The Year's Best Australian Fantasy and Horror 2014 (Volume 5)

by Kaaron Warren

  Spectral Realms No. 1 Summer 2014, edited by S.T. Joshi for Hippocampus Press, featured an extensive array of Australian weird poets in the table of contents (not all contributions were the first publication): Leigh Blackmore contributed “Emeraldesse” and “In Splendor All Arrayed” and “Lines on a Drawing by Hannes Bok”; Kyla Lee Ward contributed “Necromancy”; Margaret Curtis contributed “The Witches’ House”; Charles Lovecraft contributed “A Weird Tale” and “Night Visit”’ and “Afrasiab Down the Oxus”; David Schembri contributed “Beneath the Ferny Trees” and “Note of the Executioner”; Phillip A. Ellis contributed “As Told to My Infant Grandchildren” and “Omens from Afar”.

  ANTIPODEAN HORROR FILMS

  2014 saw the production of many feature length Australian horror films. Australian-Canadian psychological horror film, The Babadook, in which a troubled widow, and her six-year-old son, are menaced by an evil entity; written and directed by Jennifer Kent, the film was shown at the 2014 Sundance Film Festival to critical acclaim. Lemon Tree Passage, the directorial debut by David James Campbell, was based upon an urban legend about a haunted road in New South Wales. Plague, directed by Kostas Ouzas and Nick Kozakis, written by Ouzas; a couple struggle to survive the zombie apocalypse. The film premiered at the Fantastic Planet Sci-Fi, Horror, and Fantasy Film Festival; Screen Media Films bought US distribution rights after the film played at the Marché du Film at Cannes. Wyrmwood (alternative title Wyrmwood: Road of the Dead), an action-horror film and the feature directorial debut of Kiah Roache-Turner; the film tells the story of an outback mechanic battling through the zombie apocalypse; the film debuted at Fantastic Fest in Austin, Texas. I, Frankenstein, directed by Stuart Beattie, in which Frankenstein’s monster is caught in a war between two immortal clans; the film was nominated for the Australian Screen Sound Guild Feature Film Soundtrack of the Year award. Charlie’s Farm, directed by Chris Sun; four friends venture into the outback to explore the site where a family were killed by an angry mob. Apocalyptic, directed by Glenn Triggs; a news crew is ensnared by a doomsday cult; winner of the Haunted Award at the British Horror Film Festival.

  Inner Demon, directed by Ursula Dabrowsky; in the follow up to Family Demons, a teenage girl abducted by serial killers discovers their killing ground is haunted by a malevolent spirit; the film won in three categories at A Night of Horror International Film Festival; Best Australian Feature; Best Australian Director; Best Female Performance (Sarah Jeavons). The Fear of Darkness, directed by Christopher Fitchett; a psychiatrist must confront a creature dwelling in her unconscious as she investigates a supernatural disappearance—winner for Best Sound in FilmQuest Cthulhu, FilmQuest Film Festival, USA. Throwback, directed by Travis Bain, in which explorers tangle with a Yowie in Far North Queensland. There’s Something in the Pilliga directed by Dane Millerd; an indie film crew seek out the legendary Pilliga Yowie,—or “Jingra”—in a remote part of New South Wales. Into the Deep; American college students making an audition tape for an extreme game show find themselves stranded in baited water surrounded by Great White Sharks. Beckoning the Butcher directed by Dale Trott; teens in an isolated house summon an evil spirit. Killervision directed by Dale Trott; a brain-injured man is tormented by visions of his friends being murdered while watching B grade movies. Infected Paradise directed by Julian Cheah; holiday makers on Seagull Island, a paradise off the north coast of Western Australia, have their serene retreat interrupted when a soldier infected with an experimental virus washes up on the beach. Silent Eyes directed by James Peniata; a serial killer rampages unchecked. The Ghost of Victoria Park directed by Matthew Dixon; paranormal investigators explore a crossroad on an abandoned train line where a series of mysterious murders and unexplained deaths have occurred. Escape to Entrapment directed by Carolyn Harris; a retelling of historic events when seven escaped convicts resort to cannibalism in the Tasmanian wilderness.

  Housebound, the New Zealand horror comedy feature film written, edited, and directed by Gerard Johnstone, had a world premiere at South by Southwest in March 2014. ABCs of Death 2, sequel to the 2012 film The ABCs of Death, is an international (New Zealand/Japan/American) anthology horror comedy showcasing twenty-six short films by different directors. I Survived a Zombie Holocaust, directed and written by Guy Pigden, premiered in Dunedin, New Zealand. Comedy vampire mockumentary What We Do in the Shadows, directed and written by Taika Waititi and Jemaine Clement, premiered at the Sundance Film Festival in January 2014; the film had a limited US release and drew $6.9 million at the box office.

  2014 also saw many short horror films completed and released; from Australia notable works include: B-grade horror comedy It Grows!, directed by Ryan Cauchi & Nick Stathopoulos, in which a cyberchondriac with a floundering relationship with his girlfriend (played by writer Cat Sparks) has something weird growing in his garden; the film was nominated for the Aurealis Convenors’ Award for Excellence, and won the Ditmar Award for Best Fan Publication in Any Medium. Dark Origins, in which a psychologist discovers the terrifying trauma haunting her young patient, directed by Evan Randall Green, saw stunning success in overseas showings—winner of the Audience Choice Award: Best Short Screenplay at the International Film Festival of Cinematic Arts Los Angeles, winner of Best Actress (Rosie Keogh) and Best Narrative Short at the Los Angeles Cinema Festival of Hollywood; winner of Best Actress and Best Narrative Short at the Louisville Fright Night Film Fest, and winner of Best Performance (Rosie Keogh) at the Route 66 Film Festival. Salvage, directed by Daniel Flood; a lone rescue worker scours an abandoned region. The Waiting Game, directed by Jerome Velinksy; a girl leaves a house party & walks home alone. Schoolies Massacre, directed by Benjamin Morton; a masked killer crashes schools festivities.

  In New Zealand horror short films, the undead were popular! In Clear Eyes: Scourge of the Zombies, directed by Fred Potts, a 14 year old girl encounters a kind of fast intelligent sub-species of zombie, nicknamed the “clear eyes”. Outer Darkness directed by Aaron Falvey; a small group try to survive the zombie apocalypse. A Love Story directed by Steven Baker; a woman in a remote location retreats into a fantasy world, while her zombie husband is tied to a tree outside their house. Umbra, directed by Bryn Tilly, depicts the ‘tenebrous fever dream’ of a transforming vampire. Cry Wolf directed Aaron Falvey; a posse of drunken revelers encounters a mythological wolf creature. The Pale One directed by Luke McLean; pale spirits (Patupaiarehe, Turehu, Ngati Hotu and Urukehu) from Maori mythology dwell in the forest and mountains. The Malthouse directed by Phil McKinnon and Aaron Falvey; partying kids at an abandoned malthouse awaken a supernatural presence. There Are No Robots directed by Stephen Ross; a man seeks psychiatric help for his morbid aversion to robots. Jelly Tip Jimmy, directed by Scott Satherley; the story of a nightmare neighbour. Another Mouth to Feed directed by Cameron Pitney; psychological thriller about impossible geometry and madness. The Intruder directed by Léah McVeagh; two selfie videos uploaded to Instagram document a girl’s demise. The Mirage Complex directed by Justine Law and Mark Strachan; a comedy horror animation depicting a psychotic episode whilst watching horror movies.

  Remembered

  Graham Stone, 88, bibliographer, Australian SF authority and recipient of the A. Bertram Chandler award; Rocky Wood, 55, New Zealand-born Australian Bram Stoker Award-winning writer and researcher, President of the HWA; Brian Clarke, Western Australian book collector and fan; Mel Tregonning, 31, Western Australian genre artist; Graham Joyce, 59, British World Fantasy Award-winner; Matthew Richell, 41, Hachette Australia CEO; Jay Lake, 49, American award-winning fantasy writer; Lucius Shepard, 70, American multiple World Fantasy Award-winning writer; Michael Shea, 67, American World Fantasy Award winner; Neal Barrett, Jr., 84, American SFWA Author Emeritus; Gough Whitlam AC QC, 98, former Australian Prime Minister, established the independent Australia Council for the Arts; Ida Elizabeth Osbourne, 98, founder of ABC’s Argonauts Club.

  Rocky Wood

  19 October 1959 – 1 December 2014

  Rocky Wo
od, born in Wellington, New Zealand, and raising his own family in Melbourne, Australia, has the distinction of being the first author to be President of the Horror Writers’ Association from outside of North America and Europe—a far too dry way of saying that the affable, quirky Rocky was an “international guy” and he derived so much fun from being involved in the horror writing community on the biggest scale. His great passion for researching and publishing about the works of Stephen King also spoke of his mind gravitating to towering talent; you figure out what makes Stephen King’s lexicon tick, and you hold the Rosetta Stone to appreciating horror of the late-twentieth and twenty-first century.

  Rocky’s legacy to the HWA, which he developed without fanfare, political or critical discourse, was to build greater diversity into the association. He built bridges between Australia and international horror markets, by actively recruiting Australian writers to participate in the Bram Stoker Awards Committees—notably many of those writers were women. (If you have met Rocky’s very impressive partner and daughters, his affinity for valuing strong women makes personal sense.) When Rocky’s illness robbed him of the ability to move and speak, he continued to put tremendous energy into corresponding with both the elite professionals and the aspiring and emerging writers; regardless of how advanced they were in their publishing journey, he was interested in everyone.

  Rocky Wood was a writer, researcher, and a leader, but the talent that seems to overarch the others, in speaking to his compatriots both in Australia and overseas, is there is an entire community of horror writers who regarded him to be their individual mentor—and are bemused to discover he invested time and interest in a staggering number of writer’s careers. As King himself paid tribute to Rocky—“Man, I really liked that guy.”

  — Talie Helene

  The Year’s Best Australian Fantasy & Horror

  ~ 2014 ~

  The Fifth Annual Collection

  Corpse Rose

  Terry Dowling

  Not counting the viewports in whatever Apollo CSMs were attached to it during its short active life, Skylab only had the single window in its main wardroom. And when the mission crew finally departed in 1974 and the first US space station was officially abandoned in space at last, the light of Earth shone through that window for more than five years before the station fell from orbit in July 1979, lighting a chill silence broken only by the vagaries of temperature and the occasional peppering of micro-particles against the hull sounding in whatever unvented gases remained, in many ways the noises most human habitats make. For a time Skylab became the newest kind of haunted house, though all stories of the face peering in that solitary window—and, worse yet, peering out—are merely that, stories, with no possible basis in fact. But peering in or out, it is one of the world’s oddest supra-urban myths: this notion of a face in the wardroom window of Skylab before it fell and, yes, as it fell.

  —Heinrich Fleymann

  The day Jeremy Scott Renton turned eleven, a circus ran away to join him.

  Not all at once, mind, but the thirteen members of the Corpse Rose Heirloom Carnival and Former Circus (to give it its full name) came to check him out and give their approval, arriving secretly in their ones and twos, never making a fuss, never drawing too much attention. They stayed long enough for the troupe to gather once more, doing the usual mufti work in bars, stocking supermarket shelves, cleaning swimming pools until they had finally assembled, all thirteen, then confirmed him as theirs and them as his, and went their various ways again.

  Every single one had to approve, of course, theirs being one of the seven great lost and hidden carnivals of the world. Things were done differently in the Heirloom Carnivals, or the Sly Carnivals as they were sometimes called—and the Corpse Rose Heirloom Carnival and Former Circus followed the old protocols to the letter.

  As for Jeremy Scott Renton—Jem to his friends—he wouldn’t learn that it had happened at all for another twenty-five years, eleven days after a carefully placed operative persuaded both a doting grandmother and fond older sister in Perth that a round-trip ticket on the Indian-Pacific and a week at Cottesloe Beach would be the perfect birthday gift for a 36-year-old grandson and younger brother just back from five years with the Australian Design Council in London. The Indian-Pacific running from Sydney to Perth via Adelaide was one of the remaining great train journeys in the world, all 2698 miles of it, and it seemed like a grand idea.

  Jem had five weeks’ leave owing and was glad to spend part of it with his west-coast kin before settling down to his new posting. He thoroughly enjoyed the Sydney to Adelaide leg of the journey and had every expectation of enjoying the longer haul across the vast Nullarbor Plain as well. Outback Australia was one of the no-time, slow-time places of the world and, by association, so too was the inside of the Indian-Pacific when it made that crossing.

  It was when the train made its customary stop at the not-quite-ghost-town of Cook, 513 miles north-west of Port Augusta in the middle of the Nullarbor, population anything from four to fifteen on an Indian-Pacific day, that what had been set in motion twenty-five years before reached the end of this particular recruitment phase, and the next part of the old Sly Carnival spell that had planted the seed of an idea with grandmother and sister was engaged.

  Jem was standing with a hundred or so other passengers by the trackside stalls and pull-up shopfronts, stretching his legs in the heat and glare and examining the souvenir tea-towels, velveteen cushion covers, and other handcrafts with half a mind of getting something for his Gran. The long blast of a car horn made him look up to see a battered old Jeep Cherokee arrive in its cloud of dust, making him immediately think that some last-minute passenger was joining the train.

  Jem noticed two things then: the weathered, thirty-something brunette in work shirt, jeans, and boots who climbed out from behind the wheel, a tall, solidly built woman—statuesque was the word—and the motif on the vehicle’s door: a coffin with a bright red rose laid across it, with maybe half a dozen words underneath.

  It was that motif—coffin and rose inside its faded rondel—that did it, triggered an all-purpose compulsion spell, what’s called an obligato in the old Sly Carnival speak.

  When the Indian Pacific pulled away twenty minutes later and the town settled back into its usual silence—just the murmur of the tea-towel brigade packing up and the sound of crows and currawongs out on the flats—Jem was standing beside the track, and more than happy to climb into the Jeep alongside the woman and set off into the northwest.

  He wasn’t thinking too clearly right then, but it was his first official contact with the Corpse Rose Heirloom Carnival and Former Circus.

  * * *

  They were ten minutes along a dirt road stretching across land as flat as a table when he finally drifted back.

  “How did you manage that—?”

  “Mally,” she said, warmly enough. She had a tanned pleasant face, a good smile. “Short for Millicent Quinn, at your service. We’ve got tricks we can use.”

  “I’ll say. I don’t feel pissed off but know I should.”

  “Part of the package. You can get even later.”

  “Figure you won’t let that happen. So where we going again?”

  Mally gave him a long hard look. “Usually we just say you’re going to a carnival for a day or so, and leave it to what we call an obligato to keep it foggy for the sake of a quiet drive out. But Mr F. said you’d probably be special, and I could make up my own mind. We’re going about a hundred miles or so.”

  “So the name on your door there? The Corpse Rose Heirloom Carnival and Former Circus. What’s with the Former part? How does that work?”

  “Once the animals are gone a circus automatically becomes a carnival. That’s what Mr Fleymann says, though there’s no single ruling. Gipsy carnivals do it different. Taureg carnivals.”

  “Are there Gipsy carnivals? Taureg carnivals?”

  “Hard to say. Put up a tent. Tell a fortune. Juggle some balls. When does it become of
ficial? Sometimes there’s a clear business plan. Sometimes it’s just passed on.”

  “The heirloom part.”

  “See. You’re getting the hang of it already. Mr F. did pick well this time.”

  This time, Jem noted, but wanted to keep it light, get his bearings. He wasn’t in the train anymore. Something extraordinary had happened yet didn’t feel like it. He knew that should bother him as well, his lack of concern, but felt no alarm whatsoever, which, somewhere back in there, was dimly, remotely troubling. It had to be what Mally had said, part of the package.

  Jem went along with it, sat scanning the distances. “So, hey, look where we are.”

  “Exactly. Can’t think of a better thing for making a body really see the world than flying at three thousand feet or spending time in a desert.”

  “Unless it’s spending time at a carnival in a desert.”

  Mally struck the steering wheel in agreement. “Right you are, Jem Renton!”

  “Or maybe flying over a carnival in a desert in the middle of nowhere. That’d really make you curious, really make you want to go down and check it out.”