Conjure House.

Conjure House is the latest novel from Gary Fry and is published by Dark Fuse Publishing. The striking cover art hints at what lies within, suggesting another venture into Cosmic Horror and indeed that's exactly what the reader will get with a tale of ancient horrors resurfacing in the present day.
There's a lot more to it than that though, a whole lot more. As well as being on one level a thoroughly enjoyable horror story, with some well constructed set pieces, Conjure House is also an exploration of some fairly weighty topics; the nature of perception, the pursuit of omniscience and whether it's science or art, intellect or emotion, the head or the heart that best allows an understanding of the universe we live in, of what we are - of why we are.
Deep stuff indeed and fitting that the small village in which the story unfolds is called Deepvale. (On the subject of names, I have to admit to getting quite excited at reading a novel where the main character shares my christian name (I need to get out more, I know) but some of the gloss wore off when I realised that "Anthony" was probably chosen in order to be shortened to "Ant" - with all the insignificance that variation carries with it). The theme of perception is probably the strongest to run through the book, a new twist on the story of the four blind men describing an elephant giving rise to imagery and symbolism that becomes increasingly significant as the story progresses.
The four main protagonists are nicely drawn characters but in reality they are little more than devices to explore the science v art debate, being a psychologist, a musician, an artist and a writer. This isn't a problem once you accept what their role in developing the narrative is, that narrative being more of a fable rather than an attempt at gritty realism. Gary has a very distinctive voice, easily identifiable. It's cerebral, intellectual - (and any of the other words my thesaurus has listed against "scholarly") - and sometimes I've had problems with that, not because I don't understand some of the longer words - even though that has been known to happen - but rather when it seeps into the voices and thoughts of the characters in the story. This does happen on occasion within Conjure House but the narrative flows along at such a rate that it's a minor quibble. (Another minor quibble, but one that took me out of the story is that Lisa, the writer, a writer of horror screenplays, doesn't recognise the word Cthulhu. I rationalised this away by assuming that within the novel Cosmic Horror was a reality and therefore the fiction of, say, Lovecraft didn't exist (much like characters in soap operas don't watch soap operas) but that's not the case as Paul, the musician, has appropriated the name for his band. As I say though, a minor quibble).
The psychology theory in no way overwhelms or distracts from the narrative though, in fact blends in to it perfectly, enhancing it to produce a quality piece of writing that will stimulate both emotion and intellect. It's a rare skill to be able to combine the two but Gary has it in abundance. I enjoyed Conjure House very much and it definitely gets an opposable thumbs-up from me.

North American Lake Monsters.

It's always a joy to come across an author whose work you haven't come across before and be blown away by the quality of what you read. Such was the case last year when I read Nathan Ballingrud's novella Wild Acre in the Gary McMahon edited Visions Fading Fast. That story was one of my best reading experiences of that particular year so it was with much anticipation that I began reading his latest collection of stories, North American Lake Monsters which is published by Small Beer Press.
Wild Acre is one of the nine stories making up this collection, all of which are as impressive - if not more so - than that particular tale of a man under pressure undergoing a transformation, a theme that echoes throughout all of these stories. There's redemption to be found here, but not always, but in most of the stories the characters undergo an epiphany of sorts, usually as a result of some kind of interaction with - for want of a better phrase - supernatural forces.
And therein lies one of the strengths of Nathan Ballingrud's writing. The supernatural elements are woven into the narrative effortlessly. They never appear tagged on, their presence in the stories appearing perfectly natural, part of the plot rather than the key device around which everything hangs. There are real monsters in these stories, and yes, the unholy trinity of vampire, werewolf and zombie all appear but in ways that are subtle and understated and which enhance rather than exploit the mythologies built up around them.
The true horror in these stories lie within the protagonists and, in more than one case, the lives they lead. These are broken people in broken relationships and are all expertly drawn characters. The dialogue is perfect, often short and terse but conveying a wealth of character in only a few words. There's an element of sadness and despair in most of the stories and the conclusions are often abrupt and ambiguous. There are those who will complain at this, those who like everything neatly resolved and tied up come the story's end. I'm not one of those people so I loved all of them.
North American Lake Monsters is a stunning collection of stories. Intelligent, literary writing that uses horror in a profound way, examining and exposing the darkness that lies within us all.

The Condemned.

The Condemned is a collection of six novellas by Simon Bestwick and is published by Gray Friar Press. These aren't new stories - the oldest dates back to 2001 and the most recent is from 2010 - but they were all new to me and, given my admiration of Simon's other work, it was a collection I was very much looking forward to reading.
World War One is a bit of a fixation for me so you can imagine my delight at discovering the first of the stories, Dark Earth, used those events as its backdrop, a first person narration by Private Bill Sadler, giving testimony at his court martial for murder, mutiny and desertion (thereby the most literal of the "condemned" in this collection). The story doesn't hold back on its descriptions of the horrors of war (the concept of battlefields being made up mainly of human remains a particularly chilling one) and benefits from the use of first person - and the unreliability frequently associated with it - to present an alternative explanation as to why the madness was perpetuated. It's a barn-storming start to the collection with strongly drawn characters which manages to be thought-provoking amidst the blood and guts.
There's a change of tone in the second story The Narrows which tells of a small group of survivors escaping a nuclear blast by entering an underground canal system. Unlike the visceral horrors of the first story, this is more a psychological horror, expertly creating a palpable sense of claustrophobia as the group travel deeper and deeper into the underground darkness. It's unremittingly bleak and utterly encapsulates the feeling of despair felt by its protagonists, a story that slowly chips away at the reader, drawing them into the nightmare unfolding before them.
A Kiss of Old Thorns comes as some (relatively) light relief after the intensity of the first two stories, employing the trope of Arcane Ritual To Defend Against Ancient Evil to good effect, the arrival of an escaping gang of bank robbers disrupting the world of this story's guardian - to devastating effect. It's probably the most conventional horror story of the collection.
The Model returns to more psychological themes but has a wonderful creation in Ken, a shadowy figure who employs life models but who takes much more than just sketches from them. It's an atmospheric tale, hinting at its horrors rather than explicitly showing them.
And then there's The School House, the highlight of the collection for me and up there amongst the best stories I've ever read. Reading this story is like having a waking nightmare; it's full of disturbing images - and acts - and moves seamlessly between past and present, dreams and reality in a confusing, overwhelming and utterly terrifying way. In his story notes, Simon explains his attempts to "evoke the feel of someone going out of his mind as intensely as possible". He has succeeded admirably in this - The School House is one of the most powerful stories I've read and is a wonderful piece of writing.
The Condemned is - given the author - fairly free from political statement. There's comment on the futility of war in Dark Earth of course, and it's no coincidence I'm sure that the protagonists in many of the stories are homosexual, "condemned" not in their own eyes but by the attitudes of others. The last story in the collection however, Sleep Now in the Fire, grabs hold of political metaphor and symbology and has a whale of a time with them. The demonisation of the inhabitants of sink estates takes on a more literal meaning within this tale and I smiled when I saw that the "monsters" here were called BLUEboys and that the weapon used to combat them them were red stars (along with a socialist concept of co-operation and revolution). Not as much as I laughed when the location of the source of the evil was discovered mind you... There's even a nice little dig at religion. It's a rollercoaster ride of a story with its tongue firmly planted in its cheek and makes an entertaining conclusion to an excellent collection of stories.
I heartily recommend The Condemned, horror writing at its best.

The Unspoken.

Cancer plays a big part in my life given that I work in a pathology laboratory where the principal work is in the diagnosis of this horrible disease. I must have read mountains of literature about it, and spend most of my day looking down a microscope trying to identify it so was intrigued to see this new collection of short stories edited by William Meikle which is subtitled An Anthology for Cancer Relief. It contains seventeen stories and all profits will be going to the Beatson Cancer Research Institute, a laudable aim, and - given the quality of the writing on display here - will hopefully be hugely successful.
Many of the stories within The Unspoken use the theme of cancer as their basis, either overtly or indirectly whilst others have no link to it at all (or are so tenuous that I missed them completely). Notable amongst these is Harbinger by Stephen Laws, an enigmatic, ambiguous tale that I loved precisely for those reasons. It was great to see something new from Stephen (although I'm not sure when the story was written) who was - is - a bit of a hero of mine, having written some brilliant novels set in his - and my -home region, and who probably didn't get the recognition he really deserved.
The theme of the desperation of being diagnosed with cancer leading to Faustian deals is explored in ascending order of success by Stephen James Price's Pages of Promises, Anna Taborska's Underbelly and, in my opinion the best of the three Stevens Savile and Lockley's The Last Gift.
There are contributions too from the editor- The Unfinished Basement - which I'd encountered previously in his wonderful Dark Melodies and the publisher, Johnny Mains with another story I'd read before in his collection Frightfully Cosy and Mild Stories for Nervous Types, with The Cure - a truly disturbing story that was the highlight of that collection for me and which still has the power to shock even on second reading.
David A Riley provides a blood-soaked slice of fantasy in A Girl, A Toad and a Flask whilst John Shirley gives us the board meeting from Hell (aren't they all..?) in Where the Market's Hottest.
The two stand-out stories for me were ones where the theme of cancer was used most tangentially, Gary McMahon's Bitter Soup highlights the decay and necrosis associated with the disease in a harrowing tale full of disturbing imagery and Simon Kurt Unsworth's Photograph's of Boden, a psychological horror that plays on the theme of the inexorable spread of a life-changing, life-threatening process.
The Unspoken is an excellent collection of stories covering a wide range of styles. Given that cancer is derived from the Greek word for crab, it's only fitting that Guy N Smith has a story in here too. You can buy it here and here and I thoroughly recommend that you do.

Let's Drink to the Dead.

In much the same way as The Sisters of Mercy spawned The Mission and err... Ghost Dance, so Simon Bestwick's novel The Faceless has given rise to this collection of three short stories  set in the town of Kempforth and featuring some of the characters from the book which was my choice as best novel of 2012.
There's a twist in the tales though as they're all set in the eighties, long before the contemporary events described in the novel. It's a ploy that works extremely well, not only establishing the history - the dark history - of the town but adding insight to the characters themselves, describing events that moulded and formed them, adding depth.
This is most effective in the opening story, The Sight, a story that's about as dark as it can get telling of the childhood horrors experienced by Alan and Vera, a tale of abuse and the abused which is unremittingly disturbing. It reminded me a lot of Joe Lansdale's Night They Missed the Horror Show, a story in which a dead dog being tied to the back of a car is the least horrible thing to happen in it. It's the strongest of the three stories and a powerful start to the collection.
The second story Gideon is the least effective of the three, using the trope of Hitch-hiker Given Sanctuary By Creepy Stranger to allow an exposition-heavy account of the history of Ash Fell in the post war years. It covers a lot of ground already explored in the novel but despite this is a nicely constructed, creepy story with some disturbing imagery.
How Briefly Dead Children Dream is the final story, the longest of the three, and tells of a battle between "The Shrike" - a wonderful creation, fusing human and supernatural evil - and two elderly residents of Kempforth over the souls (and bodies...) of two children. It's a thrilling end to the collection and even manages some moments of poignancy amidst the mayhem and horror.
It's not vital to have read The Faceless to appreciate these stories but I would recommend that you should read the novel before delving into them. (I'd recommend it anyway because it's a brilliant book). I'm not sure if they were written prior to, during or after the novel but they're a wonderful companion piece to it.
Disturbing and horrifying, Let's Drink to the Dead is another brilliant piece of writing from Simon Bestwick. Buy it you should, and you can do that here.

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.

Shadows and Tall Trees 5.

Shadows & Tall Trees 5 is the latest edition of the literary horror journal from Michael Kelly’s Undertow Books.It so happens that it’s the last time it will appear in this particular incarnation, as from here on in, the stories will be published as a yearly trade paperback. That’s a shame in one respect given that the publication will be less frequent but, given that it’s quality – not quantity – that really counts, it’s not that big a hardship as the stories Michael collects are consistently of the highest quality.

Issue 5 which, like issue 3 has glorious cover art from Eric Lacombe, maintains that high standard of quality with aplomb, containing eight wonderful stories and, in a development I’m very happy to see, a non-fiction essay on Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s The Yellow Wallpaper by V.H. Leslie whose Senbazuru was one of the highlights of Issue 4.

The fiction gets off to a cracking start with Gary Fry’s New Wave, a story of startling imagery and dark secrets that perfectly balances reason and logic against supernatural terror to create the right amount of ambiguity in a haunting tale with a killer last line.

Casting Ammonites by Claire Massey is the shortest story in the collection but was another of my favourites, its short length actually a bonus in that I read it and then re-read it pretty much straight away, trying to interpret what this labyrinthine, enigmatic tale was all about. I’m still not sure I have, but therein lies its true pleasure.

Next up is A Cavern of Redbrick by Richard Gavin which was the highlight of the issue for me for its wonderful writing and the way it subtly, by suggestion and implication, uncovers a dark secret from the past.

The narrative voice in D.P. Watt’s Laudate Dominum was a little too didactic for my taste although a necessary device given the story’s protagonist whilst Moonstruck by Karen Tidbeck provides a heady mix of lunacy – in its most literal sense – and menstrual angst in an (almost) apocalyptic fable.

Ray Cluley has fun with a horror cliché – the hiker wandering into a lonely pub and hearing the locals telling scary stories – and I did too reading Whispers in the Mist, a story that plays with the reader’s expectations right up until the very end.

The Other Boy by Daniel Mills is another beautifully written ghost story where childhood tragedy haunts the present day and Widdershins by Lynda E. Rucker completes the collection with a story that uses another classic horror trope of the newcomer/outsider uncovering dark secrets, doing so in a most effective way.

Michael Kelly has once again demonstrated his unerring skill in selecting stories of the highest quality for Shadows & Tall Trees, stories that stimulate both intellect and emotion. Issue 5 may mark a farewell to the current format but I’m confident that the high standards already achieved will be maintained in the new annual collection. The new volumes are promised to be “bigger and better” – I can’t wait to find out.

You can buy Shadows & Tall Trees  here or, if you prefer, here or even here.