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Well, it looks like we’re not quite so finished with polite horror after all, and sadly, this example is kind of a waste of space. A looooooong waste of space.
Shalimar and Merlin are kinda-sorta betrothed. Yet she has an awful recurring dream that bugs the shit out of her. Then, one night during a performance, the house blacks out, and Shalimar finds herself confronted by a strange, shadowy figure with a necklace of human skulls. She faints, and when she wakes up, she is told that it was Kali, an ancient Indian goddess. They investigate further by going to a séance which essentially goes balls up because . . . well, she learns that her ancestor was in love with an Indian gentleman. As it turns out, their ancestors are actually them, using their bodies to rekindle a romance forgotten by time and . . . who cares?
First of all, the story is peppered with characters with stupid names, like Shalimar, Merlin, Byron, etc. This is something only a pretentious-as-fuck, look-how-cool-and-knowledgable-I-am writer would do. Secondly, for three-quarters of the story, nothing happens except people confessing their love for one another (and why they must forsake one another). The worst offense of all is the use of the “love never dies” hobby-horse. Will we ever be rid of that one?
No spoiler alerts here. Anyone who wants to give this story a chance will quit after the first few pages. The real crime is, those first few pages are the best this tale has to offer. They actually are kind of interesting. It’s just after the séance where things fall apart. And in case the reader isn’t bright enough to “get it,” everything is spelled out for you in the final two pages. Unnecessary.
Pelan fumbles on this one. Let’s hope it’s the last time he does. [EDIT: I've got about 20 more of these in the can. It's not.]
[This story first appeared in WEIRD TALES and cannot be read online at this time. Good.]
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