Hershel Merkley is a realtor. All he really wants to do is save enough for the long-overdue vacation he feels his wife deserves.  She still loves and puts up with him even when he can't rise to the occasion.  If he can seal the deal on the Whitecomb mansion, he'd make just enough to take her away for a while.

The Whitecomb mansion was the setting of a horrible murder and has been empty for nearly a decade, but Hershel has been working on his game and is fairly confident he'll be able to sway the clients even after he has to disclose the history of the place. The rich Russian couple who are interested don't seem the type to be bothered by that sort of thing.
The showing starts off on the right foot but quickly stumbles from the path of normalcy, as the Sokolov's begin to show a glimpse into just how offbeat they are and while Hershel is determined to stick the landing and get the sale, he is troubled by the lascivious boldness of the couple...but then things occur that make that all barely notable. Things that scream and cry and bleed and things that reek of Hell.

With this novella, Southard delivers a concise and taut thriller that flows quickly and smoothly from every day normality to blood-soaked insanity.  It plays out like a remake of Indecent Proposal as directed by the team of Clive Barker and Wrath James White.  Fans of extreme and splattery horror will lick this platter clean, I'm sure. While that is not exactly my sub-genre of favor, I did enjoy this  quite a bit. Wesley Southard is a new voice and one that I think we'll be hearing from more frequently and  I'll always be there to listen...
​
Closing Costs is available from Amazon.

 ​Netherwood is the third book in Stephen Volk’s Dark Masters trilogy. The first two volumes were novellas - Whitstable, a story starring Peter Cushing, wrestling with the crushing grief of the recent loss of his wife, whose chance encounter with a child leads him into a confrontation with evil, and Leytonstone, which concerns the childhood of Alfred Hitchcock, an unpleasant encounter with a policeman, and a spiraling series of events. In addition to the above reviews, we’ve been fortunate enough to speak to Stephen about the writing of all three stories. You can find the interview on Whitstable here, Leytonstone here, and Netherwood here.
 
Given the quality of the first two books in this series, I’ve been keenly anticipating the final book in the trilogy. The identity of the third Dark Master was a closely guarded secret until recently, which fed both anticipation and speculation. With the arrival of Netherwood - a novel length work, in contrast to the previous volumes - we have the answer. We’re going to be spending some quality time with Aleister Crowley.
 
That’s almost the first twist in the book, though, actually. Although Crowley could be argued to be the subject of the novel, the point of view character is actually Dennis Wheatley, who as the novel opens has been summoned by a mysterious letter to meet Crowley. A life is at stake, he is told, and not that of Crowley.
 
What follows is an absolute masterpiece. A strength of the series has been an incredibly evocative sense of time and place - here, Volk outdoes himself, bringing to life 1947 England with an incredible eye for detail and atmosphere. The entire story is suffused with a feeling of griminess, suffering, near-collapse; the war may have been won, but the enormous cost, in terms of human life and economics, is still being powerfully felt throughout. That sense of fragility, of the shellshocked emerging from the dust, still blinking and unsure if it’s really over, is reflected both in the world Volk describes and the internal landscape of Wheatley’s own thoughts, as his path brings him face to face with The Great Beast.
 
For me, it’s that evocation of time and place that is the connective tissue between these otherwise discrete narratives, and Netherwood sees the most accomplished and complete execution of that evocation so far - high praise, considering how integral that approach was to the considerable success of its predecessors. Similarly, Wheatley is brought to life in a loving yet unsentimental portrait that rings with psychological authenticity, bringing this much-loved-in-his-day author into sharp relief, as he contemplates his contribution to the war effort and what the uncertain future must hold. It’s another masterstroke from Volk, as Wheatley proves to be the perfect lens through which to view this time and place, as well as a quietly riveting subject in his own right.
 
And then, of course, there is Crowley.
 
Again, deciding to make Wheatley the point of view character is a canny choice by Volk. His own opinions and perceptions of Crowley colour things just enough to keep the reader guessing as to the true motives of the magician, as well as sensibly keeping him at arms length, unknowable. The conversations and confrontations between the two men - which make up much of the meat of what follows - are as a result utterly compelling, pulling the reader through a gamut of emotions alongside Wheatley.
 
I’m being intentionally vague about the plot, here (though beware clearly flagged spoilers in the interview that accompanies this review), because I strongly feel this book is best experienced as cold as possible - I found a large amount of the joy on first read came from the discovery of the nature of Crowley's proposition, and wrestling with it as Wheatley must - but I do want to assure you that in addition to the above, this is a belting story, worthy of Wheatley’s own narrative drive and obsessions (though I must say, based on my understanding, rather better written than his work). Like many of the finest works of the genre, the narrative walks a fine line between the supernatural and the psychological. Volk's footwork in navigating this tightrope is the smooth, assured step of a master, leading us every step with hearts in mouths.
 
This novel is simply a tour de force, and the crowning achievement of a quite remarkable trilogy of tales. With it, I think Volk has given us a collection that, like the men he writes about, will stand the test of time, and bring joy (and discomfort) for generations to come.Unconditionally recommended.
 
KP
8/10/18

Being a fan of the short and novella length fiction of Ted E Grau I was anticipating his debut novel “I Am The River” with some interest. How would this terrific exponent of the short horror form transfer to juicy full-length feature was the million-dollar question? Be prepared for a bizarre and off-the-wall treat, which although will not be to all tastes, does not disappoint. Set during the latter stages of the Vietnam War, this uncompromisingly impossible to classify tale must surely enhance his stellar reputation and resonate beyond the horror community. It’s surreal, bleak, discomforting and the powerful ending vertebrates long after completion, in tune with the ghosts which haunt the consciousness of its main character Isreal Broussard.
 
Is “I Am The River” a horror novel? Good question, and I’m not sure what the answer is, but it’s certainly a fine addition to the modern canon of outstanding weird fiction. If you’re looking for a slash-bang-wallop type of horror novel, then look elsewhere. This story is slow, fractured, meandering, descriptive, disjointed, meditative and ultimately an odyssey towards redemption. Even though one of the two-story sequences is set during the Vietnam War it does not read particularly like a war novel and features only one truly violent sequence near its conclusion. However, it does reflect deeply upon the horrors of war and for the survivors who never truly leave it behind.
 
Even though it is not a long novel, it takes its time setting the scene, so I would recommend you read it slowly otherwise it is quite easy to get lost and lose the thread. The disorientation, which is probably deliberate, continues as the plot moves from first to third person narratives, not to mention curious stream-of-consciousnesses which also populate the plot. You’ve probably going to read a few sections more than once, but that’s no bad thing.
 
Five years after the end of the Vietnam War a washed-up, and druggie ex-soldier, Isreal Broussard lives in Bangkok, unable to leave the Far East, bar-hopping and trying to forget the past in an endless cycle of paranoia and intoxication. This guy has skeletons in his closet which are key to the development of the novel. There are elements of the supernatural, but then again, maybe the guy is just wasted? Read it and see what you think, much is deliberately obscure. Unable to leave the past behind, he is seemingly haunted by a giant dog, which may well be the spirit of something else, or perhaps it’s just too much booze? It’s all part of the disjointed and intoxicating atmosphere which permeates the entire novel.
 
The second story key strand takes up back towards the end of the war, in which Isreal is recruited by a CIA operative called Chapel to carry out an unspecified secret operation after being dumped by the regular army. He had been branded a coward after failing to shoot an enemy target. By this stage the USA realises it is losing the war and that repeated aerial bombings will not defeat the Viet-Cong, so instead are looking at weirder and off-the-wall measures to freak the locals out. Chapel is just the man to lead this operation, and his motley crew of rejects, into the jungles of neighbouring Laos, keeping the ultimate goal shrouded from the rest of the team (and the readers) until very late in the novel. And of course, eventually, to confront his demons the stories meet. And it’s totally outlandish when it does.
 
Other reviews have compared this to “Apocalypse Now” and I can see why, it is trippy in the same style as the famous film, however, what it reminded me of more than anything else was Josh Malerman’s “Black Man Wheel” and anyone who reads both books will know why. But there will be no spoilers from me. There are, however, some elements of cosmic horror, as you would expect with this author.
 
The preface has terrific reviews and praise from genre leading lights including Adam Nevill, Victor LaVelle, Paul Tremblay, John Langan and Kealan Patrick Burke. This comes as no surprise, as these authors all produce the same type of thoughtful horror that Ted Grau has created here. Isreal Broussard is a terrific central character, a broken man, who is neither portrayed as a good or bad guy, driven by guilt and the horrific places the war took him. He might not be a hero, but you’ll definitely be rooting for him.
 
I found “I Am The River” a captivating and challenging novel which demanded 110% of my concentration. I got the impression the author went out of his way to create something which would have readers scratching their heads as it is not an easy read. He succeeded and then some. Be prepared for a hypnotic journey, which effortlessly straddles genres, and will surely rank amongst the strongest, curious and most original novels of 2018.
 
Tony Jones

Occult specialist Kathy Ryan returns in this thrilling novel of paranormal horror from Mary SanGiovanni, the author of Chills . . .

​Some doors should never be opened . . .

In the rural town of Zarepath, deep in the woods on the border of New Jersey and Pennsylvania, stands the Door. No one knows where it came from, and no one knows where it leads. For generations, folks have come to the Door seeking solace or forgiveness. They deliver a handwritten letter asking for some emotional burden to be lifted, sealed with a mixture of wax and their own blood, and slide it beneath the Door. Three days later, their wish is answeredfor better or worse.
Kari is a single mother, grieving over the suicide of her teenage daughter. She made a terrible mistake, asking the powers beyond the Door to erase the memories of her lost child. And when she opened the Door to retrieve her letter, she unleashed every sin, secret, and spirit ever trapped on the other side.
Now, it falls to occultist Kathy Ryan to seal the door before Zarepath becomes hell on earth . . .

When washed-up reporter Harry Hendrick wakes up after a particularly boozed evening, and a very disturbing nightmare with a strange tattoo that he has no memory of getting he is rightly confused and a little concerned.  And who would blame him, it's happened to a lot of us.  However, this tattoo is no regular tattoo, and it turns out that it has a strange occult significance, and when even more tattoos start mysteriously appearing on his body after particularly vivid and disturbing nightmares, Harry must embark on a quest to find out why these tattoos are using him as their canvas.  

Strange Ink is a bold and ambitious novel, one part neo-noir novel, one part thriller and one part visceral ghost story that ditches the typical quiet, and suggestive tropes of the genre for a full-on blood-soaked and violent take on the haunted house/ haunted protagonist story.   Kemble deftly uses these three base genres to create a compelling story that intertwines, political corruption, at an urban level, crazed biker gangs, the horrors of war and the redemption Harry.  

Strange Ink's brilliantly brutal and nasty introduction sets the book up perfectly for what is to come.  The sense of overwhelming tension that this section has is mirrored throughout the book, in particular with regards to the sense of terror and loss of control that Harry feels whenever he suffers from a nightmare and another appearance of a new tattoo.  

Kemble's plotting and pace of the novel is spot on, Harry's investigation into the what is happening to him and how it links to a corrupt political powerhouse reads like some of the best political thrillers.  The use of explosive action sequences to break up the investigation is inspired.  The more action oriented scenes of the book are where Kemble's writing really shines, the fight scene in a local bar with the local biker gang is a highlight of the book.  Kemble's cinematic handling of the fight scene is glorious to the point where you can feel every punch and every broken glass to the face.         

This is one of those books where you could remove the supernatural element and still be left with an effective neo-noir tale.  That's not to say that they feel tacked on, Kemble weaves all the disparate elements of the novel into one cohesive story.  It may seem that the novel is losing its way with regards to delivering a satisfying and logical conclusion. However, everything comes together entirely in the finale of the book.  

Harry Hendrick may seem like a thousand other washed up reporters/detectives, and a lot of his character and personality is very familiar, but don't let that put you off, Kemble uses this well-worn character  very effectively in the realms of the narrative, and imbues him with just enough layers and quirks to keep him feeling more on the fresh side rather than just being a paper thin cypher.  If you look closely enough, you can see the nods and winks to the fictional reporters that have gone before, but a no point does it feel that you have seen him before.  

Strange Ink is a powerful novel that will leave an indelible mark on your soul much like that tattoo you got on holiday from a dirty back street tattoo parlour. 

Spine-chilling horror in the vein of Joe Hill. After moving into a new house, journalist Harry Hendrick wakes up with tattoos that aren't his...When washed-up journalist Harry Hendrick wakes one morning with a hangover and a strange symbol tattooed on his neck, he shrugs it off as a bad night out. But soon more tattoos appear: grisly, violent images which come accompanied by horrific nightmares so he begins to dig deeper. Harry's search leads him to a sinister disappearance, torment from beyond the grave, and a web of corruption and violence tangled with his own past. One way or another, he has to right the wrongs.

It’s not uncommon for the incarcerated to find religion while behind bars. Isolation inspires deep reflection in some and, of course, being in an environment so predicated on ideals of sin and punishment naturally evokes fire and brimstone evangelism. Symbolically, prison is arguably the closest thing we have to the mainstream conception of hell, a place of forced penance for anyone who has been judged wicked in the eyes of those with the power to make such assessments.


What must it be like to rediscover one’s faith, then, only to look around and realize one is alone among devils?


Sean M. Thompson’s latest, Farmington Correctional, answers that question with a whisper of claustrophobic dread that quickly builds to a resounding howl of savage madness. The novella, out now from Planet X Publications, introduces us to Chuck McDougal, an inmate of the titular facility. Chuck is a hulk of a man who, despite his imposing stature, doesn’t seem like someone you’d expect to find in prison. He’s mellow and melancholic; even he doesn’t know what drove him to murder the man who tried to steal his car on that dark day that changed Chuck’s life forever.


Has it always been inside him, such brutal wrath, buried beneath a lifetime of repression? Is this capacity for violence a curse weighing down an otherwise good man, or is it a gift to be put to service for some higher power?


The only person besides Chuck who seems concerned with the answer to that question is Sarah, a social worker at the prison who is all too aware of her status as a young, attractive female separated from a couple hundred rapists, skinheads, and gang members by little more than a few metal doors and the watchful gaze of the guards. Underfunded and overcrowded, the whole place is a powder keg ready to blow. And it may have found just the spark it needs to ignite when Chuck begins hearing the voice of god in his dreams, a voice trying to prepare him for the occult conspiracy concealed behind Farmington Correctional’s altruistic mask.


Thompson’s set-up is brilliant in its simplicity, and for much of its length, Farmington Correctional deftly treads the line between the supernatural and simple delusion in much the same manner as Bill Paxton’s 2001 cult film Frailty. What’s more, the author has a knack of noir-styled description which captures both his setting’s brutality and its banality. The titular prison verges on being a character itself, a gray, callous sentinel which dehumanizes its charges as much through casual indifference as through pitiless cruelty. By splitting the narrative between two perspectives, that of the inmate Chuck and the outsider Sarah, Thompson illuminates the danger Farmington Correctional poses to those on either side of its bars, in essence revealing them both to be prisoners in their own ways and, by story’s end, ultimately turning the dynamic between them on its head.


An even better example of the setting-as-character concept, though, comes in the form of Whispering Pines, the forest which surrounds Farmington Correctional and which asserts an air of mystery and menace even while keeping far enough in the background so as to not overpower the book’s titular locale. Seeds planted throughout the narrative make it clear that Thompson has layers upon layers of mythology he’s not willing to pull back for us just yet. This tendency of Thompson’s to keep his cards close to chest makes Farmington Correctional a genuine page-turner, but it also weakens the book in a few areas.


Being a slim, six-chapter novella means that while Farmington Correctional makes for an engaging, energetic reads, coiling taut rings of suspense into one lean, mean, rocket-powered machine, it also doesn’t give readers many chances to catch their breath. Thompson’s characters are interesting and multidimensional, but granting readers such limited access to their backstories and minimal insight into their lives outside the mechanics of the plot makes it difficult for one to fully grasp the weight of the events they’re going through. In particular, Chuck’s descent into messianic zealotry feels slightly rushed, to the point where one wonders if there were more scenes detailing the character’s gradual transformation from lost soul to angel of death that wound up on the proverbial cutting room floor.


Likewise, the secrets the Whispering Pines forest holds hint at something bigger. That suggestiveness is enticing, but one can’t help wishing for just a few more solid answers (or at least hints that are a bit less vague). As it is, Farmington Correctional feels like just one part of a much larger story, one which whets the appetite for further courses, but when taken by itself may not be enough to satisfy a reader’s hunger. Individual mileage may vary.


Still, as complaints go, a book which leaves readers wanting “more, more, more” is hardly an egregious one. As long as Thompson is willing to further cultivate the seeds he’s planted with Farmington Correctional, readers will likely be more than willing to get lost once again in the shadowy overgrowth of Whispering Pines.

 Ranging from vampires, ghosts, and werewolves to mad scientists, Satanists, and deranged serial killers, the cathartic release of scaring ourselves has made its appearance in everything from Shakespearean tragedies to internet memes. Exploring the key tropes of the genre, including its monsters, its psychological chills, and its love affair with the macabre, Darryl Jones discusses why horror stories disturb us, and how society responds to literary and film representations of the gruesome and taboo. Should the enjoyment of horror be regarded with suspicion? Are there different levels of the horrific, and should we distinguish between the commonly reviled carnage of contemporary torture porn and the culturally acceptable bloodbaths of ancient Greek tragedies? ​