metal has never broken away from this idea and so we are introduced to an incredibly successful, and very mainstream metal band, called ‘Cat-o-Nine-Tails’ (CoNT) who have been going since the late 1980s.
 
Although CoNT have a massive following they are dismissed by the critics for their very safe and radio friendly style of heavy metal. Crucial to the story, CoNT dump their original singer, Ray Startling, after the initial success of their debut album which was a wild cross between punk and metal. Ray was also a nutter, a truly charismatic frontman, and due to his unpredictability is sacked and given a payoff. Future albums released by CoNT becomes softer, bland, but incredibly popular. Ray, meantime, disappears into the bottle and obscure cult status. Reading this part of the novel you may well be thinking of real metal bands who dumped their original singers after their debut album and went on to have huge success. I could think of a couple. But I’ll leave you to come up with your own conclusions…..
 
One of the real strengths of Lucifer Sam was that it was about much more than CoNT, and for large stretches of the novel they lurked in the background, along with the outstanding character Ray Starling who has monumental cameos at both the beginning and the end. The majority of the novel was about struggling heavy metal band ‘Lucifer Sam’ which is fronted by Kirk Stammers who are playing support slots in front of fifty people in the backrooms of grotty London pubs. They dream of being stars, getting a big break, the perfect support band slot and are a realistic caricature of every struggling rock band that dreams of the big time. Dreaming is most all of them do.
 
Lucifer Sam are not fans of CoNT. Why? The novel is set around 25 years after the breakthrough album of CoNT and the unceremonious dumping of Ray Startling. In the passing years CoNT have gone from strength to strength and sold millions of albums, Kirk Stammers on the other hand only enjoys their debut opus featuring Ray. The problem is Kirk’s girlfriend Rose is a massive CoNT fan and plays them all the time, and poor old Kirk has no choice but to listen to them whether he wants to or not. I really liked this angle of the story, because we have all had partners who do not like the same music as we do. Do we practice tolerance, or speak the truth? I hate listening to music I don’t like and fortunately I have a very tolerant wife!
 
The main part of the story is particularly farfetched, but for the most part goes in tune with the rest of this crazy, dirty and crude novel. The jet carrying the band disappears over the Indian Ocean, Rose is particularly devastated, but it magically reappears in the same location six months later. Nobody has a clue what truly happened and the band are saying very little except they have a new album and concerts coming up very soon. Kirk Stammers suspects something very dodgy is up….. He might just be right.
 
If you go into this book in the right frame of mind you will have a lot of fun, it really does not take itself too seriously. There are some excellent books around featuring heavy metal and this is much more in tune with Grady Hendrix’s entertaining We Sold Our Souls than David Peak’s brutally majestic Corpsepaint. Along the way other great characters are introduced including hack music journalists and kinky police inspectors. If you’re aware of famous London music venues you’ll be affronted to hear that the legendary 100 Club even burns to the ground.
 
Leo Darke knows the importance of the comeback in both horror and heavy metal. Think Freddie, Jason and Michael Myers and on the music front the examples are endless from Black Sabbath to Kiss. Lucifer Sam has its own magnificent comeback which is so cool you’ll be pumping those devil-horned fingers in the air when the legendary Ray Starling returns to the book, kicking and screaming, in the terrific closing sequences.
 
As the novel begins to rock (and roll) we head to the legendary Wembley Arena (or whatever it calls itself these days) and over the years all the top metal bands have graced that stage. Once again, respect to the author Leo Darke for not sending us to the soulless O2 arena for the conclusion of his novel. Lucifer Sam was littered with lots of cute music observations, a daft story, but had serious soul which had me singing from the rooftops. This novel hits all the right notes and is a must for metal fans everywhere, hopefully others will enjoy it too.
 
5/5
 
Tony Jones

 If you’re looking for a paranormal thriller, with telekinesis and psychic abilities as the driving force, then The Forgotten Girl is very solid entertainment which could find success beyond the horror scene. It’s in the same ballpark as Stephen King’s Firestarter (without the fire-starting) and with a smattering of The Dead Zone thrown in for good measure. Even if is not in the same league as those giants of the genre it’s still worth a look and fun to spent a few evenings with.
 
The novel opens with professional-busker Harvey Anderson being snatched by two very nasty heavies. They beat the crap out of him, asking him very confusing questions he quite simply does not have the knowledge to answer. Harvey has been single for years, the heavies (nicknamed Brickhead and Jackhammer) pummel him to find out about his non-existent girlfriend Sally Stirling. Swearing this is mistaken identity, Brickhead and Jackhammer show Harvey the long-standing lease of his apartment which he shares with Sally Stirling. Harvey is confused!
 
After spitting out a couple of teeth Harvey claims “I think I’ve been brainwashed.” He most certainly has. The bullies reveal Sally Stirling (or was it Miranda Farrow?) had a very unique ability; she can selectively erase memories from a person’s brain. It turns out that Harvey and Sally had very happily lived together for several years and that the boss of the two heavies was very interested in what they got up to, and more specifically, where she disappeared to. 
 
Enter Dominic Lang AKA ‘The Spider’ who was a really great character and, sadly, did not have enough page time in the novel enough as he simply oozed evil and the join he felt inflicting pain bleeds onto the page. As if the torture was not enough; after taking his beating Dominic Lang brings a whole new meaning to the word pain. He has the psychic ability to probe within the minds of individuals (like a psychic rape) and uncover memories, either forgotten or deliberately. This sequence was really excellent and is portrayed like a spider crawling within the brain of Harvey.
 
“He crawled into my mind. Spider.
He was cold and slick and plump”.
 
Man, this was nasty, but a fine description of a horrible and beyond freaky experience which stays with poor old Harvey long after Lang has exited his brain.
 
The Spider has been pursuing Sally for nine long years, I’m not going to say why, but his obsession and his need for revenge runs very, very deep. Once Lang starts digging in the brain of Harvey he uncovers;” a faint vision of a dancing girl” and realising the girlfriend whom he does not remember is in mortal danger. Harvey then tries to find her before Lang and his heavies can get to her. The Forgotten Girl starts off with what I have described, builds up well towards a climax which took too long to arrive, and when it finally did, was slightly underwhelming.
The Forgotten Girl was written in the first person “I” tense and seen entirely from Harvey’s point of view and I felt this limited the plot somewhat and not enough happened to justify 460 pages. Maybe at a certain point I just got bored of Harvey?  Although Harvey notes;” I’m not a coward” he is somewhat of a bumbler who is put through both the emotional and physical wringer and after a while tested my patience. If you split this book into thirds, the middle section was mediocre and meandered somewhat until Sally Stirling makes her long awaited appearance and the story rediscovers its momentum. Along the way other cool characters are introduced which have different powers, such as having the ability to break bones through telekinesis. Ouch.  
 
There are other story strands featuring Harvey’s conspiracy theory obsessed father (who does remember Sally), other murders Harvey is implicated in and some clever flashback scenes. However, overall I was unconvinced how much they added to what was quite a long book. The backstory of Dominic Lang and his involvement with Sally was by far the most interesting and might have merited further investigation, even if the secret government organisation was similar to Firestarter. However, as the book was told from Harvey’s point-of-view that was not possible
 
The Forgotten Girl was a solid ride featuring a good blend of action, parapsychology and thriller, but it reminded me of lots of other better books. Incidentally there are a couple of big-name authors on the promotional material and cover who really over-hyped this novel, but I am sure it will have its fans, both horror and thriller readers.
 
Tony Jones

A dark mystery unfolds in Rio Youers's riveting tale, for fans of Paul Tremblay and Joe Hill.
Harvey Anderson is a twenty-six-year-old busker who enjoys his peaceful life, but everything is turned upside down when he is abducted and beaten by a group of nondescript thugs. Working for a sinister man known as “the spider”, these goons have spent nine years searching for Harvey's girlfriend, Sally Starling. Now they think they know where she lives. There's only one problem: Sally is gone and Harvey has no memory of her. Which makes no sense to him, until he discovers that Sally has the unique ability to selectively erase a person's memories. An ability she has used to delete herself from Harvey's mind. But emotion runs deeper than memory, and so he goes looking for a girl he loves but can't remember... and encounters a danger beyond anything he could ever imagine.
Political corruption and manipulation. A serial killer's dark secrets. An appetite for absolute, terrible power... For Harvey Anderson, finding the forgotten girl comes at quite a cost.

The Warhammer Horror label has been more surprising than many expected in how successfully it has emphasised the capacity for horror stories within Games Workshop's fantasy and science fiction universes.
 
Whereas the previous anthology, Maledictions, took a more scattershot approach, consisting of various, unrelated stories from numerous different settings, mythologies etc, The Wicked and the Damned is a far more concerted and considered effort, incorporating three larger tales, all of which are thematically related and framed beneath an over-arching narrative that is resolved at the anthology's conclusion.
 
Of significance from the beginning is how powerfully the book establishes atmosphere: with three seemingly unrelated characters lurching into sudden consciousness in a place they don't recognise, not knowing how they arrived there or why, they are obliged to recall and recount the circumstances that led them to their plight, each of which becomes one of the three tales that forms the body of the text. From the first instance, the book demonstrates a command of atmospheric and emotive description without falling into the trap of being too ludicrously gothic or overblown (which often characterises fiction set in the Warhammer 40,000 universe).
 
Fans of the game and its mythology may also be surprised at how low-key the science fiction elements are; the book pares away the more conspicuous, science fiction and supernatural subjects (for the most part), focusing instead on the psychologies -and neuroses- of its core characters. Far from being an error, this is an enormous -and deliberate- strength of the book, in that it doesn't assume the reader already knows these universes and is familiar with their subjects, themes etc and thereby doesn't alienate those who have been attracted to it from outside the purview of the gaming culture. It stands first and foremost as a work of horror, that simply happens to be set within the Warhammer 40,000 universe. Even in that, it very rarely makes itself overt, each story taking pains to draw the worlds in which they occur and establish what parameters they operate under without too much oblique reference to the myriad forms of esoterica that constitute the wider universe.
 
The first story in the collection, Josh Reynold's The Beast in the Trenches, is arguably the strongest of all, in that it is a complete work that could exist separately from its relationship to the other two or the over-arching narrative. Likewise, it is a rare example of a story set in this universe that doesn't necessarily have to be:
 
A down and dirty, execrably pungent examination of trench warfare and the psychological effects that such environments have on individuals, the story follows one Commissar Valemar, a man who has nothing in life other than his duty, the service he has been conditioned to fulfil, which he does with increasing zeal and erraticism as the story escalates. Told from the perspectve of Valemar himself, the story presents an uncomfortably intimate take on a the psychopathy that military structures like the Imperium necessarily cultivate in their converts and how little life accounts for next to the insistence of the sacred. Valemar himself is a paranoid, mercilless creature whose murderousness towards his own people is emphasised by a strange phenomena that may or may not be a matter of delusion on his part (Valemar becomes convinced that some force or unseen influence is moving amongst the soldiery it is his business to keep in line, slowly eroding stability and the structure of command. Anyone he suspects of being prey to this influence -marked by the shifting of their eyes from their natural colour to a bright blue- he dispatches often without any wider cause or concern, thus becoming the very destabilising influence it is his sacred duty to keep at bay).
 
On top of the naturally hideous conditions within Astra Militaria trench warfare, there is an increasing suspicion that the entire war they are fighting may in fact be a matter of bureaucratic oversight, a mistake brought about by the sprawling, ungainly systems that dictate their fates. In that, the story not only explores the intimate horror of the individual, but also the wider disturbia of war dictated by politics and enshrined systems. For all of the suffering Valemar and his fellows endure, for all of the sicknes, starvation, the endless bombardments and terrible conditions, they may not be serving any purpose at all, and may in fact have been long abandoned by the administration that mistakenly established the conflict in the first place.
 
The story is an intimate look at a mind breaking down under impossible pressures, whilst everyone and everything around it corrodes in their own peculiar ways. It serves as a parable to the overt bleakness of the setting whilst also managing to sidestep some of the obvious pitfalls of occurring within that universe (for example, the story never once makes the mistake of becoming too overt in its speculative nature. This is a species of trench-horror that could fit into almost any collection that incorporates the subject).
 
Phil Kelley's The Woman in The Walls, by contrast, is redolent of Edgar Allen Poe's The Tell-Tale Heart, in that it explores the innate consequences of ambition and envy so strong that they result in murder, the protagonist a narcissistically ambitious Captain within the Astra Militarium, who engages in the conspiratorial murder of the one she considers to be her greatest competition when it comes to advancement through the ranks. As a result, she finds herself haunted and harassed by escalating phenomena, a creature that manifests primarily as a shadow, but whose influence upon the physical world is brutally tangible. As her ambitions dissolve around her, so too does her sanity, leaving her not in the position of influence she craves but the depths of disgrace.
 
Unlike Valemar in the previous tale, whose brutalities and incipient psychopathy are somewhat ameliorated by the fact of his diseased mind, here we find a far more straight-forward tale of wickedness becoming its own foil, a vengeful haunting that derives from guilt and cruelty, though it is still somewhat difficult not to feel some sympathy for the protagonist, given the circumstances in which she finds herself (murder as a means of ascending the ranks or securing position in this setting is hardly unusual, and is practically encouraged in certain arenas).
 
This story has more of an overtly supernatural edge and influence, in that the spectre which recurs throughout is clearly real; not merely a projection of a diseased mind, not some fevered hallucination, but an actual manifestation of guilt, violence and horror. In this, the story also owes a little more to the established metaphysics of the universe, as the spectre is, ostensibly, a product of The Warp, a factor that only established fans of the mythology will entirely understand. In structure, it is far more overtly gothic than the others, deliberately conforming to a template that, despite its obvious and overt science fiction setting, is highly redolent of that tradition. Fans of gothic horror will recognise the type of story almost immediately, though this familarity is not necessarily a negative. If anything, it demonstrates the variety of forms and traditions that can occur in this setting and how it serves as an arena for myriad types of storytelling.
 
The final tale in the collection is by far the most surreal and overtly Lovecraftian in nature (Lovecraft being a key influence upon the Warhammer 40,000 universe itself): David Annandale's The Faith and The Flesh features an Imperial Missionary who is struggling with his faith, who believes himself to be a fraudulent minister, as, not only does he harbour sincere -and highly heretical- doubts concerning his vocation, he has also fallen in love with a woman he knows he cannot have and has no future with, which leads him to a condition of wanton despair in which he accidentally unleashes a thing of sublime horror, a creature of metaphysical insanity that reflects his sins back at him and exaggerates them beyond count or comprehension.
 
This story features the most overtly supernatural and surreal elements of all, the creature that is unleashed a thing of Cronenbergian, body-horror insanity, the lurid descriptions of its unlikely metamorphoses redolent of the elaborate, anatomical horrors to be found in the pages of Lovecraft, though somewhat more protean, its effects upon living humanity vile and horrific beyond imagining.
 
Like the other protagonists, the missionary finds himself at the mercy of his own demons (or “daemons” in this instance) made manifest, his internal strife made external then rendered as monstrosity or spectre.
 
This is clearly a key theme of the collection, and the Warhammer 40,000 universe is the perfect setting for such explorations: factors such as the aforementioned “Warp” (an alternative reality that exists alongside material creation, in which emotions and thoughts and inspirations and horrors take on physical form and even accrue intelligence) are tailor-made to render internal examinations external, to make dreams and nightmares physical reality. The innate disturbance of that is played with beautifully in this collection, as are the traditional tropes of gothic horror. Unlike the previous collection, Maledictions, this work will likely appeal far beyond the traditional fanbase of the games and their universes, tailored to trespass on other arenas and draw other eyes.
 
Fans of horror in various forms will likely find a lot to gnaw on here, as will those drawn to fiction of a quieter, more intensely psychological quality than most Warhammer 40,000 specimens. There is a great deal here which meditates upon human misery and suffering, that involves itself with psychosis, neurosis and paranoia of various kinds. The tales are generally well-written and hurtle along at breakneck paces, though the book does peak with its opening title. The following stories, whilst fascinating in their own ways, don't necessarily incorporate the same texture and pungency or psychological complexity as The Beast in the Trenches. There's also a tonal similarity between the stories that, whilst it lends the collection consistency, might also prove to be too dour or depressing for some readers.
 
As for the over-arcing narrative, it concludes quite abruptly after the third tale, leaving a sense that perhaps more could have been made of the mystery that has drawn these three profoundly traumatised characters together. For my part, I would sincerely like to read more of Commissar Valemar and his encroaching madness (though the likelihood of that after these stories seems slim), if not more of the hideous conditions within the Astra Militaria and the natural states of neurosis, delusion and psychosis they foster.
 
That said, this is a fantastic introduction to Warhammer Horror, and will hopefully demonstrate to horror readers the breadth and potential of Games Workshop's worlds for exploring the subjects and imagery they enjoy. Whilst such readers will be eminently familiar with the types of story on display, that familiarity in context with the unusual setting lends them degrees of novelty they might not otherwise have.
 
Beyond that, the work is impressive in the depths of human filth it is prepared to rake. Given that this is a derivative of a science fiction universe for a table-top miniatures wargame, it dives deep into the sewer of human sub-consciousness, daring to comment on how war and oppressive theology or rigid hierarchies cultivate the very worst in us and even enshrine it as laudible or sacred. My sincere hope for the collection is that it serves as a two way portal: as an introduction for readers of horror short fiction to the hideous, grim-dark dystopianism of Warhammer 40,000 but also as a means by which fans of the game and its universe might trespass out beyond its bounds into heretofore unexplored territories.

A Warhammer Horror portmanteau
Drawn together by mysterious circumstances, three strangers meet in the mists of a desolate cemetery world. As they relate their stories, the threads of fate are drawn around them, and destiny awaits…
READ IT BECAUSE
It's a classic horror portmanteau comprising three Warhammer 40,000 novellas, each with its own distinct feel – a ghost story, a monster saga and a psychological horror tale – that all draw together through the terrifying linking story.
THE STORY
On a misty cemetery world, three strangers are drawn together through mysterious circumstances. Each of them has a tale to tell of a narrow escape from death. Amid the toll of funerary bells and the creep and click of mortuary-servitors, the truth is confessed. But whose story can be trusted? Whose recollection is warped, even unto themselves? For these are strange stories of the uncanny, the irrational and the spine-chillingly frightening, where horrors abound and the dark depths of the human psyche is unearthed.

Written by Josh Reynolds, David Annandale and Phil Kelly

On Saturday the genre lost one of its shining lights, Sam Gafford was an inspiration to many and a selfless supporter of so many more, as well as a hugely talented writer.  However, he was sadly one of those writers that not enough people knew about. So it only seems fitting that, on the day in which we remember Sam with John Linwood Grant's moving tribute to Sam, that we publish our review of one of the last books that Sam Worked on.  ​

The latest publication from Ulthar Press, “Hell’s Empire,” is an anthology of fourteen tales chronicling the events leading up to, during and after “The Incursion”, a clash between the infernal armies of Hell and the Imperial forces of Victorian Britain. At first glance this may sound like a rather pulpy style concept but thankfully, under the guiding hand of editor John Linwood Grant, this is less an onslaught of humanity battling against demons’ type stories than a stylish and enthralling breath of brimstone tinged air.

As an anthology, “Hell’s Empire” is somewhat hard to categorize as it combines elements of horror, history, social commentary, weird fiction, occultism and folk mythology. What might have been a collection of disparate stories and perspectives however is given focus and clarity using bridging stories provided by Grant that add an almost documentary or reportage feel to proceedings. The cumulative effect is of an anthology that at times evokes the spirit of H.G. Wells if he’d decided to do a Satanic War of the Worlds.

It’s a feeling somewhat fortified by the first story in the “Opening Shots” section of the anthology, “The Battle of Alma” by Matthew Willis. An exciting and taut story set amongst the English coastal defences, this nicely sets the tone with a riveting novella length tale of Wicca and naval warfare. The expansive of the high seas is exchanged for the intimate surrounds of London’s vaudeville in “Hell at the Empire” by Marion Pitman. As they say, the devil does have the best tunes in this tale of theatrical outrageousness.

The thought of all the world being a stage springs to mind when reading “The Mighty Mastiff” by Ross Baxter. Set in and around the small Scottish Isle of Canna, the crew of a small patrol vessel encounter one of Hell’s Dukes who is determined to create a grand entrance for his fellow performers. Great things come in small packages and that is certainly the case in this engrossing story of sorcery and sacrifice.

The inherent notion that demonic influence in our reality would be full of grandiose and mischievous glee is bloodily explored in “The Sea Wall” by Ian Steadman. I rather liked this tale’s playing around with the conventions of nineteenth morality and how the reversal of those limitations is equally applicable to supernatural forces. The restrictive nature of having a rigidly defined set of values and the desire to break free from one’s shackles is at the heart of Charlotte Bond’s excellent “The Singing Stones.” It’s a devilishly beautiful story about the relationship between two demons in what so far has been a treasure trove of great storytelling jewels.

A key part of this anthology’s strength, apart from a concept executed exceedingly well, is its willingness to traverse the length and breadth of the country encompassing provincial perspectives and stories including folk stories and mythology. Opening the second section of the anthology, “The Struggle,” is the first of two poetic contributions from Phil Breach. In “The Nowl of Tubal Qayin,” the exploits of a Devonshire witch are celebrated as she faces down the infernal forces invading the land. It’s a highly visual and atmospheric tale that you can imagine being retold around the slowly dying embers of a hearth with a strong drink to hand.

The quality continues apace with the rather lovely “Forge” by Shell Bromley as the protective bond that exists between people and their pet is demonstrated to have its roots in an older and more powerful mythological antecedent.  In this world, traditional divinities seem to be no match for the unnatural but there are other deities far better suited to the task of hunting down the abnormal prey.

The assumption that traditional Christian faith will be a shelter from the storm is put to the test in Damascus Mincemeyer’s “Ad Majorem Satanae Gloriam.” Set in the beleaguered East End of London, a small band of survivors will find the strength of their convictions challenged when faced with the Legions of the Damned. In this new warped reality of what constitutes faith, the precepts of Heaven and Hell are not dissimilar nor is there any haven from wrath or sin. The metaphysical does have a hand to play in A.F. Stewart’s intense and brutal story of street level fighting in the capital in “Infernal Patrol.” In a world where demonic duplicity and possession has become the norm and the spirit of resistance is starting to fray, revenge can provide the sweetest of victories for those touched by the hands of the Underworld.

Rather than remain in London, the next two stories reinforce the solid sense of regional identity, history and mythology prevalent throughout Hell’s Empire. The first of these is the Welsh set “Yahn Tan Tethera” by J.A. Ironside which slightly evokes the spirit of H.G. Wells with its insidious red weed permeating the landscape and sowing disruption and discord amongst the residents of a village. There however the similarity ends as a young shepherdess discovers that buried memories and knowledge can be the key to redemption. It’s another sterling effort that weaves elements of folklore and magic into the mix to create an engrossing story.  The ghosts of the past and how they can affect the future is the focus of “Reinforcements” by Frank Coffman. Set in the south west of England this diary styled story follows the beleaguered remnants of a regiment as it encounters a very irregular detachment of troops.  It’s another beautifully crafted tale in an anthology full of surprises.

The insidious influences of demonic forces, whether through physical presence or a manifestation of people’s questionable morality, play a key role in several stories in the third section of the anthology, “Days of Doubt.” Opening with another excellent poem from Phil Breach, “The Charge of the Wight Brigade”, events take a decidedly dark and grim turn in this section. The next few stories take a long hard look at what prolonged exposure to occupation and war does in desensitising one’s morality and behaviour. The impending collapse of British influence and authority under the onslaught proves too much of a tantalising opportunity for exploitation in Jack Deel’s excellent tale of Irish politics, “Profaned by Feelings Dark.” As befits a setting where deception and duplicity are part of the fabric of society, one must be wary of whom you trust and make bargains with.

The horrors inflicted on a captive population forms the basis for Sam L. Edwards wonderfully dark and bleak, “We’ve always Lived in a Colony” which finds that brutality and a lack of compassion is a fertile breeding ground for far, far darker forces. It’s an absolute cracker of a story and like many of the writers in here makes me want to read more of his writing. The last story in this unholy triumvirate of the darkness that dwells within is Martin Gilbert’s “The Ones that were Left Behind” that follows the paths of two survivors dealing with the aftermath of a particularly intense battle.  Adding credence to that adage about a wolf in sheep’s clothing, this is a brutal and unsettling look at what people consider to be the just spoils of war.

Thankfully, the final story in the anthology, Charles R. Rutledge’s “A Swig in Hell” balances out the preceding excursions into the darker side of humanity by providing a well-deserved respite. A rip-roaring tale of demonic slaughter, courage and sacrifice to the gates of Hell and beyond, it’s a rousing and fitting conclusion to “Hell’s Empire.”

All in all, “Hell’s Empire” is a wonderful excursion into the realm of fictional possibilities and is one of the best anthologies I’ve read in quite some time. “Excellent” doesn’t quite do it justice!

George Illet Anderson 

Today marks the release date of The Cold the  latest novel from Rich Hawkins and Horrific Tales Publishing, and in a weird twist of fate we have not one but two reviews from the Ginger Nuts of Horror's family.  I love when things like this happens, as even though both reviews are positive the two reviewers both had different experiences reading the book.  So please read both reviews, and if the book sounds like your cup of tea, you can purchase a copy by clicking on the link at the end of the article. 

Rich Hawkins is one of those writers who has this instantly recognizable style of writing that encompasses aspects of outer and inner horror or the apocalyptic and the personal, to great effect. Unfortunately, in the case of his latest novel from Horrific Tales Publishing, “The Cold,” the impact of this approach is somewhat diminished, and as a result I was left with a novel which whilst enjoyable, felt somewhat underwhelming with a distinct sense of déjà vu to proceedings.

I’m not entirely sure what it is about this novel that I found so disappointing. Sure, I blitzed through it in one sitting and although I did enjoy reading it, I can’t honestly say that by story’s end superlatives were spilling from my lips.  I think my ambivalent reaction to the novel is that it does feel somewhat like it is sticking to a tried and tested formula. The phrase “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” springs to mind but that is immediately countered with the thought that the definition of insanity is to repeat the same thing over and over and expect different results.

Now, before you all start frothing at the lips and hurling invective my way, I will repeat myself and say that “The Cold” is an enjoyable read.  All the familiar elements present in Hawkins’ previous efforts are here to one degree or another; the sparse and lean prose, apocalyptic Lovecraftian horror, a bleak and nihilistic tone, cultish behaviour and a menagerie of twisted and tormented flesh. He does have this knack for transforming the mundaneness of reality into something ominous and threatening in the blink of an eye yet here, as the story progresses, those recognizable elements pop up and it does start to feel rather like a repetitive tick box exercise.

It’s not a feeling assuaged by the sense that what you are reading is ostensibly an English version of The Mist as the UK is blanketed by snow and fog that hides all manner of monstrosities hungry for flesh.  Unfortunately, that sense of “I’ve read this before” only intensified as Seth and other survivors start to traverse the ravaged landscape in search of respite. There were several moments where I couldn’t quite shake the notion that what I was reading was effectively a re-tread of Hawkins’ own Plague series of books.

However, unlike those previous excursions into the apocalypse, the existential battle between the humanity of his characters and the overbearing otherness of their new reality feels somewhat muted. The emphasis here is much more on monstrous set pieces and meat rending action which does contribute to a narrative that rips along at breakneck speed. The unfortunate casualty of this are the interchangeable characters who feel less like distinctive personalities and more like the next meal to be served up.
​
I can’t say that “The Cold” is a bad reading experience. It is an enjoyable slice of monstrosities and mayhem and perhaps should be viewed as such. However, much like its title would suggest, “The Cold” left me feeling rather numb and worn out by its conclusion. Disappointing is perhaps the best way to describe it.
3.5/5

If you’re a fan of monster stories and by ‘monsters’ I mean terrifying killer beings ranging from the size of small dogs to beasts which dwarf football pitches then look no further than The Cold. In the hands of a less versatile writer these descriptions would become repetitive very quickly, but this never happens in this gruesome novel. There are monstrosities which are reminiscent of giant moths, others which are similar to biped boars and further examples which are so dangerous they’ll rip your head off in two seconds flat. And don’t get me started on the giant worms which could devour a bus whole without a burp. This was also an incredibly bleak novel, but I loved every second of the chills radiating from the 245 pages, which I read in two sittings. Actually, I thought it was much shorter and Hawkins did very well in keeping which was a very minimal story on point without it overstaying its welcome or becoming samey.
 
This author sets many of his stories in the south west of England, Somerset, and so regular readers of his beguiling brand of cosmic horror are going to feel right at home as this latest offering is no different. The action opens directly after a train crash and main character Seth waking up after surviving the horrific accident. Bizarrely, it is also snowing incredibly hard, and since it is July and the middle of summer freaky occurrences are obviously afoot. Worryingly, the emergency services do not appear and Seth and a couple of other survivors strike out for the nearest train station for help whilst the majority shelter in the train carriages. Upon arrival they find the waiting room and ticket offices to be deserted, discovering blood stains everywhere. As the temperature continues to drop, after checking the station video surveillance, they realise inhuman creatures are hiding in the snow. Something bestial, vicious and very, very hungry.  
 
After some broken sleep another survivor from the train crash, Ruby, arrives and claims everybody from the train crash is dead; creatures swooped from the skies and devoured them. There is not much more I can say about the plot except that readers should expect an exceptionally well-paced survival novel which is incredibly gory, blood-thirsty and so vividly described you’ll be wanting to put on your hat, gloves and winter-warmers. You’ll feel the cold along with the poor suffering and shivering characters. Throughout the story the adverse weather plays a critical part in proceedings, ramping up the helplessness the survivors feel as they’re stalked by the monsters in the snow. This only adds to the overall bleakness of proceedings.
 
Everything kicks off incredibly quickly and not a page is wasted before the creatures arrive on the scene. One moment, Seth is mulling over a disappointing job interview and a few seconds later he clocks weird shapes through the frosted train window and The Cold is off the ground running. The problem with the snow being so heavy, and half-blinding the survivors, makes them even easier pickings for the beasts. Along the perilous journey to any kind of sanctuary there are outstanding descriptions of destroyed homes, villages and landscapes dominated by beings so big their very movement can leave a vast trail of destruction.
 
Hawkins keeps the story very local and gives the occasional hint about what else is happening in the rest of the country or abroad. Harking back to Day of the Triffids the survivors try to head for military bases or follow SOS signals they pick-up on short-wave radios, but the reality is nowhere is safe. This feeling of threat and hopelessness permeates right to the core of The Cold and it becomes obvious the chances of survival are minimal. Many shell-shocked characters are threaded through the story, most are despatched quickly adding to an impressive body count.    
 
The story is told in the third person via Seth, this guy is not a hero and would be the first to admit it, but he is a survivor and whilst everyone else is picked off Seth battles on, through a combination of luck and grit. Others have their brains eaten, are dropped from great heights, or simply disappear in the middle of the night. He is an easy character to root for, simply wanting to get home to find his elderly parents alive. There are touching moments, such as when he discovers a week-old newspaper and scans the football results realising this very mundane act is a thing of the past. Or wanders around a deserted fast-food restaurant that would have been a hub of activity a couple of days earlier.
 
Whilst other authors might tell a multi character or story with many different strands Hawkins keeps it lean and very localised; with the level of destruction over the space of the first 48 hours breath-takingly savage, even if most of it happens off-screen. Whilst Seth and his friends trudge in the snow the country is quickly being devoured. The survivors have very quickly become helpless prey and the reader can feel it.
 
The creatures themselves are wild and truly gruesome creations, that is until an even bigger monstrosity rumbles along and devours the smaller one. Yes, we live in a monster eat monster world! They may remind you of the creatures which lurked in the shadows of Maniac Gods (2018) Hawkins previous excellent novella. They also vaguely reminded me of the beasts from the film version of Stephen King’s The Mist. As it develops a cosmic horror element does evolve, which is predominant in much of this author’s work.
 
Ultimately The Cold was a monster novel which pulled no punches and once it got going was a sleigh ride into hell. It had a minimal story which was skilfully driven home in a violent and pulsating manner which bullied the survivors, hustling them from one terrifying situation to another. It was not deep (unless you’re talking about the snow), was a very easy read, and must rank amongst the bleakest novels I have read this year. If you’re after a quick apocalyptic terror trip this is a fine example. However, Rich Hawkins really needs to lighten up on poor old Somerset as whenever I read one of his books he’s wiping out small towns and villages. Anyone might think he does not actually like the place! And long may the destruction continue. Recommended.
 
4.5/5
 
Tony Jones

 
This review is based on a pre-edited version of the text. I understand nothing major in terms of content has changed between that version and the final published book, but fair warning. Also, Johnny’s a dear friend. That said, my usual rules apply - I don’t review anything unless I finish it and have something positive to say. I start more than I finish, and I finish more than I review.
 
A Distasteful Horror Story, is, I suspect, going to generate some controversy. It’s set firmly in the UK horror scene of the 90’s, and serves, in part, as a kind of cracked mirror history of that scene. The books protagonist is a genre enthusiast and fan who little by little strikes up a friendship with Carson Fisher, a (fictional) leading light of the scene.
 
This early part of the novel is a joy, as it charts our protagonist falling in love with the genre and scene, realising quickly just how accessible his idols are. Given Mains own position in the UK
horror community, it's hard not to read this as a love note to his own early days in the scene, and it’s utterly charming as a result. At the same time, the mix of real authors with fictional characters invites what I am quite sure will be some fevered speculation as to the true identities of some of the more ‘controversial’ figures in the book.
 
Mains blends these fictional and non-fictional elements with great skill, constantly leaving the reader guessing as to how much is repurposed anecdote and how much whole cloth invention. Indeed, the author and narrator seem to take an impish delight in leaving threads dangling, clues (or red herrings) for follow-up.
 
That said, there’s far much more going on here than a lot of ‘inside baseball’ type UK horror scene sequences, as delightful as they are. As is made clear in the opening chapter, our  narrator is telling his story from behind bars, having committed an act of murder, and the slightly disjointed past narrative is interspersed with some incredibly detailed (and occasionally gruesome) accounts of day to day life in prison. It adds another layer of tension to the story, as the reader is led to speculate on the precise nature of the crimes that placed our narrator there, as well as providing an increasingly rich narrative in its own right - indeed, by the time I reached the second half of the book, I was at least as engaged with the prison plot as I was with the story the prisoner was telling.
 
Mains plays with this dual narrative masterfully, teasing out the revelations at both ends of the tale, and interspersing it with some borderline audience trolling at some points (though, to be clear, I found the way he handled that hilarious). And I have to say also that this is a book you do need to read to the very last page - and I mean that literally - to get every twist of the tale.
 
A Distasteful Horror Story is an unusual and audacious debut novel, combining Mains’ love of genre with a rollocking and twisty narritive and a payoff that will, I’m sure, be hotly debated for some time to come. I found it to be a disturbing joy to read.
 
KP

 
Walk The Darkness Down is a work by John Boden that exists in and explores liminal spaces. This exploration and occupation begins with the word count itself, which at just over fourty thousand words places it in a twilight zone between long novella and short novel. It’s the kind of length that once upon a time would instantly have been labelled unsellable, but we live in more enlightened times - and that’s a damn good thing, because Walk The Darkness Down is one of the finest pieces I have read in the last couple of years at any length.
 
And yes I know, like, and admire John Boden, so take what follows with that knowledge, but also this; no matter how much I like someone, I only review if I enjoy what I’ve read.
 
Walk The Darkness Down feels like a next level piece, to me; a new high tide mark from an author already running long on voice, characterisation, and mythos building. Walk The Darkness Down builds on the country-blue-collar hardscrabble lives depicted in both Out Behind The Barn (a co-authored effort with Chad Lutzke) and semi-autobiographical Jedi Summer, and the American mythology of Spungunion and Detritus In Love  (the latter co-written with Stoker Award winner Mercedes Murdock Yardley), and the trademark lyricism that connects all of Boden’s work, but what he’s doing here is something deeper, something harder and more elemental. Even as he nods to that past work (explicitly, in the case of Spungunion, with a lightly handled callback that stands on it’s own two feet but will delight more dedicated followers), Boden is striding forward confidently into uncharted territory, pulling us in his wake.
 
Hence the setting; 1860’s western US; or at least, a mythological version of the same. That’s not to say Walk The Darkness Down isn’t grounded; it most assuredly is, with Boden’s trademark lifeworn characters present and correct, the harshness of their day to day expressed with empathy but without mercy. What Boden does is use that grounding in real grime and dust to build a solid bedrock foundation for an arching, grand gothic narrative that walks the line between mythological and biblical (assuming that even is a line).
 
And, I mean, I could at this point list off the influences, of which there are many, and all top drawer; There’s a Barkeresque eye for The Grand Narrative, for the creation of powerful archetypes that manage to feel both fresh and ancient; especially with the ‘villain’ of the piece, who is one of the more ‘sympathy for the Devil’ monsters you’ll come across. Bradbury is all over the place, in the evocative language, the poetry of the everyday, the choice simile that just makes you grin (or grimace). King is here, too, especially Roland and his Ka-Tet, and most especially The Gunslinger, that first book full of fire and blood and brimstone. All of that, and the real classics, too; there’s shades of Greek notions of destiny and fate, and gods messing with the lives of mortals for sport, Shakespearian characterisation, again, finding humanity, individuality within archetypes, bringing them to life, whole breathed and windswept, and, yes, Biblical ideas of sin, justice, vengeance, and redemption. Thing is, when you bring that many elements together, and add in specific preoccupations/obsessions that are often the hallmark of really driven artists, what you’re left with is something that feels both part of a rich heritage, but also something, fresh, surprising; new.
 
It’s fucking brilliant, is what I’m trying to say. One of the great joys of this writing and reviewing gig is that, on occasion, you get to see writers at the beginning of their career develop in front of your eyes, from story to story, growing in confidence and stature, bringing more, digging deeper. Boden is one such writer, and with Walk The Darkness Down, there really is the feeling of it all coming together; the unique voice and tone, the epic-and-personal intertwined, all those giant influences woven together to create a new tapestry of story, a unique vision with something to say about life, and people, and pain.
 
Walk The Darkness Down is everything you want and expect from a John Boden book, but it’s also unmistakably a sizable step up from what’s come before; and, as well as a triumph on it’s own terms, a thrilling signpost of what’s to come from this writer.
 
If any of the above sounds remotely appealing to you, I urge you to get the hell on board. You won’t regret it.
 
KP
6/5/19

There are rare occasions  where I automatically associate a song with the book I am reading, and it can be an odd pairing that has no relevance to the book at such as The Female of the Species by Space and its link to The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant by Stephen R Donaldson. I can only assume that this is down to my uncanny ability to remember precisely where and when I first heard a song.  However, in the case of THE SPIDER DANCE by Nick Setchfield, the link to the song couldn't be more perfect, as it ties into the central narrative theme of this rather splendid book.  

The Spider Dance  is the direct sequel to his excellent 2017 novel The War in the Dark , a perfect genre blend of spies, monsters, magic and derring-do.  Set two years after the explosive events of The Spider Dance, we return to the world of Christopher Winter, who has become the "man who walks beside", desperate to escape from his past and the things he has done.  Gone are his days as a special agent for the UK government, he is now trying to carve out a career working for London's gangland, but he of all people should know that your past and the things that you are living now, can never be fully put behind you. 

In Nick Setchfield's  previous novel, he laid out the groundwork for a well constructed and believable alternative history where magic and the occult coexist in an otherwise reasonably realistic representation of our world.  There is nothing worse when reading an alternative history novel than having the worldbuilding not ring true.  Setchfield's reconstruction of Britain and Europe in the 1960s couldn't be better realised.  The smell of Embassy No.6's and Martinis ( whether shaken or stirred) waft of the page and transport back to the world where things were just so much cooler and sophisticated.  

There is a nice touch to the descriptive passages of the world of The Spider Dance, where  Setchfield mirrors the sociological and political changes that were going on the world as it finally and fully emerges from the dark shadow of the Second World War and its aftermath.  It's a slightly more decadent world, a world that was defined by characters such as James Bond.  

It's going to become cliched and, but you can't review this book without mentioning James Bond, after all the simplest way to describe this book is James Bond meets the occult. This should never be meant as a slight to the book, as Setchfield has crafted a series of novels that are strong enough to stand on their own merits.  But, which Bond does Mr Winter most closely resemble?

Christopher Winter is a broken man and a man who has turned his back on the man that he used to be, profoundly flawed yet utterly sympathetic, and he comes across as a mix of Lazenby's and Craig's versions of Bond.  He's not a suave man, more of a barely tamed wild animal, bitter and angry at what happened to him in the previous novel.  He is a fascinating character, and Setchfield's handling of the mental anguish he is suffering from is handled with a deft style.  

Plot wise it is difficult to talk about too much about it for fear of giving away some neat twists and turns, suffice to say the narrative is a masterfully Machiavellian tour de force filled with subterfuge, scheming,  alliances and betrayals. Setchfield keeps the reader on their toes with regards to how the narrative plays out. You are never quite sure where it's going and who is going to survive.  The plot moves forward at breakneck speed, and you will find yourself frequently stopping to catch your breath while you assimilate what has just happened.  

The mashing up of genres is pitch perfect, the balance of grounding the magical with the mundane is excellent, to the point where you are fully invested in a version of our world where demons and magicians walk side by side with us.  Some of the highlights include the magical defences that surround a house where a critical clue has been hidden.  The description of the experiment carried out by the Russians will still have the power to send a chill down your spine every time you hear a tap, tap, tap.  Even now, I feel a little queasy.  His use and rules of magic is also a sublime addition to the book, I'll confess I haven't read enough fantasy to know if this is based on a previous system of magic, but I thoroughly  I enjoyed the notion of Blood and Bone magic.  

However it his portrayal of a classic horror monster that shines in this book.  Considering the book is just over 400 pages in length, Setchfield has created an exciting and extraordinary version of the creature that has sadly over the years been unfairly represented in fiction.   So much so that I would love to read a spin of the novel about them.  

The Spider Dance much like its main protagonist is a novel that walks beside itself; however, unlike Winter, the book relishes its past, an intelligent and modern reworking of the classic spy novel.  Epic in nature, and filled with rip-roaring set pieces, The Spider Dance will leave you so engrossed in the book you feel  like a fly caught in the centre of its spooktastic web. 

A genre-defying page turner that fuses thriller and speculative fiction with dark fantasy in a hidden world in the heart of Cold War Europe.
THE TRUE COLD WAR IS FOUGHT ON THE BORDERS OF THIS WORLD, AT THE EDGES OF THE LIGHT.
It's 1965 and Christopher Winter is trying to carve a new life, a new identity, beyond his days in British Intelligence. Recruited by London's gangland he now finds himself on the wrong side of the law - and about to discover that the secret service has a way of claiming back its own. Who is the fatally alluring succubus working honeytraps for foreign paymasters? What is the true secret of the Shadowless, a fabled criminal cabal deadlier than the Mafia? And why do both parties covet long- buried caskets said to hold the hearts of kings? Winter must confront the buried knowledge of his own past to survive - but is he ready to embrace the magic that created the darkness waiting there?