Albion Fay

Albion Fay is the new novella by Mark Morris and is published by Spectral Press. It begins with a funeral, pretty much setting the tone for everything which follows and introduces us to Frank, the first-person narrator of the story. There’s a great deal of skilful character development here, painting a picture of a man hiding from the world, paranoid and over-analytical of everything – and everyone – around him. This, of course, sets up the narrative of the story wonderfully, planting the question in the readers’ minds of how Frank came to be this way.

What follows is a fractured narrative that jumps backwards and forwards in time – a technique that mirrors the broken nature of Frank’s family; sister Angie, loving mother Pat and father George whose first scene in the book presents him as a short tempered bully, characteristics that develop along with the story until he becomes the catalyst for the life changing events which follow.

George is a catalyst but so too are events at Albion Fay itself, the house which is to be the family’s holiday home for a week. The caves in the woods which surround the house allow the introduction of a supernatural element to the story but this is done in a subtle way, the first person perspective – which brings with it all the baggage of unreliability – means that just the right amount of ambiguity is brought to the narrative, these supernatural elements enhancing rather than overwhelming it.

As Adam Nevill’s thorough and detailed introduction to the book indicates, this is a story about loss and perhaps the greatest loss of all here is of the childhood innocence of Frank and Angie. The story goes to some very dark places but the writing is so assured and confident that the tragic events which unfold really do shock and aren’t gratuitous. Albion Fay is a Greek tragedy – although a very British one. (Yes, the name of the house – and book – is a clever one). It’s a brilliant example of quiet, understated writing that delivers its horrors efficiently and extremely effectively. There are similarities here – in terms of general themes – to Mark’s previous novella It Sustains, but both are prime examples of intelligent, literary horror and evidence of an author pretty much at the top of his game.

I thoroughly recommend Albion Fay and you can buy it here.

Within the Wind, Beneath the Snow.

"Dog Star". The opening two words of the first release from Spectral Press's Theatrum Mundi imprint, Within the Wind, Beneath the Snow by Ray Cluley which cleverly introduce two of the thematic devices employed to brilliant effect in this sublime tale of winter horror.
I've long enjoyed Ray's writing since my first encounter with it in Black Static magazine (I think the story was Beachcombing) - that enjoyment coming not only from the imagination on display but also from the structure and form of the stories themselves. Poetic is a term bandied about frequently by reviewers (myself included) but it's an adjective which is entirely appropriate when describing Ray's writing. He's a writer who loves words and who has the skill to use them to brilliant effect. Much in the same way that a poem will use refrains, recurring words and lines, so too do many of Ray's stories, playing around with their meaning and import by changing their context within the narrative.
A combination of form and content within a story is truly a joy to behold and that's exactly what Within the Wind... provides. Set in the frozen north of Greenland, the story revolves around Gjerta Jorgensen, the fist woman to join the Slaedepatruljen Sirius - an elite dogsled team, (that'll be Sirius as in Dog Star then), and it's a narrative told in two time settings, present day and Gjerta's childhood. The story slips back and forward between the two timeframes - a wonderful device that allows a slow reveal of a traumatic event in Gjerta's childhood which provides context for the events unfolding in the present day.
It's an incredibly atmospheric tale and that atmosphere is skillfully drawn by the author. The savage beauty of the locations is wonderfully realised and the shivers and chills you'll experience when reading it will be as much down to the descriptions of just how bloody cold it is as the underlying horrors on display.
Underlying - ah yes. The horror of the story centres around the Darkteeth - a monster (probably) that lurks beneath the snow which Gjerta can sense all around her and which seems to be emerging from its home, preying on the dogs that make up the sled team. There's much very effective imagery involving bear traps employed here to marvellous effect.
A wonderful sense of paranoia builds as the story progresses and the technique of swapping between the two timeframes cleverly results in a change in context and perception (were I of a more poetic nature myself I would suggest this is like wind blowing drifts of snow into different shapes, subtly altering the landscape) so that when the story reaches its climax its impact is all the more profound. Whilst on one hand Within the Wind... is an exciting survival and pursuit story it's also deeply sad and moving, truly a haunting tale.
Ray Cluley has produced another classy piece of writing here that satisfies on many levels and Within the Wind, Beneath the Snow is a fine way to launch the new imprint. The book also contains five bonus stories, (two of which were new to me - so truly a bonus), all of which confirm that Christmas really is a time of desolate horror.
It's a book I highly recommend and you can buy it here.

Leytonstone.

Anyone who’s read Stephen Volk’s collection Dark Corners from Gray Friar Press (and if you haven’t – you should) will have enjoyed a story towards the end of the book called Little H. It’s written as a screenplay and describes the (possibly apocryphal) story of how Alfred Hitchcock’s father made him spend a night in a police cell when he was seven to teach him a life lesson and show him what happens to “naughty boys”. That story has now been expanded into a novella and forms the starting point of Leytonstone, the second in the author’s putative Dark Masters trilogy published by Spectral Press.

The first in the series- the sublime Whitstable (which I reviewed here) – focussed on Peter Cushing, set towards the end of the great actor’s life. One of the many joys of that particular book was the references to many of Cushing’s films woven into the text and the subtle way in which they impacted on his character and the same technique is used in Leytonstone although this time it’s the other way round – it’s the real life events experienced by the young Hitchcock which will influence the films he is yet to make.

The screenplay format of Little H isn’t employed for this longer version but the story is written in present tense, a style I personally love and which brings an immediacy to - and an immersion in - the events which unfold.

The incarceration is deeply traumatic and will lead to a life-long fear and mistrust of the police. It’s here the young Hitchcock encounters the policeman who will come to play an even darker role as the narrative unfolds. Perhaps relishing his role of captor a wee bit too much, he uses Jack the Ripper as a cultural reference to further terrify the boy and it’s a strange sensation to realise that the East London serial killer only ended his reign of terror some fifteen years before the events described here. It’s incredible to think that someone so associated with the “modern” art form that is cinema was born in the nineteenth century, the Victorian age.

As profound as the experience is, it’s Alfred’s behaviour afterwards (or at least Stephen’s version of them) that define the man who is to come. It would have been incredibly easy to shoehorn in a load of overt visual references, hinting at the films to come (Alfred attacked by a flock of crows, Alfred breaks his leg and is confined to a wheelchair…) but it’s a credit to Stephen’s skill as a writer that the seeds are sown in the most subtle way.

Yes, there’s a Hitchcock Blonde (though her hair is described as yellow) but it’s the themes of the films to come rather than direct references that are highlighted here – the voyeurism that was a major feature many of his films, the disdain he reputedly showed towards others, actors particularly. It may be another myth that Hitchcock described actors as cattle but based on the character drawn here it would be an entirely believable comment.

It has to be said that the Alfred Hitchcock on display here is not a sympathetic character. Truth to tell he’s pretty horrible. Context for this is provided by his parents, characters beautifully drawn by the author, his father in particular – a man for whom it seems expressing any kind of emotion is an impossibility. (It’s pertinent that it’s emotional support his mother desperately craves). Yes, the main thrust of the narrative is Alfred but this is definitely an ensemble piece and the book works so well because as much care and attention is given to the other characters and their narratives as to the young Hitchcock.

As befitting the second part of any trilogy, Leytonstone is dark and certainly lacks the optimism and uplift of Whitstable. It is an incredible piece of writing though and one which will be appreciated by those with a less than encyclopaedic knowledge of Hitchcock’s films as much as those who do. It is with much anticipation I await the third of the trilogy, whose subject and title remain to be seen. (My money’s on Bramshott though).

Leytonstone has the makings of another classic. Befittingly (given the overt influence Catholicism had on Hitchcock’s life), Stephen has proven the claims of the Jesuits by taking the boy at seven and giving us the man. It’s a book I highly recommend. You can buy it from the Spectral Press website here.

The Hammer of Dr Valentine.

The Hammer of Dr Valentine is the much-anticipated sequel to John Llewellyn Probert's novella The Nine Deaths of Dr Valentine and, like its predecessor, is published by Spectral Press. In the first book, the titular medic carried out a series of elaborately gruesome murders on fellow members of his profession, the modus operandi of which were based on the films of Vincent Price. In this follow up, and employing the principle of "if it ain't broke, don't fix it", another set of gloriously over the top murders are presented, dripping in Kensington Gore and modelled on the films produced by Hammer.
As with the first book, the author's enthusiasm for the subject matter leaps off the pages and the end result is yet another thoroughly entertaining - and yes, Proberty romp that will bring a smile to the face of anyone familiar with the classic British films that are referenced within. Actually, it will bring a smile to the face of anyone who reads it whether they're familiar with the source material or not as the author brings his trademark tongue-in-cheek style of writing to the proceedings, managing the tricky skill of presenting truly awful things happening to people in such a way that it's entertaining and yes, even enjoyable.
The people the terrible things happen to in this instance are journalists, specifically the journalists who collaborated on a book detailing the crimes perpetrated in Nine Deaths and John takes great delight in showing them up to be shallow and devious - so much so that you'll end up rooting for Dr Valentine. Who here has not whiled away the time thinking up gruesome ways of murdering a Daily Mail journalist? Yes you have. Admit it.
Some of the joy to be had from reading the book is working out which films are being referenced but John has done a grand job here "re-interpreting" the original death scenes and putting a new spin on them. There's enough of the original to make the nostalgic among us go "aaah..." but plenty originality to appreciate too. I didn't spot them all but have to admit to cheering when, in the book's climax, that scene from that Dracula film got a nod.
The good news is that this won't be the last we see of Dr Valentine. The final scenes drop a hint - or perhaps that should be premonition - of what's to come in the next book. DCI Longdon, Valentine's world-weary pursuer from the first book makes a welcome reappearance here and will hopefully feature in the next book too. Might be best if he doesn't make any trips across water though...
The Hammer of Dr Valentine is another highly entertaining, and ingenious piece of writing from John Llewellyn Probert and one which I highly recommend that you purchase. Which you can do here.

Back to Black.

All good things must come to an end and so it is with the Spectral Press serialisation of Simon Bestwick's Black Mountain. Fittingly, the end came on Hallowe'en with the release of the last installment, The Dancers in the Pines - and it's hard to believe that the saga began way back in December of 2013. I reviewed the "work in progress" here so it seems only fitting to complete that process now that the last words of the novel have been committed to... err...the virtual ether.
It's taken another six episodes to complete the story of the eponymous Welsh mountain since that last review which described the fate of Russell Ware, the journalist who'd coined the phrase "The Bala Triangle" to describe the area around Mynydd Du, a place where unexplained phenomena and mysterious deaths and disappearances are rife.
The subsequent installments follow the same pattern as the first five, presented as transcripts and testimonials, presenting the evidence accumulated by Ware and, as the progressing story reveals, earlier visitors to the region. The book as a whole is the literary equivalent of a Matroyshka doll, revealing layer upon layer of information, digging deeper and deeper into the history of the region (episode 9 - Ancient Voices - takes the story back to the Roman occupation of Britain and even then hints that the evil goes back even further than that).
I'll state again how complementary the episodic release of the story has been to this style of presentation. Each episode works as a story in its own right but also reveals enough new information to keep the reader hooked and desperate for the next installment.
The story began way back in 2013 with the introduction of the author himself as the narrator and as the book neared its conclusion I had concerns as to how this device would work. All I will say is that it does work - and in an extremely clever and entertaining way. Call it post-modern, meta-fiction even but however you look at it, it's bloody good and rounds off the ten month journey in style.
Mention needs to be made too of the stunning art work which adorns the covers of the individual episodes, provided by Neil Williams. It's great news that a print version of the complete book will be produced next year so that the art - as well as the words - can be fully appreciated. The cover image I've used for this review (episode 10, The Watcher) is my favourite of them all - and is possibly my favourite of the episodes too. I mentioned the "found footage" analogy in my previous review and this device is used within the story itself in this installment to great effect. I had to put the kindle down at one point, so effective - and downright scary - was the imagery being presented. That hasn't happened since I read Adam Nevill's Last Days - so kudos to Mr Bestwick for that.
If you haven't already, you can buy Black Mountain here (and visit the Spectral site for the first installment) - you really should.

The Spectral Book of Horror Stories.

The Spectral Book of Horror Stories is a non-themed anthology from Spectral Press which contains nineteen stories selected – and edited – by mark Morris. It’s a stellar line-up of well established authors contributing to the book and this, along with the high standard established by Spectral with everything they’ve so far published meant my expectations were high for this new volume. Having now read an advance review copy of the book I can say that those expectations were more than fulfilled – this is an outstanding collection of stories and a brilliant advertisement for the short form of horror writing.

Leading the procession is On the Tour by Ramsey Campbell, a tale of narcissism and delusion centred around Stu, one-time drummer in Scotty and the Scousers who is convinced a Beatles tour in Liverpool is incorporating a visit to his own home. Stu’s character is skilfully drawn and Campbell succeeds in eliciting – if not empathy then certainly sympathy - from the reader. There’s a dark undercurrent (or should that be a backbeat?) to the tale however and as the story progresses this comes to the fore, leading to an ending whose inevitability in no way diminishes its tragedy.

On the Tour isn’t the only story to use music as a backdrop, it’s a theme that occurs in Reggie Oliver’s The Book and the Ring which reintroduces the character of Jeremiah Staveley from his earlier story Quieta Non Movere a sixteenth century composer of choral music. To be honest, there’s nothing too original in the story itself – a tale if witchcraft and deals with the devil – but the real joy of the piece is in the way it’s written with the author presenting it as a written testimony from Staveley himself, beautifully creating the Elizabethan language and style of writing.

Musicians feature in Brian Hodge’s Cures for a Sickened World – this time a black metal group – Balrog – whose latest album has been mauled by an egotistical critic, Mr Sunshine. Revenge ensues, with the critic’s words turned back on him – literally, as a form of torture. It’s a bleak story with a nihilistic feel to it which gradually descends deeper and deeper into the darkness.

The fourth music themed story is Conrad Williams’ The Devil’s Interval. The story immediately struck a chord with me (sorry – pun intended) as, like its protagonist, I’m a self-taught (i.e. hopeless) guitarist. Pretty much anything that involves going beyond the third fret instils a mild sense of panic in me and I truly believe barre chords are a thing of the devil. What actually is a thing of the devil is the guitar featured in the story, a Fender Strat which unleashes havoc in this witty, yet dark riff (yeah, I know…) on Faustian themes.

The devil – or at he very least the imagery associated with him – plays a part in Rio Youers’ Outside Heavenly – the title referring to a town with surely one of the most ironic names ever. The story starts with the discovery of a mutilated corpse in a burning house and then gets progressively darker as the testimony of the murdered man’s wife gradually uncovers a demonic story with its roots in a strange settlement just outside of town…

There’s fire aplenty in the Youers story and it’s another recurring theme in the book. It has a significant role to play in Angela Slatter’s The October Widow – a vital component in a yearly ritual of renewal, a ritual involving sacrifice and burnt offerings carried out by the enigmatic Mirabel so that the natural order of the world can be maintained. Mr Spock’s philosophy circa Wrath of Khan that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few is the rationale behind this ceremony but unfortunately it’s a tenet not everyone agrees with – with disastrous results.

Finding oneself in a new environment can often be a strange experience, the feeling of being an outsider, not fitting in and it’s this scenario that’s exploited in Funeral Rites by Helen Marshall, Something Sinister in Sunlight by Lisa Tuttle and Eastmouth by Alison Moore. The former finds Canadian Nora taking lodgings with Mrs Moreland and becoming entangled in a family tragedy. The arrival of the coffin containing Moreland’s son Sean brings about a suitably creepy conclusion and casts new light – or possibly darkness – on the characterisation that has preceded it.

Something Sinister in Sunlight has British actor Anson living and working in Los Angeles but nearing the end of his tether, thoroughly disappointed at the way things have turned out, typecast as psychopathic killers. In essence a variation of Misery, an encounter with a fan leads to some blurring of the lines between what’s real and what isn’t.

Eastmouth has Peter taking girlfriend Sonia back to his home town, the Eastmouth of the title in what is a beautifully written short story. The prose is concise with not a word wasted and perfectly creates a growing sense of unease that all is not what it seems in the small coastal town. It isn’t and the perfect prose and pacing continues to culminate in one of the best last lines of a story I’ve seen in quite some time.

In his introduction, Mark Morris pays homage to the Pan and Fontana horror stories and two stories in this collection probably recapture the spirit of those stories the best. Stolen Kisses by Michael Marshall Smith is a short, first person account of how jealousy can lead to extreme measures – even if it means hurting your best friend – a slight tale that’s all about the last line.

The Dog’s Home is by Alison Littlewood (and yes, that apostrophe is exactly where it should be) and turns out to be a gloriously nasty tale with a suitably gruesome conclusion which pulls the dog blanket from under your feet. Marley and Me it ain’t. Thankfully.

Alison is one of the Spectral alumni to appear in the book, another is John Llewellyn Probert whose contribution is The Life Inspector. A man with a clipboard comes knocking at the door of Franklin Chalmers armed with a series of questions designed to determine the value of his life. It’s a high concept piece with all the dark humour and flourishes you’d expect from the author but I feel there were a lot more opportunities to take some swipes at upper middle class twittery than were on display here.

Spectral’s first publication was Gary McMahon’s What They Hear in the Dark so it’s only right and proper that he should have a story in this first anthology. Dull Fire is much like the characters within it in that it doesn’t pull its punches. Those characters are McMahon archetypes, damaged and broken – haunted by, and scarred by their pasts, both literally and metaphorically. The plot may seem a little contrived, relying too much on coincidence but to some extent that’s not important – it’s the emotional impact that counts and this story has that in abundance. It’s a dark fable (interestingly, written partly as a way to escape a year’s creative block) and although I felt a few paragraphs at the end which diluted the story’s impact could have been trimmed this remains a disturbing, angry piece of writing.

Disturbing is the right word to describe the imagery in Steve Rasnic Tem’s The Night Doctor with its generation-spanning harbinger of death. A figure whose appearance put me in mind of a seventeenth century plague doctor, it’s a brilliant creation – scary enough as a childhood bogeyman but even scarier when it’s adults who see it…

Quite what Robert Shearman’s Carry Within Some Small Sliver of Me is actually about is, frankly, beyond me. To call it surreal would be accurate and yet somehow inadequate. It’s… well, Shearmanesque is probably the best way to describe it. There’s startling imagery aplenty in this very grim fairy tale about a Girl called Beverley who’s a bit of a monster.

The “weird tales with SL in their title” tradition continues with Tom Fletcher’s Slape – a strange word with all sorts of connotations, the meaning of which is explained by a character called (fittingly) Eels. It’s a tale of milkmen that’s far from everyday and embodies that strange other-worldly sense of dislocation felt during pre-dawn hours. It’s an odd little piece which drops in hints and clues about a particular customer on the round who may, or may not be slightly sinister… Odd and confusing yes – but therein lie its strengths.

Weird Tale with SL in its title number three is Stephen Laws’ The Slista – another strange title conjuring up pictures of some weird creature, slimy and evil. Which isn’t that far from the truth as you’ll discover reading this gem of a story. To say the narrator has a distinctive voice is to understate the case dramatically as the story is told in the pidgin English of one of a “family under the stairs” characters, relaying a significant event in which changes are afoot for the strange brood. It’s a Marmite story to be sure and I had to read it twice for the full effect to sink in. I loved it though, especially the way so much of the bigger story – of which this is a vignette – is portrayed through what’s being said.

The book ends with two stories of the highest quality. The penultimate tale is Nicholas Royle’s This Video Does Not Exist. The best horror fiction disturbs and unsettles the reader and that’s precisely what this story does. It begins almost comically with the first person narrator, an un-named university lecturer, discovering that he can’t see his head in his reflection in the mirror. The story has a touch of the surreal in these opening scenes as he desperately tries to determine whether what he is seeing (or not seeing, as the case may be) is real. Things take a turn however with the introduction of a news story about a gruesome murder in London and then become darker still when an internet search for videos takes the narrator – and reader – to some places they really don’t want to go. It’s (as expected, given the author) an enigmatic and beguiling tale but one whose imagery and overall feel will leave you shaken.

The collection is rounded off by Newspaper Heart from Stephen Volk, author of one of Spectral’s biggest successes, the critically acclaimed Whitstable. This is a novella too but it’s a tale so well told you’ll want to read it in one sitting. A plethora of cultural references place the story in the 1970’s – specifically the weeks leading up to Bonfire Night and revolves around a lonely boy’s construction of a guy. As time goes on, a relationship develops between the boy and his surrogate friend…

It’s a wonderful story which explores the dynamics of a dysfunctional family. The characters are perfectly drawn and the author cleverly introduces information and revelations that cast them in ever changing lights. It builds and builds towards the climax and when that climax arrives it’s utterly devastating and will leave you reeling. It’s an astounding piece of writing and a wonderful finale for what is an amazing collection of stories. In his introduction, Mark Morris states his ambition is for “The Spectral Book of Horror Stories to become a watchword for genre excellence”. On this evidence he’s already succeeded, and the release of subsequent volumes is much to be anticipated.

The book is being launched in September at FantasyCon and once it is you'll be able to buy it here.

Killer Serial.

Having played a significant role in re-establishing the chapbook as a viable medium for literature, it’s heartening to see Spectral Press trying their hand at another format – that of the serialised novel – with the publication of Simon Bestwick’s Black Mountain. The serial novel has a long – and distinguished – history with Dickens and Conan-Doyle probably its most famous proponents. I’m old enough to remember – with much anticipation I have to add – the release of the instalments of Stephen King’s The Green Mile which was originally released in this format too.

Given the quality of both the publisher’s and author’s previous work, it was with the same degree of anticipation that I approached this series and with five of the ten episodes now available here it seems an appropriate time to review the ongoing saga of strange and mysterious goings-on centred around the titular Welsh location.

The story begins with The Red Key which introduces us to the narrator, a certain… Simon Bestwick. It’s a nice touch although Simon has admirably resisted the temptation to add a Fargo-esque “This is a True Story.” As a device I guess it’s the literary equivalent of cinema’s “found footage” – a trick that worked well in Blair Witch but which has seen diminishing returns pretty much ever since.

Part One introduces Rob Markland, a friend of Simon’s, now confined to a psychiatric ward, terrified into hiding from the world. What exactly it is that he’s seen and experienced which has had such a profound affect on him is what provides the narrative thrust of the story as - via the discovery of notes and transcripts belonging to Rob himself but also another investigator Russell Ware in whose steps he’d followed – evidence is presented of a history of strange phenomena occurring around the Black Mountain, or Mynydd Du to give its more romantic and atmospheric Welsh name.

The “found footage” technique is built upon as the narrative progresses as much of what is presented to the reader is a series of extracts and transcripts from recordings and notes made by the two investigators. It’s a brave decision to do it this way as there’s always the risk that the opportunity to create atmosphere could be lost but it’s an unfounded fear as the passages are so well written that the character of the interviewees – and their emotions – are conveyed perfectly to the reader. I even found myself shivering at some of the footnotes and comments (supposedly) written by the investigators themselves.

It’s a complex structure, in effect a story within a story within a story, and there’s plenty going on with suggestions of devil worship, strange glowing lights in the woods and shape-shifting monsters thrown in for good measure. In a way, the serial structure benefits this, each story is full to the brim with incident and further revelations – possibly too much to take in were the novel to be read in its entirety at one go. Having a chance to pause between episodes allows assimilation of what’s just happened, what the new plot developments are and – most importantly – leaves you wanting the next episode to come along to find out what’s going to happen next.

In these days of instant gratification and binge TV watching courtesy of box sets and online streaming, it’s refreshing to return to a more sedate form of entertainment. Some things are worth waiting for (it could be argued that all the best things are…) Black Mountain is a bold venture but one which in my opinion is paying off wonderfully. Although only available electronically, the production values we’ve come to associate with Spectral Press are still apparent, not least in the wonderful cover designs by Neil Williams. Above all it’s the writing that makes this serial adaptation so worthwhile and the style and substance Simon has brought to all his previous work is here in abundance. The dialogue (both internal and external) which has so far carried the story is pitch perfect and – even though it’s only half way through – Black Mountain is already an atmospheric, intriguing and, most importantly, downright scary piece of writing.

I can’t wait to see what happens next.

Though obviously I will…

A Spectral double bill.

Still Life is the latest novella in the Spectral Visions series published by Spectral Press and is written by Tim Lebbon, who joins ranks with Gary Fry, John Llewellyn Probert and Stephen Volk who have all produced books of the highest quality. It's another beautifully produced book with an amazing cover image by Jim Burns which illustrates key elements form the plot.
And quite a plot it is too. Epic in fact, and it's to Tim Lebbon's credit that he can create the world in which the story takes place, and convey all the detail the reader requires in a format as short as a novella. It's a vignette really, a glimpse into a much bigger story, but it works very effectively indeed.
An invasion by "The Enemy" (and I love the fact that no other detail is given in the book about them) has left a subjugated population, corralled into settlements and living under martial law. One result of the war - and an idea I absolutely loved - is the "Road of Souls", a road made up of the remains of those killed in battle (and illustrated on the cover). It's a great concept and reminiscent of the roads constructed by the Nazis from Jewish headstones in the concentration camps during the second world war. That echoing of concentration camps is also apparent in the description of life in the settlements, most notably in the characters of the "Finks", collaborators very similar to the kapos of the camps.
Where there's subjugation, so there is resistance and it's this that provides the main narrative thrust, centering in on Jenni, whose reluctance to become involved is overcome by - well, that would possibly give too much away, suffice to say that it provides one interpretation of the book's title.
Still Life is an immensely satisfying read and a fine addition to the Spectral Visions stable.

Ghosts is a collection of sixteen stories and one poem from Paul Kane, drawn from his back catalogue and based on the theme of, well, ghosts. The suitably atmospheric cover is by Les Edwards and it is, of course, another beautifully produced book.
It's a strong collection of stories, written in clear, precise prose - there aren't too many stylish flourishes here, this is straightforward story-telling. With so many stories, there's always the risk of it being a hit and miss affair and I did feel that was the case here, with one or two of the stories veering too far into sentimentality. It's difficult in these post-modern times to make a ghost story scary and the tale that probably best achieves this is Homeland which uses the haunted house trope to good effect.
The stand out stories for me were Kindred Spirits and The Suicide Room for the concepts behind them and Wind Chimes which is a nicely atmospheric tale with a twist. A DVD of the short film made form this story is also included.
Dickens provides the starting point for two of the stories in the collection. Humbuggered is an updated version of A Christmas Carol which didn't quite work for me, whereas Signals was my favourite story in the book. The story it references is The Signalman - which just happens to be my favourite Dickens ghost story. (And which is definitely the best of the BBC's adaptations). I was a little apprehensive starting Signals - a high risk of sacrilege and all that - but actually really enjoyed this clever sequel to the original.
Ghosts is the first in Spectral's Collections series and provides a strong start to what will hopefully be a long line to come.

Whitstable.

Whitstable, written by Stephen Volk, is the third novella in the Spectral Visions series published by the consistently wonderful Spectral Press. As with the previous novellas, it's a beautifully produced product, the limited edition hardback a real collector's item.
The story is set in 1971 and is a fictionalised account of an episode in the life of Peter Cushing following the death of his beloved wife Helen. It begins with Cushing a broken man, overwhelmed by grief and the writing in these opening pages is so, so powerful, capturing perfectly the conflicting emotions of a man who has lost the love of his life, his raison d'etre,  unwilling - unable even - to move on with his life. It's beautifully written but heart-breaking, made all the more poignant by the fact that this is the description of a man everyone who reads this book knows, or at least knows of. Everyone will have their own impressions of Peter Cushing and it's a fairly safe bet that the majority will hold him in great esteem, a true gentleman who brought gravitas, dignity even to every part he played. Even at a young age I was aware of this, often using it as a counter-argument to my parents whenever they expressed concerns at the type of film I was watching and so obviously enjoying. "But Peter Cushing's in it," I would reply, "he's a proper actor..."
A chance encounter with a young boy on the beach (Carl Drinkwater, a name with resonances to Carl Bridgewater, another young boy with a tragic childhood in the seventies) provides the catalyst to pull the actor from the decline into which he's fallen. Making the assumption that Cushing is in face Van Helsing in real life, the boy asks him to deal with the "vampire"- his mother's new boyfriend - who "visits at night-time" and "takes his blood" - a naïve interpretation of events that both Cushing and the reader know refers to something much more disturbing.
At one point, Carl says "I can't move. I'm heavy and I've got no life and I don't want to have life anymore." It's almost a perfect summation of how Peter Cushing is himself feeling - and may be the impetus for his decision to help the boy but Stephen Volk skilfully "hides" the words in the middle of a section of dialogue, subtly adding it in without drawing attention to it. It's a masterful piece of writing.
The narrative of the novella then describes the newly galvanised actor's investigation of, and ultimate confrontation with the boy's tormentor, that confrontation occurring first at a market (where Cushing claims the man's sole) and then in a cinema in a cleverly written dialogue set against descriptions of the film playing on screen, Cushing's own The Vampire Lovers.
Whitstable was a joy to read, it's a perfectly pitched character study and Stephen Volk's admiration for the actor shines out from the pages. The period detail is lovingly created and rendered and references to the actor's body of work are plentiful without being a distraction. At times it's unbearably sad - a reference to the Morecambe and Wise show of all things brought a lump to my throat - but ultimately it's an uplifting experience and a fitting tribute to the great man.
As an actor, Peter Cushing battles countless on-screen monsters. This battle with an all too human monster, and his own personal demons, makes Whitstable an instant classic.

The Ghosts of Christmas Past...

Ah yes, Christmas, a time of giving, a time of goodwill to all men, a time of tradition... A dinner of turkey, the giving of presents, the blowing-off of porch roofs... (Okay, the last one may not be a tradition as such but it certainly played a big part in my festivities this time round). Tradition it was though to tell scary stories at this time of year, preferably around a roaring fire with a glass of brandy in hand, a practice whose motivations and origins are discussed by Johnny Mains in the introduction to the latest offering from Dark Musings' favourite publisher Spectral Press, the beautifully produced collection of stories that is The 13 Ghosts of Christmas.
It's a good title for a book (and which sits above a striking bit of cover artwork from Vincent Shaw-Morton which perfectly captures the essence of ghostly yuletide tales) but, if I'm being pedantic, isn't an entirely accurate description of the contents. There are thirteen stories here for sure, but they're not all about ghosts. Is this a problem? Of course not, only the worst of pedants so far up their own fundament would take issue with this. I actually think this a strength of the book, not too long ago I reacquainted myself with the collected stories of both Charles Dickens and M.R. James. I enjoyed the experience immensely but I have to admit that towards the end it was a case of oh, another ghost story... Variety is the spice of life and there's plenty of that in here, all of the highest quality.
The collection is book-ended by two stories that are actually about ghosts. John Costello's An Odd Number at Table opens the collection and ticks another box for the pedants being set, as it is, at Christmas. I liked the story, it's a strong opener for the book, but felt the revelation, when it came, wasn't that much of a revelation and the story's coda I found creepy, but not for the reasons you might expect...
Adrian Tchaikovsky's Lost Soldiers is the final story in the book and is an extremely atmospheric piece which makes good use of its Lincolnshire location (and weather). It's a good story but I felt the slightly jokey style of the narrator detracted a little from the overall scariness of the piece.
The spirit of M.R. James is most apparent in All that is Living by Nicholas Martin but the story felt a little disjointed, changing the character point of view midway through.
The story that most closely adheres to the tradition of the Christmas ghost story is William Meikle's Carnacki: A Cold Christmas in Chelsea. William was one of my "finds" of last year and I enjoyed this reincarnation of William Hope Hodgson's character as much as I did his Dark Melodies collection. It's an atmospheric story, well told, with a nice, traditional feel to it.
All the stories in this collection are of a high quality, there's no filler here - I enjoyed all of them. I fear Richard Farren Barber's Where The Stones Lie may have suffered somewhat by my having just read the latest Spectral chapbook The Way of the Leaves which arrived alongside my copy of 13 Ghosts as there are similarities between the stories. It's a cracking tale though, atmospheric, scary and moving.
The stand-out stories for me were firstly Thana Niveau's And May All your Christmases, a story whose premise is profoundly scary (although non-ghostly!) and which contains a curious typo which somehow escaped the ominous squint of Mr Marshall Jones.
Gary McMahon's Ritualism is another great piece of writing from the ever-consistent King of Bleak. Again, it's not a ghost story but is deeply scary nonetheless, creating a new urban myth and confirming everyone's worst fears about gangs of kids hanging around on street corners.
My favourite story in the collection though is Martin Roberts' Now and Then. It's also the shortest story in there but is stylishly written and structured, sad and scary. It worked for me.
The 13 Ghosts of Christmas is yet another impressive addition to the Spectral back catalogue. Kudos to Simon Marshall Jones for reanimating this tradition (here's hoping bear-baiting and witch hunts aren't next on his list) and I wish him every success with future editions, hopefully it'll be a tradition that continues long into the future.

The Nine Deaths of Dr. Valentine.

I'm often asked "why do you like horror?" Actually, I'm not. Even within my massive circle of friends, neither of them has ever asked me. However, if anyone did ask, I could confidently answer that it's all my grandmother's fault for it was she who introduced me to the world of horror when she bought me, as a Christmas present, Denis Gifford's A Pictorial History of Horror Movies. Quite why she thought this was a suitable gift for a ten year old I'll never know but I'm so glad she made that slightly controversial choice of gift as it did indeed open up a whole new world for me, one I've lived in for the near-on 40 years since. It's a great book and, being a pictorial history, planted many images in my subconscious that have remained there ever since. The book obviously had a similar effect on John Llewellyn Probert - he mentions it in his notes which accompany the hardback edition of the latest Spectral Visions novella from the consistently reliable and impressive Spectral Press. John mentions too the BBC2 horror double bills, another formative experience I share with him, one which introduced me to one of my favourite films of all time Night of the Demon and also one of the worst films I've ever seen, Night of the Lepus - a terrifying tale of giant rabbits that's every bit as crap as it sounds.
All this inane rambling is by way of introduction to the novella itself, which is a loving homage to those glory days of horror when incredibly complicated, highly contrived on-screen deaths were, well, entertaining rather than just gross and exploitative like today's Saw and Final Destination franchises. (Dear God, I feel so old...)
Having read many of John's short stories previously, The Nine Deaths of Dr. Valentine appears to me the perfect book for him to have written, an ideal means of displaying the obvious affection he has for a type of horror that has (sadly, I guess) become relegated to little more than nostalgia. The plot - which cracks along at a fair old pace - revolves around a series of murders in Bristol, investigated by the world-weary DI Jeffery Longdon, a brilliantly drawn character who has all the best lines in a book crammed full of dark humour and who provides just the right amount of grounding for the frankly bizarre events described in the book. The tone of the writing is pitch-perfect, it would have been easy to write a pastiche, take the mickey out of the whole thing (a trap I felt Christoper Fowler's Hell Train, enjoyable as it was, fell in to), but John avoids this with consumate ease. His love of the genre shines through the writing and the whole thing is played "straight" as were the original films, this isn't a post-modern revision. I enjoyed this book as much as I enjoyed the films that inspired it.
The Nine Deaths of Dr. Valentine is another fine addition to the Spectral back catalogue, maintaining absolutely the high standards already set by its other publications. It's the most enjoyable thing I've read in some time. Horror can be fun, there's no shame in admitting that, and if proof were needed of that statement then look no further than this page-turner of a novella. As with all the best stories about deranged killers carrying out incredibly complicated and bizarre murders, the scene is well and truly set for a sequel. Dr Phibes rose again and managed to do so in a way that was more entertaining than his first outing. Here's  hoping that Dr Valentine is similarly inclined...

What Gets Left Behind.

What Gets Left Behind is the latest chapbook from Spectral Press who are consistently publishing some of the best horror around at the moment. High standards have already been set in this series of chapbooks (this is number 7) so the question is whether this new story by Mark West maintains those standards. The answer is a resounding yes, something that will come as no surprise to anyone who's read any of Mark's previous work which I compare favourably to that of Stephen Bacon, sharing as it does a subtle, understated quality, brilliantly capturing the feelings and emotions of the characters within the stories.
What Gets Left Behind tells the story of Mike Bergen who has returned to his home town of Gaffney ostensibly to attend a works conference nearby. The true reasons for his return run much deeper however, Mike is there for closure, to put the ghosts of the past to rest so to speak, after a childhood tragedy.
The middle section of the story recounts those childhood events and demonstrates a great strength of Mark's writing with his ability to paint a truly nostalgic picture of childhood summers which seemed to last for ever, the days when it rained memorable because we had to entertain ourselves indoors...
This section however raises my only criticism of the story, the criticism being that it just wasn't long enough. True, I wanted to wallow in nostalgia a little bit longer but aside from that I felt that this section was a little rushed, cramming a lot of narrative into a short space. This is of course a short story and had to be tailored and edited to fit the chapbook format. I do feel though that the story does deserve a longer treatment, the events in the Gaffney of the 1980's would definitely benefit from another visit, the "Rainy Day Abductor" (whose activities impact on Mike's own tragedy) is a character whose story could definitely be expanded on. Gary McMahon is currently turning his Spectral entry What They Hear In The Dark into a longer format, I'd love to see Mark do the same with What Get's Left Behind.
What gets left behind in this case is guilt, the guilt that Mike feels over what happened to his best friend all those summers ago. "You can't go home again" so says Thomas Wolfe, and in Mike's case these are wise words that he should have heeded. Fortunately for the reader he doesn't, allowing a climax that is just ambiguous enough to raise the question of whether it is truly a supernatural tour de force or simply guilt and memories combining in a terrifying psychological cocktail. Either way, it's brilliant.
What Gets Left Behind is another great piece of writing from Mark West and another (absolutely standard maintaining) quality production from Spectral.

Jolly Good Chaps...

There I was, all ready to post up a piece about how chapbooks are the saviours of horror fiction when someone else goes and does it before me. This piece on the excellent This is Horror website pretty much sums up my feelings about the current crop of high quality chapbooks available to all discerning readers of horror fiction. (And I wholeheartedly agree with the point that they're the perfect length to be enjoyed on a commute to work). This is Horror have started their own line of chapbooks to which I've eagerly subscribed, and if they're all of the same quality as the first - Joe and Me by David Moody, then it's a decision well made.

I haven't read anything by David prior to this but Joe and Me has certainly whetted my appetite for more. It's a slow burner of a story, a first-person narration from Si, the "me" of the title, about his relationship with wife Gill and 8 year old son Joe. Si is a house-husband, Gill is a research scientist, developing an airborne vaccination against potential biological weapons. When the military take over the research it's clear that things are going to go badly - and so it proves.
This is a cleverly written story, apocalyptic but small scale at the same time, focussing on the family unit. The characters are all well drawn and entirely believable so that when the story reaches its conclusion, and a choice has to be made which will have profound effects not just for the family but the whole world, the decision arrived at is entirely believable too - and incredibly dramatic.
This is a great start to the This is Horror chapbooks and I look forward to the next issue in the subscription. That's going to be Thin Men With Yellow Faces by Gary McMahon and Simon Bestwick - which is pretty much my definition of a dream team.
The second chapbook I had the pleasure of reading on the train this week was The Eyes of Water by Alison Littlewood, the latest publication from Spectral Press. As with all the other publications from Spectral, this is a classy piece of writing. Subtle and understated, it delivers its horrors slowly and atmospherically.
Set in the Yucatan Peninsula in Mexico, it tells of traveller Alex who and his old friend Rick - a diver who has been exploring the cenotes, flooded underground caves. When Rick's body is found with horrific - though somewhat inexplicable - injuries, Alex is called on to identify the remains by Rick's sister, an act which leads him to explore the circumstances surrounding his friend's death.
This exploration leads Alex into the flooded caves himself where he discovers... Well, that would be giving away too much, suffice to say that, like Joe and Me, a decision has to be made at the end of this story too which will have profound consequences...
The Eyes of Water is beautifully written, evoking a wonderful sense of atmosphere and creating well drawn characters. It's another quality production from Spectral and more than maintains the high standard already achieved.
Next up for Spectral is What Gets Left Behind by Mark West, pretty much a cast-iron guarantee that those standards are going to be maintained prospectively.
Can't wait.

The Respectable Face of Tyranny.

The Respectable Face of Tyranny is the first of the Spectral Visions line of novellas published by the consistently brilliant Spectral Press. It's by Gary Fry whose Abolisher of Roses was the second of the Spectral Press chapbooks. It has to be said that this is another beautifully produced book and it's great to see the care and attention lavished on the chapbooks has been applied to this new range. I have the limited edition hardback but I'm guessing the paperback version is equally impressive.
The front cover is a stunning photograph of Saltwick Bay, the location for the novella, on the North East coast of England near Whitby. The picture is hauntingly evocative and so too are Gary's descriptions of it in the book itself. The plot concerns Josh, reeling from a divorce and personally affected by the Global Recession facing the prospect of living in a caravan near the bay with his teenage daughter Sally.
Actually the plot concerns a lot more than that. The driving theme behind it is the aforementioned recession, here transformed into cosmic horror, presented as an event devastating as the extinction of the dinosaurs, World War Two. You may think the recession was caused by a load of complete bankers. You'd be wrong. In a book dripping with metaphors, mankind is here presented as little more than fleas on a dog's back, its fate determined by forces way beyond its control or comprehension.
Thematically, the novella is similar to Gary's earlier novel Fearful Festivities. I enjoyed this a lot more though as I thought the novel was a wee bit too heavy handed with the metaphors, seemed overly concerned with hammering home its messages about greed, envy and consumerism gone mad. This has a better ending too.
The Respectable Face of Tyranny is quality in every sense of the word. The book itself is a thing of beauty and the story works well as a rattlingly good cosmic horror and a thought-provoking commentary on society. It's another great product from Spectral and I look forward to further editions. What's more, it contains the word Quotidian not once, but twice. Now that's not something you see every day.

Rough Music.

Rough Music is the latest chapbook from the consistently brilliant Spectral Press, another high quality offering from the workshops of Simon Marshall-Jones and is the creation of Simon Kurt Unsworth. Quiet Houses was one of my favourite books of last year so it was with a great deal of anticipation that I waited for this to drop through my letterbox.
The story involves Cornish, a man with a guilty secret, one which is threatening to destroy his marriage. His sleep is disturbed by the appearance, in the middle of the night, of a strange figure a wearing papier-mache mask and banging a pan with a spoon. (Creating the rough music of the title).
That's quite a surreal image but one which - in the hands of a brilliant writer like Simon Kurt Unsworth - manges to be entirely disturbing. As the story progresses, the figure is joined by others, similarly masked, who join in the "music" and then begin acting, and interacting, in increasingly bizarre and disturbing ways.
The figures are of course manifestations of the turmoil in Cornish's mind. Guilt is a terrible burden, it takes over every thought process, a constant presence that nags away in the background, influencing emotions and actions, destroying relationships and the author brilliantly captures the mental breakdown of the protagonist, the surreality of the nightly shows a metaphor for his inner turmoil. The demons in his head made flesh...
It's a marvellous character study, written in crisp, clear prose but it's also a deeply unsettling tale. The imagery created really is disturbing (the story references Frank Sidebottom and I have to admit this is the image I had in my head when I first read about Cornish's nocturnal visitors - I always found Frank a bit creepy, and this story mined those concerns).
I've spent a lot of time recently reading "psychological" horror stories in preparation for the Darker Minds anthology so it's a tribute to this story that I enjoyed it so much after so many stories sharing a similar theme.
Rough Music is a classy piece of writing and another fine contribution to the Spectral Press back catalogue, maintaining the high standards set by the previous publicatiions.

Nowhere Hall.

"Ache Ron, do you... AcheRon." Words that mysteriously appear on a mirror of the Vestibule Hotel, and words that hold the key as to what lies at the heart of Cate Gardner's Nowhere Hall.
This is the third in the series of chapbooks produced by Spectral Press - high quality publications featuring the work of the best names currently working in dark fiction.
Following stories from Gary McMahon and Gary Fry - both of which I enjoyed very much - Nowhere Hall tells the story of Ron Spence who, at the beginning of the story is hell-bent (or Hell-bound..?) on committing suicide by stepping out into traffic. A change of heart leads him to instead enter the Vestibule Hotel wherein awaits a host of bizarre experiences and flashes of his past life.
Ron is confused by what's happening around him and so too is the reader - but in a good way! There's a lot of symbolism here - much of it, I have to say, lost on me - but that doesn't detract from the enjoyment of the story.  Just go with the flow and let the imagery wash over you and you'll have a great time reading this. 
What's it all about?  You'll have to judge for yourself but the word-play I quoted at the start of this review provides the answers in my head.
It's a beautifully written piece and absolutely maintains the high standards already set by Spectral Press's previous publications.  I'd obviously recommend it but to do so would be academic as all copies have already sold out. It's great to see horror so well served by a publisher with such high stanards of quality. Continued success seems assured for Spectral - which is great news indeed.