http://www.rileybooks.co.uk/home/riley.jpg
Here we have something a bit more reminiscent of works that would later come from Ramsey Campbell and Thomas Ligotti, to the point where maybe this story influenced them down the line.
Ian Redfern is a bookish young man, living from paycheck to paycheck, trying to save up enough money for a car. One rainy night, on his way home from the library, he runs into a group of suspicious-looking young thugs. His immediate instinct is to cross the street and get away from them before they notice him. But the more “sensible” part of his brain ignores this, mostly because he can’t think of a reason why they would bother him.
Perhaps this is the scariest part of the story. Who hasn’t walked down a strange city street to see a group of people that just don’t seem right? Who hasn’t felt that urge to just get away from any possible situation, even though the chances are good that nothing is going to happen? Nine times out of ten, nothing does. No conflict arises.
Unfortunately for Ian, this is that tenth time. As soon as they spot him, they surround him and start roughing him up. Through sheer luck, Ian manages to clip one of them a good one, and he escapes. However, that’s not good enough, as they are giving hot pursuit. He even hears them shouting about how they’re going to split up and outflank him so he can’t get away.
He tries to give them the slip in a graveyard, and once on the other side, he tries to sneak into a building to hide. However, when he stumbles into a room and discovers there is no floor, he plummets into a pit, where he finds himself surrounded by creatures. Unspeakable creatures.
This is where the story falters a bit. Everything up to that point is terrifying, mostly because it can actually happen and has, many times, to the point where it could be identified as common. Once the monsters show up, the tale becomes cheesy.
SPOILER ALERT: Ian manages to climb out of the pit before he can be killed, and this is when he runs smack-dab into the thugs who have been chasing him. He tries to explain the situation to them, trying to say that they need to kill the monsters because they’re evil. The leader responds by asking why he should, as they haven’t done him and his crew any harm. After a struggle, the thugs push Ian back into the pit, as it seems that they have kind of a relationship with the beasts, and Ian is torn to pieces. END OF SPOILERS.
This is another one of those you-should-stop-reading-at-this-point stories. After the graveyard, don’t bother. You’ll only be disappointed.
[This story first appeared in THE ELEVENTH PAN BOOK OF HORROR STORIES, and it cannot be read online at this time.]
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Friday, July 6, 2012
THE CENTURY'S BEST HORROR FICTION #69: A review of "The Last Work of Pietro of Apono" by Steffan B. Aletti
It’s pretty easy to see why Pelan chose this story for the anthology, but it is sadly kind of a blah story. It’s one of those careful-what-you-learn stories which doesn’t really seem to have much of a point.
The unnamed narrator starts out by telling us about his obsession with a 13th Century scientist by the name of Pietro (or Peter) of Apono. Due to a misunderstanding, it is determined that the poor fellow is a sorcerer, and the Inquisition tortures him to death. They didn’t mean to kill him, as they were looking forward to an execution, so they decided to dig him up and burn his corpse in public. However, a family friend beat them to the punch and had him reburied in the family vault.
No one else knows this. Our narrator wouldn’t even know it if not for the fact that he’s a descendant of the friend, and in some private papers, he discovered this fact. The narrator decides to hunt down the bones, but when he does, he gets freaked out by the skull, which looks like it’s still in horror and pain. He does, however, find a scroll in the coffin, which he takes with him.
He then finds out that the Inquisition wasn’t that far off. Pietro was indeed a sorcerer, but not the bad kind. He just wanted to know more about the world, and he was able to ward off some of the evil with a few white magic tricks. This last one, however, kicks the shit out of him. The scientist translates something called the GLORIAE CRUORIS by Serpencis, which leads to all sorts of bad things.
Unfortunately, by studying this scroll, the narrator turns loose some evil on himself in pure classic form. The problem is, this story is a dime-a-dozen in the genre. Hell, even that’s a bit steep. Maybe a dime-a-gross. SPOILER ALERT: Guess how this story ends. For those born yesterday, here is the result of the narrator’s accidental meddling: he sees horrible visions. He can’t sleep or eat anymore. He spends most of his time resisting blasphemous impulses.
In typical fashion, he burns the scroll and warns anyone who might find the actual text of the GLORIAE CRUORIS to ignore its teachings. Then, naturally, he says he’s going to poison himself to end the horror. The end. END OF SPOILERS.
Yeah, nothing special here. Move along. Nothing to see.
[This story first appeared in THE MAGAZINE OF HORROR and cannot be read online at this time.]
The unnamed narrator starts out by telling us about his obsession with a 13th Century scientist by the name of Pietro (or Peter) of Apono. Due to a misunderstanding, it is determined that the poor fellow is a sorcerer, and the Inquisition tortures him to death. They didn’t mean to kill him, as they were looking forward to an execution, so they decided to dig him up and burn his corpse in public. However, a family friend beat them to the punch and had him reburied in the family vault.
No one else knows this. Our narrator wouldn’t even know it if not for the fact that he’s a descendant of the friend, and in some private papers, he discovered this fact. The narrator decides to hunt down the bones, but when he does, he gets freaked out by the skull, which looks like it’s still in horror and pain. He does, however, find a scroll in the coffin, which he takes with him.
He then finds out that the Inquisition wasn’t that far off. Pietro was indeed a sorcerer, but not the bad kind. He just wanted to know more about the world, and he was able to ward off some of the evil with a few white magic tricks. This last one, however, kicks the shit out of him. The scientist translates something called the GLORIAE CRUORIS by Serpencis, which leads to all sorts of bad things.
Unfortunately, by studying this scroll, the narrator turns loose some evil on himself in pure classic form. The problem is, this story is a dime-a-dozen in the genre. Hell, even that’s a bit steep. Maybe a dime-a-gross. SPOILER ALERT: Guess how this story ends. For those born yesterday, here is the result of the narrator’s accidental meddling: he sees horrible visions. He can’t sleep or eat anymore. He spends most of his time resisting blasphemous impulses.
In typical fashion, he burns the scroll and warns anyone who might find the actual text of the GLORIAE CRUORIS to ignore its teachings. Then, naturally, he says he’s going to poison himself to end the horror. The end. END OF SPOILERS.
Yeah, nothing special here. Move along. Nothing to see.
[This story first appeared in THE MAGAZINE OF HORROR and cannot be read online at this time.]
Thursday, July 5, 2012
WE INTERRUPT THIS BROADCAST TO BRING YOU THIS NOTE FROM MY GRANDFATHER
For some reason, this cracks the shit out of me. I can't help but bring this to the attention of the world.
On Sunday, I realized that I'd run low on whiskey, and I knew I wouldn't have time to get more because I was working my 12-hour shift, and all the liquor stores would be closed by the time I got home. I gave my grandfather a $20 and asked him to get a handle of Ten High for me.
When I returned, I discovered a handle of Jim Beam with a note next to it. It reads as follows, edited only for spelling with the underlined words in caps:
"Got you Jim Beam instead of Ten Hgih. Ten High is ROTGUT and your system requires a BETTER GRADE OF WHISKEY. So only buy Jim Beam OR BETTER from now on."
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! He's got a pretty good point. Ten High is crap, but it does get the job done. So does Sterno, though.
On Sunday, I realized that I'd run low on whiskey, and I knew I wouldn't have time to get more because I was working my 12-hour shift, and all the liquor stores would be closed by the time I got home. I gave my grandfather a $20 and asked him to get a handle of Ten High for me.
When I returned, I discovered a handle of Jim Beam with a note next to it. It reads as follows, edited only for spelling with the underlined words in caps:
"Got you Jim Beam instead of Ten Hgih. Ten High is ROTGUT and your system requires a BETTER GRADE OF WHISKEY. So only buy Jim Beam OR BETTER from now on."
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! He's got a pretty good point. Ten High is crap, but it does get the job done. So does Sterno, though.
THE CENTURY'S BEST HORROR FICTION #68: A review of "Come" by Anna Hunger
While there are many progressive works in this anthology so far, this is the first that can truly be considered modern, meaning, something that someone today could write. It’s a shame that Hunger fumbles in the execution a bit.
Adam Stark is every woman’s fantasy. He’s a perfect specimen of masculinity, but it also happens that he’s a con man. He’s been everywhere, fucked everyone, and has had a wealth of experiences in life. The problem is, he’s starting to age. Not so badly that it’s noticeable, but he knows that very soon, he’s going to start losing his beauty, which is his main asset when it comes to separating wealthy young women from their money.
When you get right down to it, this is the story of every uncommon man. The hustling stuff is almost incidental. To anyone who has thought differently than what society has dictated, what Stark thinks about are common ideas. He doesn’t want to be tied down because he really enjoys what he does. He doesn’t want to be weighed down by a wife and kids, the house-with-a-picket-fence, and all of that stuff. Yet now that he’s growing old, he recognizes the importance of these things. As far as he’s concerned, women are good for one thing only: fucking. Well, that and taking care of you when you’re sick. But now that he’s looking old age head-on, he’s starting to think now’s the time to settle down, if only so he can get someone to care for him when his health is failing.
But as St. Augustine said about celibacy, Stark wishes for the regular life . . . BUT NOT YET! At the same time, he finds himself with his most recent victim, who he’s seriously considering turning into his wife. However, after he misspeaks during a conversation, she turns him away and never wants to see him again. This is very unusual for him, since he’s never been rejected before. He loses his shit. He doesn’t want this to be the end. But he drives away at the end of the night, feeling heartbroken and alone.
In all honesty, if Hunger had stopped there, her story would have been amazing. It wouldn’t be horror, but that’s all right. But she has to add her odd touch to this story. SPOILER ALERT: Stark does more than lose it; he loses himself. As he drives away, he finds that he’s a prisoner of his car. That kind of sums him up, though, when you think about it. He enjoys the free life of going wherever he wants, and what better way than to be trapped in a car, traveling the highways of America forever? He keeps seeing exits, and he keeps wondering, is there an exit for him?
Nope. There isn’t. Hunger follows this up with an unnecessary epilogue involving Stark’s best friend (inasmuch as a con man can have a friend) and his lost love. The way it looks here, this conclusion of a perpetually trapped, driving Stark seems pretty cool here, but in Hunger’s execution? It leaves a lot to be desired. It seems too forced. END OF SPOILERS.
Where Hunger really shines is the way she gets her point across. She uses sentence fragments for purposes of tone, which is what a lot of writers do now. Even though such a thing should be jarring, her prose flows perfectly. This kind of practice technically started with the Modern writers, like Faulkner, but to the best of memory, this is the first time it has showed up in genre fiction.
Is this story worth the read? It’s hard to say. Ultimately, it probably is. After Stark leaves his intended “love,” however, it might be best to abstain from the rest.
[This story first appeared in THE MAGAZINE OF HORROR and cannot be read online at this time.]
Adam Stark is every woman’s fantasy. He’s a perfect specimen of masculinity, but it also happens that he’s a con man. He’s been everywhere, fucked everyone, and has had a wealth of experiences in life. The problem is, he’s starting to age. Not so badly that it’s noticeable, but he knows that very soon, he’s going to start losing his beauty, which is his main asset when it comes to separating wealthy young women from their money.
When you get right down to it, this is the story of every uncommon man. The hustling stuff is almost incidental. To anyone who has thought differently than what society has dictated, what Stark thinks about are common ideas. He doesn’t want to be tied down because he really enjoys what he does. He doesn’t want to be weighed down by a wife and kids, the house-with-a-picket-fence, and all of that stuff. Yet now that he’s growing old, he recognizes the importance of these things. As far as he’s concerned, women are good for one thing only: fucking. Well, that and taking care of you when you’re sick. But now that he’s looking old age head-on, he’s starting to think now’s the time to settle down, if only so he can get someone to care for him when his health is failing.
But as St. Augustine said about celibacy, Stark wishes for the regular life . . . BUT NOT YET! At the same time, he finds himself with his most recent victim, who he’s seriously considering turning into his wife. However, after he misspeaks during a conversation, she turns him away and never wants to see him again. This is very unusual for him, since he’s never been rejected before. He loses his shit. He doesn’t want this to be the end. But he drives away at the end of the night, feeling heartbroken and alone.
In all honesty, if Hunger had stopped there, her story would have been amazing. It wouldn’t be horror, but that’s all right. But she has to add her odd touch to this story. SPOILER ALERT: Stark does more than lose it; he loses himself. As he drives away, he finds that he’s a prisoner of his car. That kind of sums him up, though, when you think about it. He enjoys the free life of going wherever he wants, and what better way than to be trapped in a car, traveling the highways of America forever? He keeps seeing exits, and he keeps wondering, is there an exit for him?
Nope. There isn’t. Hunger follows this up with an unnecessary epilogue involving Stark’s best friend (inasmuch as a con man can have a friend) and his lost love. The way it looks here, this conclusion of a perpetually trapped, driving Stark seems pretty cool here, but in Hunger’s execution? It leaves a lot to be desired. It seems too forced. END OF SPOILERS.
Where Hunger really shines is the way she gets her point across. She uses sentence fragments for purposes of tone, which is what a lot of writers do now. Even though such a thing should be jarring, her prose flows perfectly. This kind of practice technically started with the Modern writers, like Faulkner, but to the best of memory, this is the first time it has showed up in genre fiction.
Is this story worth the read? It’s hard to say. Ultimately, it probably is. After Stark leaves his intended “love,” however, it might be best to abstain from the rest.
[This story first appeared in THE MAGAZINE OF HORROR and cannot be read online at this time.]
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
THE CENTURY'S BEST HORROR FICTION #67: A review of "Carcinoma Angels" by Norman Spinrad
http://www.sfwa.org/wp-content/uploads/2010/05/normanspinrad.jpg
What’s this? Yet another SF writer making it into this volume? What gives? Well, even Pelan knows he’s stepping on toes with this one, but he makes a very good argument for its inclusion. When you get right down to it, cancer is a pretty scary thing. Not only that, but the ending has a lot in common with Aleister Crowley’s early story in this anthology.
Harrison Wintergreen is a genius. At a very early age, he figures out how to make the world his bitch by cornering the market on Yogi Berra baseball cards in his neighborhood. He uses his ability to manipulate people and money to make millions upon millions of dollars, even at the expense of others. (This is actually the funniest part of the story. Read it for yourself to see how he got to be so Filthy Rich.)
Sadly, after getting his own way for much of his life, he is diagnosed with terminal cancer. After he consults the biggest minds on the subject, he realizes that they can’t help him. The only person who can save his life is himself. He pumps millions of dollars into a cure for cancer, and he actually finds it . . . with a few drawbacks.
SPOILER ALERT: Wintergreen concocts this amazingly insane cocktail of drugs in order to cure him. He finds a bunch of poisons which, when combined, rob him of all of his senses. Literally. It takes away his sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch. Then, to counter all of it, he throws in a bunch of hallucinogenic drugs to make his mind explode with visions.
He finds himself trapped in his body at first, but then, when the Carcinoma Angels show up . . . holy fucking fuckshit. Winterbottom soars through his own body, hunting down cancer cells and mercilessly killing them all, crushing them to dust. They come in all shapes and forms, including Hell’s Angels bikers and chitinous bugs, and he kills them all. By the end of the story, he has defeated the cancer within him, but . . . now he’s trapped in his own body, waiting for the drugs to wear off.
They don’t. There is never any relief for him. Instead, his physical body is brought to the nuthatch, where he will spend the rest of his meaningless life. END OF SPOILERS.
This is the trippiest story in here since Crowley’s, and you can see there are a lot of parallels between the two. Because even though it is incredibly clever and funny, it has a hard and nasty core. This is another one of those stories you’ll never forget. Not only that, but Spinrad’s the first writer in volume two of the anthology that is actually still alive. Unlike Bradbury and Matheson, he keeps up a pretty good online presence and is very accessible. Look him up here.
[This story first appeared in Harlan Ellison's game-changing anthology, DANGEROUS VISIONS, and it can be read here.]
What’s this? Yet another SF writer making it into this volume? What gives? Well, even Pelan knows he’s stepping on toes with this one, but he makes a very good argument for its inclusion. When you get right down to it, cancer is a pretty scary thing. Not only that, but the ending has a lot in common with Aleister Crowley’s early story in this anthology.
Harrison Wintergreen is a genius. At a very early age, he figures out how to make the world his bitch by cornering the market on Yogi Berra baseball cards in his neighborhood. He uses his ability to manipulate people and money to make millions upon millions of dollars, even at the expense of others. (This is actually the funniest part of the story. Read it for yourself to see how he got to be so Filthy Rich.)
Sadly, after getting his own way for much of his life, he is diagnosed with terminal cancer. After he consults the biggest minds on the subject, he realizes that they can’t help him. The only person who can save his life is himself. He pumps millions of dollars into a cure for cancer, and he actually finds it . . . with a few drawbacks.
SPOILER ALERT: Wintergreen concocts this amazingly insane cocktail of drugs in order to cure him. He finds a bunch of poisons which, when combined, rob him of all of his senses. Literally. It takes away his sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch. Then, to counter all of it, he throws in a bunch of hallucinogenic drugs to make his mind explode with visions.
He finds himself trapped in his body at first, but then, when the Carcinoma Angels show up . . . holy fucking fuckshit. Winterbottom soars through his own body, hunting down cancer cells and mercilessly killing them all, crushing them to dust. They come in all shapes and forms, including Hell’s Angels bikers and chitinous bugs, and he kills them all. By the end of the story, he has defeated the cancer within him, but . . . now he’s trapped in his own body, waiting for the drugs to wear off.
They don’t. There is never any relief for him. Instead, his physical body is brought to the nuthatch, where he will spend the rest of his meaningless life. END OF SPOILERS.
This is the trippiest story in here since Crowley’s, and you can see there are a lot of parallels between the two. Because even though it is incredibly clever and funny, it has a hard and nasty core. This is another one of those stories you’ll never forget. Not only that, but Spinrad’s the first writer in volume two of the anthology that is actually still alive. Unlike Bradbury and Matheson, he keeps up a pretty good online presence and is very accessible. Look him up here.
[This story first appeared in Harlan Ellison's game-changing anthology, DANGEROUS VISIONS, and it can be read here.]
Monday, July 2, 2012
THE CENTURY'S BEST HORROR FICTION #66: A review of "The Mirror" by Arthur Porges
http://arthurporges.bravehost.com/arthurporges.jpg
In his introduction to this story, Pelan calls it “possibly the nastiest, most brutal short story ever written.” It’s pretty ugly, but perhaps his relationship with the deceased Porges colored this opinion.
Mr. Avery has just bought a giant mansion with the intention of fixing it up for his family, which is pretty big, considering how many kids he’s got. The only problem is, he gets it at a discount due to the mass murder that happened here many years ago. A man killed all of his family but one person, who has been trying to sell the house for years.
Yeah. You all know where this is headed. But part of the genius of Porges is how he gets there. Even though each and every modern reader knows this story will end with blood—a lot of it—he makes the trip seem very innocuous, so much so that the reader might let his or her guard down.
Fixing the place up is easy for Mr. Avery, who is kind of an amateur handyman, but the one thing that gives him trouble is the giant mirror over the fireplace in the living room. Someone has painted it over entirely, and he spends a lot of time and effort in getting it scraped clean. When his kids move in, he tells them a magical story about how the mirror is actually a portal to an identical living room, where a family that looks exactly like them live. He draws on THE LOOKING GLASS as his main inspiration, but when he starts talking about Gnolfo, the gnome who steals food from their fridge, he fucks everything for his family. One of his sons sees something moving in the mirror and says it’s Gnolfo, but no one else sees the creature. It’s dismissed as imaginary nonsense.
SPOILER ALERT: the Averys leave their eldest son in charge of babysitting while they head out for a night on the town. The other kids demand more Gnolfo stories from their brother, and he supplies them. Then, one of them comes up with the brilliant idea of using another mirror against the giant mirror in order to see parts of the imaginary Looking Glass world that they can’t ordinarily see. When they do this, they all see the fur-matted creature they assume is Gnolfo . . . and Gnolfo sees them. It leaps up and through the mirror, where it . . . well, you know.
The Averys return home to find all of their children dead and bloody except for one, who is so bad off that Mr. Avery puts her out of her misery. This drives Mrs. Avery insane to the point of death, and Mr. Avery is blamed for everything and is put away as a mass murderer. END OF SPOILERS.
So while this isn’t as nasty as Pelan claims, there is a lot of nastiness here, certainly enough to put one off their feed. While it is very formulaic, it is also one of the finest examples of the formula. Definitely give it a try.
[This story first appeared in THE MAGAZINE OF FANTASY AND SCIENCE FICTION and cannot be read online at this time.]
In his introduction to this story, Pelan calls it “possibly the nastiest, most brutal short story ever written.” It’s pretty ugly, but perhaps his relationship with the deceased Porges colored this opinion.
Mr. Avery has just bought a giant mansion with the intention of fixing it up for his family, which is pretty big, considering how many kids he’s got. The only problem is, he gets it at a discount due to the mass murder that happened here many years ago. A man killed all of his family but one person, who has been trying to sell the house for years.
Yeah. You all know where this is headed. But part of the genius of Porges is how he gets there. Even though each and every modern reader knows this story will end with blood—a lot of it—he makes the trip seem very innocuous, so much so that the reader might let his or her guard down.
Fixing the place up is easy for Mr. Avery, who is kind of an amateur handyman, but the one thing that gives him trouble is the giant mirror over the fireplace in the living room. Someone has painted it over entirely, and he spends a lot of time and effort in getting it scraped clean. When his kids move in, he tells them a magical story about how the mirror is actually a portal to an identical living room, where a family that looks exactly like them live. He draws on THE LOOKING GLASS as his main inspiration, but when he starts talking about Gnolfo, the gnome who steals food from their fridge, he fucks everything for his family. One of his sons sees something moving in the mirror and says it’s Gnolfo, but no one else sees the creature. It’s dismissed as imaginary nonsense.
SPOILER ALERT: the Averys leave their eldest son in charge of babysitting while they head out for a night on the town. The other kids demand more Gnolfo stories from their brother, and he supplies them. Then, one of them comes up with the brilliant idea of using another mirror against the giant mirror in order to see parts of the imaginary Looking Glass world that they can’t ordinarily see. When they do this, they all see the fur-matted creature they assume is Gnolfo . . . and Gnolfo sees them. It leaps up and through the mirror, where it . . . well, you know.
The Averys return home to find all of their children dead and bloody except for one, who is so bad off that Mr. Avery puts her out of her misery. This drives Mrs. Avery insane to the point of death, and Mr. Avery is blamed for everything and is put away as a mass murderer. END OF SPOILERS.
So while this isn’t as nasty as Pelan claims, there is a lot of nastiness here, certainly enough to put one off their feed. While it is very formulaic, it is also one of the finest examples of the formula. Definitely give it a try.
[This story first appeared in THE MAGAZINE OF FANTASY AND SCIENCE FICTION and cannot be read online at this time.]
Sunday, July 1, 2012
THE CENTURY'S BEST HORROR FICTION #65: A review of "The Shadowy Street" by Jean Ray
http://weirdfictionreview.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/11/Ray-author-photo.jpg
Pelan usually has good sense. In the rare instances where he fails, there are usually enough good points about the story where it is redeemable. This is one of the really, really rare ones where he fails entirely.
Ray’s story is yet another polite horror tale, and while the idea of it is actually kind of cool, the execution is downright awful. An unnamed narrator in the frame discovers a couple of manuscripts, written by completely different people in different languages, about what happens when ghosts invade Hamburg, or at least one particular alley in Hamburg.
In the first, a group of people are listening to a friend who says she’s terrified of her lodgings (but doesn’t know why). They make fun of her a bit, and when she goes upstairs to bed, the others decide they were too hard on her. They go up to accompany her, only she’s vanished into thin air.
This is only one of many mysteries that night, as more and more people vanish, strange crimes occur, and a deluge of suicides plagues the town. The unnamed narrator of this first half is convinced that ghosts have invaded this part of Hamburg and are responsible for all of this mischief.
In the second half . . . well, does it matter? Not really. Everything you have read about this story so far sounds interesting, but the execution is so dry and emotionless that it’s actually one of the most boring stories in this anthology. It doesn’t even bear spoiler alerts. Nothing is spoiler-worthy here. It’s hard enough to get to the other side of the frame without dying from perpetual yawns.
Skip it. It’s not Pelan’s worst choice, but it’s up there.
[This story first appeared in GHOULS IN MY GRAVE and cannot be read online at this time.]
Pelan usually has good sense. In the rare instances where he fails, there are usually enough good points about the story where it is redeemable. This is one of the really, really rare ones where he fails entirely.
Ray’s story is yet another polite horror tale, and while the idea of it is actually kind of cool, the execution is downright awful. An unnamed narrator in the frame discovers a couple of manuscripts, written by completely different people in different languages, about what happens when ghosts invade Hamburg, or at least one particular alley in Hamburg.
In the first, a group of people are listening to a friend who says she’s terrified of her lodgings (but doesn’t know why). They make fun of her a bit, and when she goes upstairs to bed, the others decide they were too hard on her. They go up to accompany her, only she’s vanished into thin air.
This is only one of many mysteries that night, as more and more people vanish, strange crimes occur, and a deluge of suicides plagues the town. The unnamed narrator of this first half is convinced that ghosts have invaded this part of Hamburg and are responsible for all of this mischief.
In the second half . . . well, does it matter? Not really. Everything you have read about this story so far sounds interesting, but the execution is so dry and emotionless that it’s actually one of the most boring stories in this anthology. It doesn’t even bear spoiler alerts. Nothing is spoiler-worthy here. It’s hard enough to get to the other side of the frame without dying from perpetual yawns.
Skip it. It’s not Pelan’s worst choice, but it’s up there.
[This story first appeared in GHOULS IN MY GRAVE and cannot be read online at this time.]
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