Sinister Horror Company (September 17, 2016)
132 pages

​Over the last few years, the vampire genre has. For want of a better phrase, become a bit long in the tooth.  They have lost their ability to frighten, reduced to emo-ridden leading actor status with as much bite as a toothless hamster.  

Thankfully we have gifted writers like Rich Hawkins to take back the night and turn the vampire into a creature that should be feared once more.  King Carrion dust off the glitter puts away the leather jacket and buries any notion of romantic entanglement in a cold, dirty grave far beyond the reach of love-struck teenage girls and the writers who seem hell bent on ruining a genre.  ​

​CHASING GHOSTS sees Glenn Rolfe take a wrong turn...but in the right direction! For his latest novella, Rolfe goes all ‘Deliverance’ on us with a short, sharp, shock of backwoods horror featuring a family of inbred hicks that could’ve fallen straight out of ‘The Hills have Eyes’.

The original (and none too shabby remake) of ‘The Hills have Eyes’ is an absolute favourite of mine, along with the epic tale of survival ‘Deliverance’ starring Burt Reynolds and Jon Voight. I’d heard a few whispers that Glenn was going to go all out on this story in regard to gore and general nastiness, and it is certainly his most bloody adventure yet.

Being a novella, little time is wasted in getting to know people, why? Because most of them won’t ever see daylight again, that’s why. I often find novellas a great way to break up the reading of novels, anthologies or collections. They’re kind of like the one night stand of the literary world and whilst I will be the first to admit that a story surrounding a family of backwoods, hillbilly cannibals isn’t the most original, it can still be a lot of fun and that is exactly what this novella is. It feels like a writer paying tribute to his peers and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that at all. The body count is high, the twisted Cobb family are suitably obscene and there are some great moments of gore. The only slight criticism is that the ending came about a little too abruptly, even for a novella.

If you are tired of watching Friday night re-runs of ‘Nightmare on Elm Street’ and ‘Halloween’ then this 80s style slasher is the book for you. Curl up by the fireplace with a beer and go chase some ghosts.

 
I really fell for this kid. Lutzke absolutely nails the voice - the prose is simple and uncluttered, but the kid is bright enough to be able to communicate his situation clearly and well. There’s a lightness of touch in the writing and characterisation the belies the darkness of the tale itself, taking something that could have either been unbearably bleak, or worse, comically cynical, and instead weaving a tale of genuine tenderness and pathos. Denny’s journey, his quest, and his circumstances are utterly believable, and the tension in the story came very much from my concern for his safety.
 
Another bear trap with this kind of narrative is mawkish sentimentality. Lutzke deftly avoids this, again mainly through just how brilliantly he draws the lead character. Denny is enough of an adult to understand some of the dangers he’s facing, but still just enough of a child to have that suppleness of mind to not think too deeply about it, to find a way through.
 
And the whole thing is just beautiful. It’s a touching snapshot of small town blue collar childhood. The relationships Denny has ring utterly true, as do the characters. The book itself is as long as it needs to be and not one word longer, and again, praise is due to Lutzke for not trying to pad it out, instead wisely understanding this was the essence of the tale he wanted to tell.
 
It’s not spatterpunk, blow your brains out, adrenaline fueled whatever. But if you’re looking for note perfect characterisation, deep rooted realism, and a creeping sense of anxiety and dread, ‘Of Foster Homes and Flies’ is a must read. Excellent work.
 
KP
25/8/16

 
When I am promised weird tales, I want weird tales...with this collection by Christopher Slatsky, I was given weird tales. Some of them really weird.

Opening with the beautifully bizarre, "Loveliness Like A Shadow," we are immediately immersed in a pool of unease and disorientation.  A pool that we stew in until turning that final page of this collection.  This story about a lonely woman haunted inwardly and outwardly, reminded me of Polanski's The Tenant. only in tone.  "An Infestation Of Stars" mines some Lovecraftian ore with its theme of a girl and her family's research of an old cult and what follows.  "Making Snakes" was a very odd exercise in bizarre and unsettling territory.  In it, girls discuss an entity known as "The Powdery Man" who, I must admit, haunted me. 

In the gorgeously titled, "The Ocean Is Eating Our Graves" we walk a tightrope between cosmic horror and sea monster tale.  It's enough of both to warm the dark hearts of horror lovers but possesses enough character to appease those who want a sliver more. "This Fragmented Body" is the disturbing story of a man and his doll.  "Tellurian Facade" concerns an inheritance and the horror that goes with it. "Film Maudit" is the story of a horror film nut, the kind who lives for that obscure film that no one has seen. He gets his wish and the consequences are devilish. this tale was ripe with a Clive Barkeresque quality and was one of my favorites in the collection. The stories I chose not to point out are no less brazen in their off-kilter images and themes.
​
Honestly, I am running out of ways to sum this book up.  Weird is overused but goddamned if it isn't applicable here. These tales are strange-weird-whatever other terms you can dredge up with your Thesaurus.  But they are also pretty good. Many have images that will linger behind your eyes for a while.
Alectrymancer and Other Weird Tales is available though Dunhams Manor Press. 

​They say you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, and some people say you shouldn't judge a book by its opening line, however sometimes the opening to a book is perfect, you can't help but judge a book in this manner. 

The opening to Kaaron Warren's THE GRIEF HOLE  is a perfect encapsulation of why this book is such a triumph.  At first glance, it is a simple statement, but when you delve below the surface, this opening sentence is full of subtext, dread and a sense of finality three things which perfectly sum up this powerful and evocative novel.  

Theresa can see ghosts; she can see the ghosts of how you are going to die, swarming around the victim like a plague of vultures,  mimicking the way you are to do.  If you are going to drown the ghosts will be the ghosts of drowned people, but since she works as an emergency housing officer for abused women, the majority of ghosts she sees are those of battered women.  When she crosses paths with Sol Evictus, a powerful, charismatic singer, who sent her cousin a young artist into The Grief Hole to capture the faces of the teenagers dying there and who subsequently died there, Theresa makes it her mission to bring Sol Evictus to her own brand of justice.  

All too often, horror that is described as “extreme” is predictable, repetitive, and has nothing more than cheap shocks on offer. In its worst examples, extreme elements are added to art in order to compensate for the artist’s lack of talent, and sees the author/director/musician breaking taboos in order to give themselves an edge, and therefore a cheap selling angle.

Duncan Ralston’s Woom confidently transcends these flaws. It is by turns transgressive, nauseating, tragic, and shockingly brutal, and should be read by anyone remotely interested in boundary-pushing horror. In that same vein, it should be avoided by the squeamish or those unprepared for a challenging read.
Woom blends the cynicism of Chuck Palahniuk, the greasy and believable characterisation of Irvine Welsh, and the vivid ghastliness of the more literary examples of pulp horror, in order to create a multi-layered tale that keeps its cards close to its chest right up to its abhorrent finale.  To avoid spoilers – as Woom is a pungent dish best served without prior knowledge – let’s simply say that the book’s plot revolves around the traumatic events that have taken place in one room of a seedy motel, and the culmination of each of these atrocities.

While Woom’s contents may be considered shocking, it is to Duncan Ralston’s huge credit that the book does not feel as exploitative as many within the genre do. Recurring themes of motherhood, the inextricable links between birth and death, and the elusiveness of redemption give the book a depth rarely found in material this strong, and despite occasional scenes that brought a sick smirk to my face due to the sheer audacity the author would have needed to have written them, Woom drips not only with bodily fluids, but also with storytelling prowess. One of Woom’s most impressive features is the fact that Ralston manages to weave such seemingly disparate tales into one coherent narrative, and delivers a climax that feels both inevitable yet also unexpected (at least to me).
​
If you like your horror visceral, disturbing, and to possess a rare twinkle of originality, buy Woom and pass some time in Room 6 of the Lonely Motel.