Black Static Horror Magazine #1

by TTA Press Authors

  Torgu's corruption spreads like a cancer at “The Hour", infecting both the computer system and the people with its taint of madness, and paving the way for his ultimate goal, to unleash the innocent dead on the world, even at the cost of its destruction. If he stands for death, Evangeline is his opposite, sexuality and the life force personified and the book reaches its climax with the confrontation between these two, but not before we are chillingly reminded of all the innocent dead, the victims of concentration camps and battlefields, all the atrocities that make up human history and whose memories are ingrained in the land, dead voices crying out for revenge and closure.

  It's unnerving stuff, a story that is original yet at the same time a powerful tribute to its source material and proof, if any was needed, that there's still a lot of life left in those bloodsucking vampires.

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  THE RUINS by SCOTT SMITH

  Corgi paperback, 432pp, 6.99 pounds

  To me it looks as if the marketing men have decided to pitch this as a thriller, but that's a crock of something or other. It is, and make no bones about it, a horror story in the tradition of Hodgson, Blackwood et al.

  Four young Americans on holiday in Mexico agree to go with their German friend Mathias to look for his brother, who wandered off with a girl to an archaeological site in the jungle. Jeff and Amy, Eric and Stacy, Mathias and their Greek friend Pablo arrive at a Mayan village near to where an old mine is supposed to be. Friendly at first, if not welcoming, the Mayans soon turn hostile, forcing the strangers to climb a vine covered hill and keeping them prisoner there, without food or water. They find evidence of previous prisoners—abandoned tents and supplies, skeletons hidden in the undergrowth. But as the days pass they become aware that their situation is more perilous than they could ever have imagined and their Mayan captors are the least of their worries.

  This is not vanilla horror, with the answers all parcelled up and presented to the reader at the end, or chainsaw chic with its quota of beautiful young things slaughtered before the inevitable feel good resolution, but a grim and unrelenting tale in which things start badly and just keep getting worse. The title is a red herring. The eponymous ruins are not an issue. The real terror is something else, and I shan't spoil things by giving away its nature, though you could do worse than imagine John Carpenter's The Thing transplanted to a tropical setting.

  Smith misses no opportunity to crank up the tension that extra notch, gifting his nemesis with new and ever more chilling abilities with each day that passes, inflicting plagues of Biblical proportions on his characters. A particular strength is the way in which, not content with their physical situation, he catalogues their psychological unravelling as well. Switching viewpoint between the four Americans, the book cleverly lets us into each one's head, showing how vulnerable they are: Jeff, who thinks he has to be the leader and is even enjoying their situation somewhat; Eric, who is convinced that the enemy has got inside of him and is cutting himself open with a knife; Amy, who thinks that everything is her fault, and Stacy whose promiscuity and feelings of inadequacy threaten to unravel her psyche. They play off each other, demonstrating Sartre's dictum that hell is other people, adding an extra frisson to the mix. With moments of genuine horror and outrage, and a feeling of claustrophobia that inevitably mounts, the whole playing out to a background of screams from Pablo, wounded in the opening pages, this is an unremittingly bleak book, with a subtext of despair, but for all of that it is never less than believable and compelling for the reader. Recommended.

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  GOTHIC FICTION: A READER'S GUIDE TO ESSENTIAL CRITICISM by ANGELA WRIGHT

  Palgrave Macmillan paperback, 178pp, 14.99 pounds

  The focus of this book is on the Gothic novel's first wave of popularity, between 1764 and 1820, with the emphasis on such key texts as The Castle of Otranto, The Monk, Caleb Williams and the work of Mrs Radcliffe. In a series of themed chapters Wright looks at how critics have dealt with the genre and its tropes, along the way charting its standing in popular culture of the day.

  The opening chapter gives a brief history of the Gothic novel's origins and its reception by the eighteenth century public, with critics expressing concern at its popularity with female readers (and writers), and almost affectionate mockery of some of the most emblematic of its devices, this discussion broadening out in the second chapter with an attempt to define the sublime, those elements which made Gothic so effective regardless of the clichés inherent in the material, and to differentiate between ‘terror’ and ‘horror'.

  The third chapter examines the effect of the French Revolution, the historical event of greatest significance in the genre's development, with writers and critics both for and against social change enlisting the Gothic in their cause, finding within its pages the echo of their hopes and fears. Following on from this the Gothic's attitude to religion is put under the microscope, particularly its supposed anti-Catholic stance, the chapter segueing into a consideration of how the novel reflected nationalist concerns. The fifth chapter opens with a comparison between the Gothic and surrealism, with the likes of Andre Breton finding common ground, then moving on to a psychoanalytic approach to the key Gothic texts. The final chapter attempts a feminist reappraisal of the genre and considers the role of gender in the Gothic novel, and writing as a means to empowerment for women such as Mrs Radcliffe.

  Of course you don't need to know any of this stuff to simply enjoy The Monk or The Mysteries of Udolpho, but for those who want to deepen their appreciation of the Gothic novel Wright is an articulate and intelligent guide to the critical minefield, digging up the most fascinating and representative texts and marshalling their arguments in a way that makes them accessible to the lay reader, with plentiful insights into the nature of supernatural fiction and its appeal. From my own perspective what struck me was how familiar some of this material seems, albeit in a contemporary context, as with the attempt to put water between ‘acceptable’ texts and their more sensational fellows (cue a Ramsey Campbell fan trying to explain to an outsider why Shaun Hutson is not representative of horror fiction), or critics mocking the scene in which, instead of running to safety, the heroine goes to investigate that strange noise back of the arras (cue just about any contemporary horror flick with teens in peril). Seems the more things change, the more they stay the same.

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  I WANT TO WATCH by DIEGO DE SILVA

  William Heinemann hardback, 196pp, 10.99 pounds

  This is one of those elusive books that slip through the cracks of genre; not really Crime fiction, though marketed as such, nor Horror though undeniably horrific, but it should appeal to the readers of both tribes. Certainly the opening sequence is shocking. A man first plays with and then murders a young girl, the act described in graphic detail, the understated and controlled prose capturing the amoral nature of its perpetrator. The killer is Advocate David Heller, a prominent criminal defence attorney, and he is observed dumping the girl's body on a beach by teen prostitute Celeste.

  For a while two strands run parallel. On the one hand Heller's aggressive career moves and failure to make a connection with women of his own age, and on the other Celeste's relationship with her family and the men she goes with, one of whom abuses her. Then Celeste makes contact with Heller. He thinks she intends to blackmail him, but the young woman has something very different in mind. And so the machinery is set in motion that will ultimately bring us to an ending as unexpected as it is savage.

  This is a novel fraught with moral ambiguity, a beautifully observed book but also one that challenges the reader's expectations and asks uncomfortable questions of us through its amorality, and the fact that though what they do is monstrous these people, even Heller, are not actually portrayed as monsters. We never really get a handle on either character. We don't know why Heller acts as he does; only that he has a drive to self-destruction that he seems helpless to control, and that Celeste offers him a momentary reprieve
by showing an interest. Similarly for Celeste, there is no explanation for her behaviour, though in hindsight you can see that she is a deeply unhappy person, her lifestyle reflecting a low self-worth. I Want to Watch is a novel of character, recording extremes of human nature and reporting back on what it finds, but with no real conclusions to offer, just the facts and nothing else, so that ultimately we too want to watch, are all in some way voyeurs at our own dissolution, De Silva leaving us to make up our own minds, to find a position and see if we can defend it.

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  GOING BACK by TONY RICHARDS

  Elastic Press paperback, 168pp, 5.99 pounds

  This collection brings together fourteen stories by the talented and much underrated Richards, a writer who seems equally at home in Science Fiction and Horror, even dips a toe into the mainstream, but brings his own distinctive slant and voice to whatever he attempts.

  Richards’ heroes are men and women who have become displaced in their own lives, as with the protagonist of the title story, ‘Going Back', whose very existence is undermined by a terrible accident in which his daughter was killed, and who yearns for a way back, a chance to put things right. Eventually whatever powers answer prayers allow this, but there is a terrible price to be paid, one that leaves the protagonist with no purpose to his being any more. This is a moving story, the plain, understated prose capturing perfectly the overwhelming pain and sadness of the character, and the heartrending poignancy of the ending. A similar concern with the effects of time pervade ‘What Malcolm Did the Day Before Tomorrow', its eponymous hero becoming caught up in a Groundhog Day variation, able to live the same period of time over and over again, doing whatever he wishes, but then the realisation that he can never move on, and even this does not last forever, Richards gradually revealing to the reader and Malcolm alike the horror of his situation, addressing concerns about our actions and the consequences. The protagonist of ‘A Matter of Avoiding Crowds’ is inordinately proud of his knowledge of London's backstreets and byways, but also someone who cannot connect with people, giving the title an extra dash of irony, and so finds himself lost when he strays from the familiar paths, cast adrift in some faux reality. This is a powerful tale of self-alienation, of someone obsessed by the minutiae of life, but completely losing any sense of what is actually important. A similar fate befalls the hero of ‘Yesterday, Upon the Stair', a ghost who can only bear witness to unfolding events, is helpless to affect them in any way, much to his chagrin. These characters are dispossessed, ineffectual, but there is always the suggestion that the fault lies not in circumstance or others, but with some fatal flaw in their own nature.

  Richards invites us to look beyond the surface of things. In ‘A Place in the Country’ a woman stuck in the city fosters the illusion of countryside living in her city flat, pasting pictures over the windows, pretending that she can hear rustic sounds, and the illusion becomes a reality she can enter with an ending that brought to mind Bradbury's tale The Veldt, but Richards has another trick up his sleeve and deftly pulls the rug out from beneath the feet of our foregone conclusions. ‘Skin Two’ is another story about surfaces, a series of vignettes that cleverly explore the implications of synthetic skin that can be made to cover the whole body, hiding the wrinkles of age. In a world where everybody is beautiful, what price beauty? Does it matter how old the person we are about to get intimate with is, if they present the appearance of a twenty year old? Richards deals with the morals, social etiquette and emotional fallout of this discovery with an enviable lightness of touch and invention.

  'Too Good To Be True', one of my favourites in the collection, has a man becoming involved with a beautiful and sexually precocious woman, only to discover that he is the unwitting star of a porn movie, involved in an R-rated version of The Truman Show. This is a story that does so many things right, with a subtext about the chasm between reality and the expectations shaped by the adult industry, and touching on the vulnerabilities of sad, lonely people. Sexuality plays an important role too in ‘Alsiso', which explores the shifting balance of power in the relationship between two lesbians when one of them sleeps with a man, the characterisation spot on and totally convincing, the keen bite of desire echoed in the exotic surroundings, and with an ending that is as chilling as it is ambiguous.

  Not everything here works, as with the unfortunately titled ‘Man You Gotta See This!’ which seems rather slight compared to the other stories, a one trick pony of a tale in which the human race is endangered by a virus that takes the form of paintings, reminiscent of Ballard's Now: Zero, only not as clever. But even when he's operating below par Richards is worth reading, his simple and uncluttered prose, and gift for creating damaged characters we can believe in, making you willing to forgive any slight shortcoming.

  Copyright © 2007 Peter Tennant

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  LADY OF THE CROWS—Tim Casson

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  Crimewave readers may remember Tim's fiction from issues 5 and 7. He recently had a story published in the anthology Edge Words, as part of the Cheshire Prize for Literature, and earlier this year was awarded a Welsh Academy bursary to work on a novel. He lives in the historic south Welsh coastal town of Llanilltud Fawr.

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  Lady of the Crows told the story of Alena Zeminova, who successfully poisoned two of her three husbands using a concoction of milky cocoa, strychnine, and a powder prepared from the ashes of crows. Zeminova's third and surviving husband, according to the play's version of events, had loved her deeply, and continued visiting her Prague gaol until she died of consumption in 1901. Opinions were divided on the work, as they were in 1889 at the time of Zeminova's trial. Some thought the portrayal overly sympathetic, saying she was a cold killer motivated by greed, while others believed it too harsh, as she had clearly been a victim of her father's “unnatural impulses,” and then some ill-chosen, brutal spouses. The play had a reputation for disuniting audiences. Bickering voices were not uncommon in the stalls after lights up, even today, thirty-two years after her death.

  Grigori Voryzek knew the story well. He had performed the play as a student at the Academy thirteen years ago, playing the part of Kudlic, the doting third husband. Whilst he enjoyed the role, Voryzek failed to understand how Kudlic could love a woman who had attempted to murder him. Voryzek's former fiancée Milena Palovsky had played the poisoner Zeminova. Although there had been several women in Voryzek's life back then, he had always believed Milena was special, and perhaps events would have turned out differently had he been less besotted with himself, and more conscious of the fact that such women only came along once in a lifetime—if at all.

  And now Milena was back in Prague, a successful stage actress starring in a professional production of Lady of the Crows, once again playing Zeminova. It wasn't that Voryzek disliked the work particularly—as a younger man he had been seduced by the dark themes, the sinister ambience that had clung to rehearsals like an exotic scent—just that the play summoned some uncomfortable memories, a mood of despondency and unfulfilled dreams that he really could do without right now. For that reason he had tried his utmost to ignore the production all week, averting his eyes from advertising posters, inventing excuses for why he shouldn't enter the auditorium during performances, and more importantly, avoiding the presence of the lead actress Milena Palovsky. A difficult task, he acknowledged, and somewhat unrealistic considering he was the theatre's front-of-house manager. He would have booked the week off had he not already exhausted his leave entitlement. So far though, his attempts had been moderately successful. Only once had he been required to venture into the auditorium during a show (when a woman fainted in one of the poisoning scenes), and he had spotted Milena on just a single occasion, across the crowded Green Room after the first performance, after which he made a hasty exit. It was Friday evening now. There were only two more performances tomorrow then he was free of it.

  Voryzek waited for the last of th
e theatregoers to leave by the foyer entrance. They gathered on the street corner, huddled under umbrellas, debating the play they had just witnessed whilst hailing cabs that cruised through puddles in the narrow road. The last to leave was a frail old man who was wiping tears from his eyes with a handkerchief. Voryzek was about to ask if he needed assistance but the old boy was already outside. Strange how the play had that effect on people, he thought, locking the doors. He returned inside to supervise his staff, glancing only briefly at the advertising poster, which featured a slightly older looking Milena than he remembered, expression fey in nineteenth-century prison garb, yet more beautiful than ever.

  He turned into the stalls bar. Everything seemed in order. Bar attendants had finished polishing glasses, usherettes were changing, he assumed, into coats and hats for their journey home on the tramcars. A young woman of slight build, wearing the regulation uniform white blouse, black skirt and white pinafore, was struggling to pull the shutter down towards the bar's marble surface. It was Katja, lagging behind as usual. Voryzek watched, noting the passing resemblance to a young Milena Palovsky. Leaning with her full weight, Katja managed to insert the key and lock the clasp.

  "Having trouble Katja?"

  "No, Mr Voryzek, sir,” she answered, startled. “Got there in the end."

  "Takings?"

  "Over here.” She scurried off to collect a tin box resting on one of the room's mahogany tables.

  Voryzek took the box from her. “You really shouldn't leave it unattended."

  "I didn't! I never let it out of my sight."

  He peered down through gold-wire spectacles. He was tall, and cut an imposing figure in his sharp black suit. “My dear, I saw you. Your back was turned as you closed the shutter. There's a lot of money here. A thief could easily have snatched it while your attention was elsewhere. I hope for your sake there's nothing missing."