Romance of Mystery

*The following account is not the transcription of some young fool's diary or any such nonsense. It is, instead, a review I did for Classic-Horror back in May and, as the grand holiday of Halloween approaches, I thought this would be a nice way of slipping into the spooky spirit. Be sure to cross yourselves and mind the bats as you move along.*
In a world that has become populated by hunky, teenaged bloodsuckers with a penchant for sparkling, this reviewer finds it very refreshing to go back to a time when vampires were of a charming nobility and still possessed an air of mystique and utter horror. Dracula is just the fix I need, providing an engaging adventure story set to the tone of the moody European Gothics. While it is not free from faults, this novel is a seminal piece of literature for serious fans of vampires, whether they be Edward Cullen or Max Schreck.
English solicitor Jonathan Harker is traveling through the strange wilds of the Carpathian Mountains to close a deal with the mysterious Count Dracula in his brooding castle. Jonathan is leasing a molding estate in London by the name of Carfax Abbey to the decrepit noble. Beset by many strange occurrences such as the incessant howling of wolves and the sight of the Count crawling across the castle walls, Jonathan soon becomes a prisoner in the castle and watches in horror as the Count leaves for his new home in England. There the devious monster begins to drink deep of the country's rich blood and is only threatened in his existence when a team of hunters including the brave Dr. Van Helsing and Jonathan's wife Mina attempt to end his unholy reign.

The grand spectacle and star of the novel, as the title obviously implies, is our good friend the Count. No, I'm not referring to the math-obsessed puppet that frequented Sesame Street. I'm talking about the Dracula himself, the big cheese, the head honcho Nosferatu, the guy who gave necking a new meaning. His appearances in the book are full of menacing power and an evil that could only be born of Hell. There is no conflict or battle going on in Dracula's psyche: he is all evil, all the time. This makes him much more than a character; he's a force whose black presence can be felt in every chapter. Indeed, Stoker seems to have succeeded in creating an epic villain who is the epitome of the darkness he inhabits. The trouble is, the flesh-and-blood character of Dracula is hardly ever seen in the novel at all. Given that he is the nefarious spirit and presence that he is, this approach works... to an extent.
The book kicks off to a great start: Jonathan's eyes become our own and we are now the stranger in the strange land. The superstitious habits of the villagers build great suspense and prepare us for our imminent introduction to the Count. The payoff is fantastic as well. Dracula seems to be an elderly, eccentric noble, but Stoker slyly imbues him with a few physical oddities that pique our interest: a hairy palm here, an inhumanly strong grasp there, and two scarlet eyes that are quite sinister in nature. These little nuances culminate in great scenes where the true nature of Jonathan's host is revealed to him. There is a marvelous sequence where the helpless Jonathan watches in terror as a village mother comes screaming towards the castle, her baby having been fed to the Count's brides the previous evening. Suddenly, the harsh whisper of the vampire is heard from atop the castle's battlements as he stares malevolently into the night. Soon a pack of ravenous wolves descends upon the shrieking maiden at his command... and we cannot help but picture the Count with a hard, cruel smile playing on his dead lips.

The scenes of Lucy's midnight seductions on the beachside cemetery of Whitby and the breakneck finale that brings us back to Transylvania are also noteworthy scenes involving Dracula. But other than that, the infamous vampire is hardly heard from during the bulk of the novel. Instead the focus is put upon the hunters and their eventual (stress eventual) realization that evil is amongst them. Not to say that these moments are intensely boring, but even the most patient of readers will find themselves scratching their heads and wondering why Stoker decided to name the book after the least visible character.
A demonic presence can only go so far... you have to be a bit more liberal and add some more sugar to the cake. Of course some people out there would find investigations into a vampire's residence and whereabouts through real estate agents, shipping yards, and train stations utterly fascinating. But for the majority of horror readers, the lengthy absence of the famous character will have them eagerly driving a stake through their own hearts before they have to read one more chapter of the hunters waiting for something to happen.

During this day and age, we have become used to the fact that vampires and sexuality generally go hand in hand. But in the year 1897, a novel such as Dracula could not go unnoticed for its controversial approach to sexual intercourse. The metaphor is a strong one and I would say that this has aided the public's lurid fascination with the vampire over the years. These erotic tinges are noticed especially in the scenes of Jonathan's encounter with the vampire brides and Mina's account of both Lucy's and her own seduction by Dracula.
Jonathan notes that the undead maidens possess an intense sexual presence, with their full, luscious lips and their dark laughter that hints at a hunger for more than just blood. He watches as they advance on him while he feigns slumber, secretly wishing that the women will kiss him and caress him. This scene now takes on the atmosphere of a twisted sexual dream with Jonathan being plagued by impure and naughty thoughts. The same happens to Lucy and Mina at the hands of the Count. Lucy is compelled to walk in her sleep to the cemetery on the beach where Dracula deflowers her by taking her blood. Mina is frozen to the spot as the loathsome mouth of the vampire closes on her throat. She seems quite repulsed, but the reader can't help but feel that a small part of Mina wants the Count to take her.

This is especially felt in the moment when Dracula gives Mina "a baptism of blood," a rite of passage to becoming one of the Un-Dead. By willingly drinking from the Count's vein, Mina has now soiled her soul and become damned for all time. The red mark left by a holy wafer on her forehead, like the physical effect of a sexually transmitted disease, is a constant reminder of her sin that plagues her for the rest of the novel. Like a parasitic virus, Dracula's evil has entered Mina's body in a scene of perverse passion that completely obliterates the image of a consensual consummation. The Vampire takes what he wants by force and his sexual hunger is that of the animal, his main goal only to procreate and infect the world with his offspring. This invasion of our bodies may horrify us, but there still seems to be something delightful, something so very enticing, about sharing the life force of our bodies with that of another.
As far as characterization goes, Stoker does an admirable job of supplying his readers with likable, if somewhat two-dimensional, supporting characters. The biggest complaint to be made is concerning the four young heroes: Jonathan Harker, Jack Seward, Lord Arthur Holmwood, and Quincey Morris. In essence, these four different characters actually feel like they are all one personality, gloves worn by the same hand. They all share that respectable air that gentlemen of their day would and are always going off doing very nice and righteous things. They are selfless and pledge their honor to protecting their women from the vampire scourge. They are brave, daring, adventurous, kind, passionate, and lots of other mushy stuff.
However, if one were to listen to an audio recording of the scenes in which these four characters are present and speaking, no real distinction could be made of who was talking unless told. This creates a monotonous din of repetition that may bore some readers. And although Van Helsing has a more clear-cut and amusing personality, his speech patterns can get somewhat grating on the nerves. So, at the end of the day, our only saving grace is Mina. Surprisingly, Stoker's best characterization lies within her. She is a strong woman who would go to the ends of the earth to help her friends. It is very interesting to watch her rising conflict as Dracula's evil begins to taint her soul. She handles her horrifying situation with as much bravado as any of her male counterparts would. She is a worthy woman who I'm sure would stand up to the evil Count if given the chance.

An interesting notion that Stoker presents to us within the book is that Dracula possesses what Van Helsing calls a "child-brain." He explains that after Dracula's human death and birth into the vampire, his brain subverted back to that of a "child." He has a new outlook on un-life and begins to discover things all over again. This can be anything from the extent of his powers to knowledge of his weaknesses. This also affects his psychological processes. He is arrogant, selfish, and boastful of his powers and crimes, like a spoiled toddler. And as he grows older with time, so does his knowledge. It now becomes an even more imperative effort to hunt him down before he becomes a master of the dark side and develops into a full-grown force of evil. This puts a unique spin on the vampire's rebirth motif and leaves room for thought on just what Dracula could have become if he had lived on for a few more centuries...
When undertaking the reading of a classic, one is bound to have high hopes going into it. I did as well when I picked up my copy of this book. Most of these were very well met, but to say that I wasn't at least a little disappointed would make me a liar. There are scenes and memories of this book that will stay in your mind for years to come: Jonathan's plight within the walls of Castle Dracula, the nightly attacks on Lucy and Mina, the high adventure that ensues during the final chase scene. All the other things are merely fodder, food for vampire bats. But it is the erotic beauty and creeping chills of the book that will keep you awake during the cold hours of evening, desperately wondering if what you heard was really the music made by the children of the night.

Labels: 1890S, Bram Stoker, Dracula, Haunted Library, Vampire

Behold! A moldy oldie from the innermost depths of my dark collection. Put out by Scholastic in 1969, this dusty little anthology is actually a rather decent gathering of some genre favorites and scribes of less renown. The perfect book for those of you looking to pass those lazy afternoons with a few bloody good classics of terror literature...
"THE DUNWICH HORROR" by H. P. LOVECRAFT
Many strange things occur in the domed, wild countryside of Dunwich, Massachusetts. The degenerate villagers say that the mad piping of the whippoorwills signal the oncoming death of a human being and that their demonic laughter means that they have captured the soul of the departed. Even stranger than this folktale is the story concerning the mysterious family of the Whatleys. Young albino Lavinia is suddenly impregnated with child, her sorcerous father Old Whatley only alluding to the father of the boy as something more than human in his correspondence with the town people. The goatish-looking brat is delivered and matures at a supernatural rate. Young Wilbur, who keeps himself entirely clothed and is feared by dogs, reaches his manhood before even becoming an adolescent. The town folk grow uneasy every May Eve and All Hallow�s, for the Whatley family travel up to the stone-riddled Sentinel Hill to perform ghastly rites that cause the earth to groan in fury. They also begin to notice how Wilbur and his grandfather are constantly renovating their farmhouse and bringing cattle into the guarded shed, the animals never to emerge again from its stinking depths. When Old Whatley finally passes on, Wilbur desperately tries to attain an original copy of the dreaded Necronomicon from Miskatonic University. Dr. Henry Armitage, the aged librarian, refuses Wilbur to take the book when he realizes what cosmically hellish purposes he has in mind. Wilbur is slain by the library watchdog when he tries to break in one night and Armitage and his comrades behold the inhuman physiology that composed Wilbur�s body. But the very worst is yet to come. With all the Whatleys now dead, an invisible and abominable force breaks free from the Whatley place and begins terrorizing the populace of Dunwich. Armitage must now find a way to stop the titanic beast from escaping the town of Dunwich and feasting on the blood of every last human on Earth...
"THE LOVE LETTER" by JACK FINNEY
Jake Belknap is a young bachelor making a living in Manhattan and residing in a small, Brooklyn apartment. He purchases an old and fine Victorian desk from a pawn shop so that he can work efficiently at home. Fiddling with the ornate desk one night, Jake exposes a hidden drawer when he moves a hidden panel in one of the pigeonholes. The drawer is filled mostly with yellowed, blank sheaves of paper but he notices an unmarked envelope containing a letter. Upon opening it, Jake reads the musings of a young woman named Helen who is speaking to an imaginary lover, an ideal man she wishes to meet instead of being cursed by her planned betrothal. Enchanted by Helen's pleas and the evening atmosphere, Jake uses the old paper and ink to compose a response, even going so far as to place one of his antique stamps on the envelope and dropping the letter at a Civil War-era post office in town. Over the next few days Jake finds himself becoming enamored by the antiquity of bygone years as he stares at a pictorial history of New York and dreams of what Helen must have been like. He is equally stunned and rejoiced to find a second letter from Helen in another of the desk�s secret drawers. Claiming his love for her, Jake writes another letter explaining everything, knowing this is to be his last correspondence through time with Helen. In return she sends him a small but meaningful token along with words that shall remain true in Jake�s heart evermore...
"W. S." by L. P. HARTLEY
Novelist Walter Streeter is having a bit of a rough time with his writing. The sudden appearance of strange postcards signed "W. S." only makes his life more perplexing. He pays no mind to them at first, but a series of strange circumstances brings his attention to the front. For one, the short messages inscribed on each card seem very telling and probe into some of Streeter�s most hidden mental recesses. Walter also entertains the idea that he may have finally lost it and is sending himself letters, thus explaining the matching initials. But the most disturbing aspect is the slightly vengeful tone in the postcards and the pictures of landscapes and churches that reveal that the mailer is coming ever so closer to Streeter. Thinking back to his early days of writing, Streeter recalls a rather nefarious character he created for his book The Pariah. The villain was one William Stainsforth, a black soul who Walter had poured all of his loathing and hatred into. Sensing that the physical personification of his character has come to hunt him down for all the literary wrongs he has done him, Streeter has the police send down a guard for protection on the appointed date of arrival. But the best laid plans suddenly go awry and Streeter finds himself looking into the cold eyes of a murderer he wrought from his very own hand�
"THE OBLONG BOX" by EDGAR ALLAN POE
The narrator is due to board a voyage from Charleston, South Carolina to New York on the Independence in June. Though he is a tad upset when the captain informs him that the voyage is to be postponed, his spirits lighten when he notices his close artist friend Cornelius Wyatt is to be aboard as well. As everyone gets ready for the ship to set sail, the narrator becomes excited not only to reunite with his college comrade but to make the acquaintance of his new bride whom Wyatt often brags about. But when he engages Wyatt in conversation, the artist is more moody and depressed than usual and his wife, in addition to appearing rather plain, is of a vulgar and low-ranking character. The mystery surrounding Wyatt is especially highlighted by the presence of an odd oblong box that he keeps with him in his stateroom and whose contents remain unknown. The narrator cannot help but wonder about his friend�s sanity, especially when he hears Wyatt removing the lid every night and gently weeping as well as the artist�s disturbing and violent reaction to a jest the narrator made concerning the box. When a raging storm soon puts the ship in danger of being overcome by the sea, the crew and passengers are forced to abandon the doomed vessel. The last delirious act of Wyatt finally reveals to the narrator the tragic story of the oblong box�s beautiful occupant�
"THE APE AND THE MYSTERY" by GERALD KERSH
The young and foolish Duke of Abruzzi is conversing with the learned painter and genius Leonardo da Vinci in his hall one evening. Leonardo is making a rough sketch of a great stone water filter that he plans to have constructed in order to purify the stagnant fluids of the countryside. The Duke is not impressed one bit by Leonardo�s talk of rocks and brass pipes and constantly tries to liven the dull conversation. When Leonardo makes a comparison between his own artistic achievements and the far-reaching possibilities of the water tank, the Duke hits upon the subject of Leonardo�s work to segue from all the political talk. The Duke begins to question Leonardo about his most famous portrait, the Mona Lisa, and the mysterious woman who sat for the historical painting. The Duke is perplexed by the strange beauty Madame Giocondo seems to hold over him. He is most puzzled by the small, enigmatic smile that is frozen upon her face, wondering why she must smile in such a peculiar way. Leonardo states that his model always possessed that same smile for the entire time he saw her and relates of how he also was tortured by the puzzle of her soul. As the Duke continually prods the old painter on, Leonardo reveals to his dense companion the true horror of just what was lying beyond the Mona Lisa�s lips and how it took a silly ape and a mellow canine to reveal the ugly truth�
"THE JUDGE�S HOUSE" by BRAM STOKER
Malcolm Malcomson is a young student who decides to rent out the brooding and legendary Judge�s House to study for his examinations due to its desolation and loneliness. As Mr. Cranford hands over the keys to him, Malcolm is told by the frightened housekeeper Mrs. Dempster the house�s terrifying history. The house was built and lived in by an evil and cruel judge who not only dealt out the harshest of punishments but also delighted most in witnessing the gruesome hangings of the criminals he persecuted. Malcolm shrugs off the woman�s fears but, as he delves into his books that night, Malcolm hears the awful scurrying and scratching of millions of rats within the walls. An incredibly large and malevolent-looking vermin makes its presence known on the fireplace chair and proceeds to haunt and torment the student. With the discovery of the menacing portrait of the infamous judge, Malcolm begins to feel the burning of the eyes watching him until it all culminates in a night of horror and death�
"THUS I REFUTE BEELZY" by JOHN COLLIER
Mrs. Carter and her friend Betty muse at little Simon as he plays pretend in the house�s cluttered garden just as the tea bell rings. Big Simon returns from the dentist�s office after having all his appointments canceled for the day to spend some time with his family. His wife expresses some concern for their son who always looks so drained and pale after his imaginative little games. After a bit of questioning from his father, the boy informs the adults of his playmate whom he calls Mr. Beelzy. Little Simon remains elusive as to just what his friend looks like and how he summons him for playtime, but his father becomes angered at the boy�s obstinate assertion that Beelzy is real. When Little Simon says that his friend will take the form of a ravenous lion to protect him, Big Simon brings his son upstairs for a good thrashing. Too bad he didn�t heed his son�s prophetic words�
"RETURN OF THE GRIFFINS" by A. E. SANDELING
Gunar Vries, the eloquent emissary from the country of S--, has just settled down into his hotel room after a meeting at the United Nations in New York when his bed is beset by a strange fit of shaking. The cause of the ruckus soon makes itself known: a noble griffin of ancient myth, all eagle winged and lion bodied. Gunar is a tad shocked by this visitation but he curiously asks the intelligent being of its presence. The griffin informs Gunar that his kind have come back to make themselves known to the world now at its most desperate time of need with threats of atomic war and depression. Stirred by the prophetic coming of these creatures, Gunar soon notifies his president of the griffin�s return and his plans to make the arrival known to the entire world. The trouble is, no one else seems to be able to see the monsters, even if they�re flying over the city�s skyscrapers or casually strolling into tailor shops. Gunar�s ravings unsettle his country�s government and the president is soon forced to remove Gunar from his position in order to save his reputation as well as that of the other delegates. But Gunar remains determined in his mission and goes to great lengths to inform the mass public of the griffins� return and takes a final leap of faith from his imprisoning society�
"FLIES" by ANTHONY VERCOE
A lonely tramp, a former university don, is wandering through the sickeningly warm and wet streets of London one stormy night. Desperately seeking shelter from the ravaging rain, the tramp spots a boarded up house with a "To Let" sign plastered upon it. He manages to break through the glass of a window and let himself in just as a policeman stands at the end of the street. Finally relieved of the daunting weather, the hobo is taken back by the sumptuously furnished rooms within. It seems to be a relic from two hundred years prior, more lavish and splendid than the damaged edifice made it seem from outside. His fortune only increases with the sight of a delicious banquet set out on a table, a feast his famished organs greedily delight in. There is a mysterious droning that reverberates from the walls, similar to the buzzing of bees. Entering a bed chamber, the tramp is terrified to see an open casket that exposes the rotted and blasphemous remains of a plague victim. Worse still, the carnivorous blowflies within the cadaver soon attack the tramp who just manages to escape their disgusting wrath. Looking out a window in the kitchen, he sees a mournful figure ringing a bell and guiding a cartful of corpses through the streets as he gravely intones "Bring out your dead!" Realizing the fantastic truth that he�s been transported back to the time of the Great Plague, the tramp attempts to break free of the crawling denizens of the house before they can claim his flesh�
"THE SHED" by E. EVERETT EVANS
Hutch, Cuddy, and Stub are three adventurous boys living through a blisteringly hot summer in Michigan of 1901. They fill up their lazy afternoons with romps and play, most of which takes place in an abandoned shed that contains some gymnastic equipment. The only detriment to their fun-filled time is an enigmatic Shadow that crouches in the corner of the shed. Nearly everyone in town knows of it, but few know of what it could possibly be and just what it wants. The grim purpose of the shadow creature becomes apparent when Hutch�s beloved dog Sam goes missing. Since the canine was an important member of the community, a public uproar is raised over the animal�s disappearance. This leads Hutch to discover Sam�s name tag just outside of the Shadow�s dark reach. Once the adults hear of the strange goings-on, they forbid the children from going anywhere near the forsaken shed. Things only get worse when a little girl�s pet cat and a local daredevil also fall prey to the Shadow�s flesh-hungry wake. As the black creature begins to take definite shape and gain life with each feeding, the boys formulate a plan to stop the monster�s progress by retrieving a sickly cow from the local slaughterhouse...
"THE MISTAKE" by FIELDEN HUGHES
The Medical Superintendent at Applesett Private Medical Hospital recounts a certain patient that was under his care. The man was completely silent and kept to himself, the oddest thing being his ability to go completely without sleep. After the man dies, the doctor opens a manuscript addressed to him specifically to be read after the patient�s death. The man had been a vicar at St. Alpha�s Church in the village of Smeritone where he ekes out a pleasant enough existence. The only detriment is his cruel warden Admiral Sir Anthony Vilpert, a despicable old coot whom the vicar dubs "the White Goat" on account of his long, snowy beard and bleating voice. The vicar and admiral simply loathe one another, the latter spreading vicious rumors concerning the former throughout the village. The vicar�s unholy prayers are granted when Vilpert finally dies one day. On the day of the funeral, the vicar is disturbed when he hears a small tapping from within the casket and entertains the notion that the fate of "the White Goat" now rests in his hands. However he does nothing to report the noise he heard and the coffin is buried. Haunted by the thought of the old man, the vicar enters the churchyard late one night and unearths a terrible sight that ruins his soul for years to come�
JOE MONSTER'S TOP PICKS
"THE DUNWICH HORROR" by H. P. LOVECRAFT
"W. S. " by L. P. HARTLEY
"THE JUDGE'S HOUSE" by BRAM STOKER
"RETURN OF THE GRIFFINS" by A. E. SANDELING
"FLIES" by ANTHONY VERCOE

Labels: 1960S, Anthology, Books, Haunted Library, Lovecraft, Monster

Gather ye graham crackers and marshmallows, kiddies! We�re about to engage in one of the oldest customs of the human race: telling spooky campfire stories! This anthology is unique in that it separates its stories by the regions in which they take place (Mountains, Beach, Forest, etc.), creating the feel that you�re hearing the best of the best from all four corners of the Earth. The gimmick is somewhat cute and the idea of an ultimate campfire storyteller companion sounds great, but that this book is not. There are some noteworthy tales to be read, for sure, but some are either lackluster in plot or atmosphere while others I could not even imagine reading aloud to my friends during an excursion into the wild. You�re better off with Alvin Schwartz�s "Scary Stories" trilogy, which is saying something. Don�t let this deter you though; if you�re looking for a few good stories to pass the time with, go ahead and give this one a look. I just wouldn�t start pitching up the tent and gathering wood if I were you though.
"ICE SCULPTURES" by DAVID B. SILVA
A writer and other artists are given a grant by the government to interpret the four seasons through their respective mediums on the precipitous Eagle Peak. One bohemian in particular, a hippie sculptor named Billy Dayton, captures the attention of the writer and his photographer friend Margo. But the two soon discover there is something sinister behind Dayton�s ice sculptures of his own likeness, each one transgressing into more horrible forms, when they find Billy�s melted remains in his tent. And there may be more pieces of art scattered across the mountain�
"CREATURE OF THE SNOWS" by WILLIAM SAMBROT
Esteemed magazine photographer Ed McKale is sent on a special assignment by his boss to take part in an expedition to the Himalayan Mountains led by zoologist Dr. Schenk. Seems there have been some fuzzy photos taken of hairy, bipedal creatures roaming about the snowy plateaus and the publicity and scientific world are demanding a specimen. Heading up a mountain peak alone on the last day of their journey, Ed is astounded to see a family of the "Yeti" nearby and experiences the full breadth of the creatures� existence�
"XENOS BEACH" by GRAHAM JOYCE
After splitting up with his wife, a man is recommended by a friend to have a holiday in the beautiful country of Greece. Desiring to get away from all the tourism and commercialism, the man takes a bus ride to a desolate beach where only a crumbling church and several weather-ravaged tents remain. A few days later the man meets a family of fair-haired Greeks and is enchanted by the beautiful daughter. When the girl proposes an insane test of love to the man, he finds himself in over his head and on the road to something dark�
"DEATH TO THE EASTER BUNNY" by ALAN RYAN
A group of four friends from college decides to spend their vacation time in Deacons Kill, a town about four hours into the Catskill Mountains. Leaving their hotel and journeying into the dense forest, they are suddenly assaulted by an old hermit toting a rifle. In a weird trance, the teenagers go with the old man to his home and discuss many things with him, none of which they can remember later. They begin to make these trips frequently and soon the old man starts telling them of dark, perverse intruders invading the world. The legendary Easter Bunny is one such horrible creature, and as the holiday draws near the group prepares for the final showdown�
"WE HAVE ALWAYS LIVED IN THE FOREST" by NANCY HOLDER
An aging mother lives with her many children in the deep recesses of the forest, fearing of frightening creatures known as Them from the town. Her babies always try to escape but the mother is always able to bring them back to the den� and promptly devour them. When a sick little girl and her mother enter the cannibalistic crone�s home, the witch fears that they might endanger her little ones and bring the wrath of Them upon her family�
"PROLOGUE: AS THE WOLF LOVES WINTER" by DAVID POYER
A man is hiking up a steep, forested mountain as the snow and cold pour mercilessly down from the heavens. Finding the ideal tree to place his radio on, he sets his spiked boots into the bark and makes his way up the tall cherry tree. Once his mission is completed he begins to head back down but notices a German Shepherd is sniffing through his backpack and parka. As the creature howls for his companions to join him, the man realizes that it is a hungry pack of wolves that are waiting for him to descend. Now the man must choose between death by winter�s icy grip or the jaws of the ravenous beasts below�
"CAUGHT IN THE JAWS OF DEATH" by JERRY MACDONALD
Matthias and Claudia are two German medical students who are enjoying a fun trip into the Canadian wilderness before Matthias begins training at a Seattle hospital. After they ride down the raging rapids, the two friends pitch a tent outside a cabin and call it a night. But the next morning brings anything but tranquility when a massive black bear suddenly attacks the couple, leaving Matthias on the very edge of life. Claudia must find help before her friend bleeds to death and the bear returns to finish the job�
"SURVIVAL EXERCISE" by TALMAGE POWELL
James Kelley and two other members of the U. S. Marines are sent into the steamy wilderness of the Florida Everglades in order to endure a Survival Exercise. This task is found to be even harder than they first thought when a wailing, foul-smelling humanoid invades the camp one night, horribly slaughtering Kelley�s comrades. The creature spares Kelley�s life and he is able to elude the monster�s reaches by escaping into the swamp. Unable to radio for help, Kelley soon discovers that the creature�s desire for him is much more frightening than any thirst for blood�
"SWAMP HORROR" by WILL SMITH and R. J. ROBBINS
A young man is given news that his father has been missing for almost a week and immediately rushes to the elder�s farm by the swamp. After discovering their family dog Wolf running frantically from the swamp and appearing to be completely emaciated, the young man is determined on finding the solution to the perplexing mystery. Entering Marvin�s Swamp and heading to the stagnant waters of Dead River, he finds the corpses of various animals littered about and a crawling, slithering horror that can freeze the blood in man�s veins�
"THE VALLEY OF THE SPIDERS" by H. G. WELLS
A young virgin has just escaped the clutches of the master and now he and two of his servants chase after the feisty damsel on horseback. They enter a lonely valley that is deathly quiet and seemingly devoid of any life, save for the constant flutter of white flowers blowing in the wind. But the persistent trio discovers that the innocent-looking wisps are actually spider�s webs and soon are under siege by the bloodthirsty arachnids and, in the ensuing madness, the master�s true colors emerge�
"WAZIAH" by JOE R. LANSDALE
Trapper Roland McArthur is trudging through the freezing wind of a blizzard up the Black Hills of the Dakotas and is relieved to see a line shack in the distance. Peeking in through a chink in the wood, McArthur is taken aback when the business end of a rifle goes off in his face. Mostly stunned, he awakens inside the cabin and makes the acquaintance of the shooter, an old coot named Crawford, who says he was trying to keep the legendary Wooly-Bugger from breaking in. A Native American girl whom Crawford has named Snowflake is also holed up in the cabin along with her child. Turns out the old man isn�t as crazy as he sounds when the ferocious beast attacks the shack and drags the screaming Snowflake away. Realizing that the Wooly-Bugger has mated with Snowflake and produced the half-human baby, McArthur and Crawford head out to stop the monster in its wake�
"THE SPECTRE BRIDE" by ANONYMOUS
During a magnificently beautiful and white winter evening in Sault Ste. Marie, Ralph Hagadorn is trekking down the snowy roads to arrive at a friend�s house the next morning to act as the groomsman in his wedding. Enchanted by the freezing ice, Ralph is impelled to take out his skates and travel down the frozen river. As the infatuated young man skates along, his frost blurred eyes are shocked to see a mysterious skater in flowing white garments just ahead of him. Before the evening is over, Ralph will realize that he has been watched over by a mysterious guardian who has saved him from the icy clutches of Death�
"BLOODY POLLY" by MICHAEL NORMAN and BETH SCOTT
Polly Brown and her family have just moved into the Kentucky wilderness in 1815 and her father soon turns their cabin into a thriving plantation. When Polly becomes engaged to prospective merchant Harry Geiss, all seems right with the world. That is until Harry turns his attentions to Polly�s beautiful younger sister Frances Clara. Enraged at her sibling, Polly takes Frances out for a walk in the woods only to brutally murder her with an axe. Thinking that she has gotten away with murder, the devious Polly�s plans soon begin to crumble as evidence of the murder begins to rise to the surface and her sister starts to call from the grave�
"THE FACELESS THING" by EDWARD D. HOCH
Buddy is a very old man who returns to the farmhouse of his youth as his memories of the past beckon to him in his autumn years. Despite fond childhood memories, one event in particular has called Buddy back to his home in order to confront it once and for all. When he was around the age of ten, Buddy and his sister journeyed to a small stream on the land that cut into the side of a hill via a tunnel. As the two siblings journeyed into the wet darkness, Buddy�s sister frantically called out his name. The boy was terrified to witness a hairy, ooze-covered abomination reach forth from the darkness and take his sister. Having finally returned after all these years, Buddy goes to lay his demons to rest�
"ALLAL" by PAUL BOWLES
A fourteen year old girl gives birth to a boy at the hotel where she works and names her son Allal. She soon abandons the child and Allal is left to perform manual labor at the hotel for most of his life. Moving into the city when he becomes older, Allal comes into contact with an old man who sells snakes for a living. He tells the boy that it is possible to train the serpents to do as he wishes so, while the old man sleeps, Allal steals a scarlet snake from his collection. Soon Allal is able to command the snake to move at his whim; but the true journey begins when Allal transcends the mental connection he has with his pet and sees through the eyes of the reptile�
"THE QUEST FOR BLANK CLAVERINGI" by PATRICIA HIGHSMITH
Avery Clavering is a professor of zoology at a California university who becomes intrigued by the tales of giant, man-eating snails who inhabit the island of Kuwa. His scientific interest piqued and possessing an immense desire to have his name go down in biology history, Clavering travels to the lonely island to stake his claim. But the portly scientist finds he is in great danger when the crafty mollusks leave him stranded on the island and at their slimy mercy unless he can fight back for his life�
JOE MONSTER'S TOP PICKS
"DEATH TO THE EASTER BUNNY" by Alan Ryan
"SWAMP HORROR" by Will Smith and R. J. Robbins
"WAZIAH" by Joe R. Lansdale
"BLOODY POLLY" by Michael Norman and Beth Scott
OVERALL SCORE: 5/10

Labels: Anthology, Books, Ghost Stories, Haunted Library, Monster

Once upon a time there was a terrible, scum-infested place called New Jersey. It was not the type of place you would find princesses or charming knights. Nah way. The ladies who walked the streets at night were anything but royalty and the men were no better. They even had bad pizza.
But probably one of the worst of the bunch was a guy who went by the name of Ace Mahoney. Ace was what your grandmother would call a no-good hood, but really he wasn�t all that bad. Except when you got him angry. Ace was just like any other gangster; he liked gambling, and stealing, and skirt chasing, and even a beating or two tickled his fancy. But it was Ace�s temper that earned him a reputation in all the dives and bars in town.
Ace kept a deck of cards with him, always. He called them his lucky cards and he would always shuffle through them when he was thinking real hard. Usually when you saw Ace take out his deck of cards it meant something bad was gonna happen real soon. If he turned up a jack of spades, then that meant that he was gonna knife some poor sap right in the back. If it was a queen of hearts that came up in his palm, then he would have his way with whichever flea-bitten floozy he happened to eye first. But if he turned up the ace (oh, if he turned up the ace!) then there was no telling what Mahoney would do at that point. Ace�s two buddies, Lou Stevens and Stretch Collins, had even heaved up their lunches during the job Mahoney had them do the last he time he flashed the ace.
Ace was actually with Lou and Stretch that afternoon, the day they robbed Campbell�s diamond store. It had been a clean operation for the most part, but at the very last minute old man Campbell had pulled the police arm, and then Ace was forced to blow Campbell�s head off right then and there. Lou and Stretch hadn�t liked that (there were little bits of brain that splattered on their new coats) but they agreed that it had to be done considering the circumstances. They sped through the streets in their rickety old car, and soon the coppers were onto their scent, their sirens hollering through the morning fog.
There was some shooting, a lot of hollering from Ace out the driver�s window, and a ton of crying from Lou when a bullet caught him in his right arm. Stretch started shouting at Lou to quit his whining, and then Ace was screaming at the both of them to shut their traps as he was shooting at the cops that roared behind them like angry bloodhounds. Ace was able to swing right pass the boobs in blue and they were scot free, just like that.
"Where are we goin�, Ace?" Lou whimpered.
"Quit ya blubbering, ya baby!" Ace snarled.
"Where are ya headed, Ace?" Stretch asked from the back seat.
"You two girls don�t worry your pretty little heads over it. I know a place. Out on an island. It�s a fort. Nobody goes there, place is a dump. We can lie low there for awhile, wait for the cops to lose our trace. Then it�s smooth sailing from there."
" Smooth sailing?" cried Lou. "I just got slugged, the cops are on to us for carrying a trunk full of hot diamonds and blowing some old man to Kingdom Come, and we�re headed to some God forsaken fort in the middle of the Atlantic� you�re telling me that�s smooth sailing?!"
Ace gripped Lou by his sweaty, fat cheeks. "You were just shot in the arm, ya bum! It�s nuthin� a little love and care won�t fix. Now you�re gonna shut your ugly little lips or I�ll find a way to shut them for you!" Ace patted the pocket in his vest where he kept his deck of cards to get his point across. Lou swallowed the rock in his throat and even Stretch shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"That�s what I thought, boys," Ace breathed. "That�s what I thought."
***
"I can�t see a damn thing in this fog!" Ace hit the steering wheel in disgust.
"Turn the headlights on, Ace," Lou suggested weakly from the corner of the passenger seat.
"They are on, ya nitwit!" Stretch said. "Doesn�t do us any good, it�s thick as clam chowder out there!"
The fog had gotten bad. It was just a white wall of smoke and you couldn�t see your own hand in front of your face even if it had a traffic light strapped to it. "We�re close to the fort now," Ace said. "We just made it onto the bridge."
Stretch pushed his bony face forward on his veiny neck. "I hope this place is as safe as you say it is, Ace. Otherwise we are going to be royally f--- JESUS, LOOK OUT!"
The car swerved madly across the planks of the bridge as the headlights picked up the form of a hulking shadow standing in the thick mist. The tires rolled and slipped as they veered out of the way. They missed the figure by mere feet, but the car ended up smacking the bridge�s iron supports with a healthy crash. Lou started screaming about his arm and Stretch began cursing at the tear in his new vest while the temperature under Ace�s collar reached a cool 250 degrees.
"Shut up, shut up, shut up, the both of yous!" Ace roared. Lou and Stretch were still grumbling but their volume was considerably lower when Ace snatched the revolver from his pants and slammed the car door on his way out. His two buddies quickly followed suit, readying their weapons with less skill.
The dark figure that the gangsters had gone out of their way to miss was still standing in the exact spot it had been before, as if the entire ordeal had unshaken it. Ace had thought it was a trick of the fog before, but as he got closer he could see the man was a good seven feet tall, a great colossal thing that had a chest the size of a locomotive and fists that looked like the hams that hung in Marty�s butcher shop. The brute wore a sheepskin vest over his ripped, worn shirt and a cabbie�s hat rested on top of his square head, covering the eyes completely and only letting his hooked nose show like the beak of some eagle. The fog seemed to pour outta the guy�s huge nostrils and over his crossed, steely arms, curling around his face as if he was some kinda dragon sitting ever so smugly in its smoggy cave.
"Hey pal!" Ace called, his voice cracking just a little bit around the edges. "Ya mind telling me what business you have standin� in the middle of the God damn bridge like some statue?" He pulled the safety back on his gun for added effect.
"You nearly killed us back there, ya loony!" Stretch shrieked. He stood a good eight feet away from the brute as he waved his revolver in the air.
Lou didn�t say anything, his knees shaking like jello in an earthquake as his face grew yellow with fear and sickness. "Jesus�" he squeaked.
The brute stood completely still before his head moved about on that granite neck of his, his unseen eyes taking in the three sharply dressed men that stood in front of him.
"They call me The Troll." The voice was thunder, sending small vibrations through the wooden planks. "I watch over the bridge. I hold down the fort."
Ace�s white teeth flashed as his lips curled up in a sneer. "The Troll, huh? That�s cute, that�s really cute. Hey, ya hear that, boys? We gotta bridge troll on our hands! Ain�t dat sumthin!"
Weak laughter came from Ace�s two cohorts but was carried away by the mist and lost forever. Ace�s chuckles were loud and sharp though as he tucked the gun back into his pants pocket.
"Okay, wise guy, okay. Whaddaya want, huh? You want some money? We got money, plenty of money, ain�t dat right, boys? We�ll just give ya a little toll fare and then you can be off on your away to steal as many children and eat as many villagers as you want."
The Troll didn�t laugh. "No money," he growled.
Ace shifted his weight, his fingers tapping impatiently. "Okay, no money, no problem. Well then what exactly do ya want? Huh, big guy? Because I�m kind of in the middle of something and you just so happen to be in the middle of that something!"
"What?" asked Stretch.
"Shut up!" hollered Ace.
The Troll spoke. "Sorry, can�t let you cross the bridge."
"And why exactly is that?" Ace asked, boiling point just about reached.
"I protect it from hoodlums." The Troll pointed a sausage finger. "Like yous."
The tea kettle underneath Ace�s hat was singing like a banshee and his fingers itched to hold that cool deck of cards in his vest pocket. But then the Troll leaned forward, the voice like cannon fire in Ace�s ear. "Are ya gonna do sumthin about it, tough guy?"
Ace licked the sweat on his lips at this remark and, craning his head around, muttered "Hey Lou. Please convince the nice man that our business is of a rather urgent nature." Ace strolled back across the bridge and gripped Lou by the sleeve before giving him a good kick in the pants. Lou�s chubby face stared at Ace in pure terror, his little bug eyes bulging out of their sockets.
"Ace! I can�t--"
"You will and you�ll stop your complaining!" Ace roared.
Lou shuffled over as he slowly as he could to the Troll, his heart tap dancing against his ribcage as he stood looking up at the bridge guardian.
"Hey there listen, buddy. We don�t want any kinda trouble. I gots a bad arm, ya see. We just need to get over this bridge so I can get some medical attention. That�s not much to ask for, is it? Just one small favor for one honest man."
A little smile was seen on the Troll�s thick, purple lips. "Nah, I spose it ain�t." He placed one of those baseball mitts he had for hands on the shoulder of Lou�s left arm, the one without the bullet. "Trouble is, though, I know you�re not a honest man. But I think I can help ease that pain in your right arm there."
A sound not unlike the ripping of wet rags then met Ace and Stretch�s ears, and before they could even blink they saw that the Troll had Lou�s left arm gripped in his fist, cept that the arm was free of its former attachment to Lou�s body. It took a few seconds for it to dawn on Lou, but in the next instant he was screaming as the blood bubbled in his throat and spurted from the torn meat that had previously been his left shoulder. He stumbled around, looking like a clownish puppet as his wounded right arm waved crazily in the air.
"Oh here, lemme get dat for you," the Troll boomed. Another rip and Lou was just some armless stump of a man doing a jig of insane agony on the bridge planks. Ace and Stretch�s legs had become cemented to the ground, their hands lying limp at their sides and their mouths as wide as the Jersey Turnpike as they stood there in dumb terror at the scene unfolding all gory like in front of them.
Lou was on his knees now, crying and wailing all at once. "Let�s give da boy a hand for tryin!" the Troll laughed. Taking Lou�s bloodied arms by the ends of the shoulder bones, the Troll swept his own massive arms back and brought them forward, Lou�s own dismembered hands colliding against his weeping face and causing his head to explode in a mass of sticky blood and slimy brain juice. A scene for discussion at your mother�s dinner table it was not.
The mutilated hunk of torso collapsed onto the bridge and the Troll tossed Lou�s arms up and over into the water, chuckling darkly as he brushed the squashed eyeball hanging by his upper lip into his mouth with his fire hose tongue. "So," the Troll asked through clenched teeth "which one-a yous bums is next?"
Now we all know Ace had some brass balls on him; he never ran away from a fight at the first sign of trouble. Stretch, on the other hand, was raised no fool. That�s why Ace felt a sudden tug that relieved him of his coat. Still partly stunned by the flesh and blood show that had played before him, Ace whirled around and saw Stretch hightailing it back to the car, keys dangling from his hand. The realization had only smacked Ace upside the head when he saw the headlights flash on and heard the engine cough to life.
"Stretch! You no-good, dirty, sunnuvabitch!" Ace began running madly towards the car, his speed based partly in fear of the Troll and partly in the desire to ring the skinny bastard�s neck. But just as Ace was gaining on the car as it pulled out in reverse, a gigantic rumbling in the bridge planks caused him to lose his footing and he was knocked to the ground altogether as the Troll�s titanic form brushed past him. The titan strolled over to the car completely casual, never breaking a sweat as he finally reached it with each continent-sized stride he made.
Swinging behind the automobile, the Troll wrapped his iron arms around the backside in a tremendous bear hug, slowly but surely crunching the car�s frame upon itself. Stretch was still trying with every ounce of desperation to back the car up, but it was right when he caught sight of the roof caving in the rearview mirror that he realized his goose was cooked and ready for dinner. Stretch tried busting through the front doors to escape his Model-T coffin but the Troll smashed them in with a swing of both of his fists, pinning Stretch in a space the size of a cupboard.
Ace watched as his partner, the guy he wanted to strangle seconds earlier, was compacted like a sardine into the car. Crunch, crunch, crunch. The Troll worked, and bent, and crushed, and smushed the thing until it was difficult to tell that it had once been a car. The last thing Ace saw of Stretch was his screaming, sweating face as it pressed madly against the windshield glass, but then that too was lost in a mess of twisted metal and warped flesh. A few streaks of blood slithered along a headlight before the bulb was finally extinguished and lost in the mist.
The Troll walked back over to Ace, his shadow covering the gangster like a blanket. Ace�s lips might as well have been sewn together with thread; for the first time in his entire life he was completely silent.
"What are you?" The dry, little sound that finally came out of Ace�s throat was a bug of a voice.
The Troll stood there, his invisible eyes shooting hot beams from under his hat�s brim and his hands dripping wet with blood and oil. "I told you. I�m the Troll. I guard the bridge. I hold down the fort."
A few seconds passed before Ace�s swift hand snatched the gun from his back pocket. He pressed the muzzle against the brute�s mountain-chest and gave the trigger a good squeeze. The gun gave a kick and a faint whiff of burnt powder wafted up from the bullet hole.
The Troll paid no mind to it. There was a small hole in his shirt and Ace saw the empty circle the bullet had bore into the Troll�s chest, saw the black blood leak out of the wound and patter onto the guy�s boots.
"Tsk tsk," grunted the Troll. He pinched the gun out of Ace�s hand with two fingers and tossed the thing aside. "I thought you knew better than ta try sumthin like dat, Ace." Using the same two fingers, the Troll plucked the deck of cards out of the gangster�s pocket and began sifting through them.
"Let�s play a little game of luck, huh, Ace? You like cards don�t ya? Let�s see�" He held the deck out to Ace. "Pick one won�t ya?"
Ace could barely lift up his arm and draw a card from the deck, but he slowly eased one out facedown anyway.
"My turn." The Troll plucked one out and held it against his chest. "Let�s see which one you have foist."
Wearily, Ace turned his card up. It was the king of hearts. "Not bad, Ace. Not bad. Now it�s my turn. Well, whaddaya know! I got an ace. That�s your lucky card right, Mahoney? The ace? Heh, that�s pretty funny you getting� the king of hearts. You know why that�s funny, Ace? Do ya?"
If Ace weren�t so sick with grief, he probably would�ve been more responsive when he felt the cement fist of the Troll tear through his chest and grip his still beating heart between his fingers. The Troll drew Ace�s shaking head close, his whisper like a raging storm wind.
"It�s because you ain�t got no heart, pal!"
The crushing fingers pressed on the heart and in a matter of seconds it was nothing but a shriveled, juiceless husk. Ace coughed up blood then, the red staining his clenched teeth as he growled and yelled as death finally came over him. His body finally stopped kicking and the Troll slid his hand out, the corpse crumpling beneath him like a used glove. His other hand still held the ace and, giving it one last look, flicked it from his fingers and let it drift down onto the dead gangster. Soon the mist came in and everything was quiet again.
And that�s the story, so they tell me. What do ya think? What�s that? You callin� me a liar? I tell ya it really happened! Fine, fine, say whatever ya like. Just finish up your damn drink and get the hell out of here. What�s that? A moral? You want a moral for your story? Okay, I got ya moral right here, buddy: stay the fuck away from bridge trolls.

Labels: Fairy Tale, Gangsters, Haunted Library, Short Fiction