tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31738879482690319012024-03-18T22:11:56.529+00:00Supernatural Talesvaldemarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03829872956512652469noreply@blogger.comBlogger2683125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3173887948269031901.post-37698089455572940772024-03-18T10:02:00.009+00:002024-03-18T10:02:00.132+00:00ST 55 - Opening 5<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Invisible Boy</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">Reggie Chamberlain-King</span></i></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">They’re playing The Invisible Boy again. It’s obvious from their keen attention. They’re too quiet. They’re not listening to me, but for the tell-tale noise that will give him away: a scuff, a shuffle, a sneeze... a sneeze would do for him. I can see it in their bastarding little faces, their eyes fixed on me as though they’re listening, but their ears are cocked, alert to something else... a pin drops. I could follow the twitch of Quinn’s red, flexed lobe or the subtle twist of McKiernan’s neck and I could sniff out The Invisible Boy. But I don’t.</span></span>valdemarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03829872956512652469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3173887948269031901.post-76116879157591145442024-03-17T09:56:00.002+00:002024-03-17T09:56:00.134+00:00ST55 - Opening 4<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Lord is my Shepherd</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Tom Johnstone</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div> <div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />‘CARNIVOROUS’. That was all it said. At the time, Sarah Dyson didn’t connect it with the Grey Lady or the River Wellsbourne. Just now, her preoccupations were more mundane: finding some way of removing the graffito from the sign outside the church near Preston Manor. The gardeners would have a solution for removing it. There was one of them who was always flirting with her. Bernard, his name was. Once, he complimented the coat that matched her orange-red lipstick. He wasn’t the only one. Her manager Geoff had the tiresome habit of saying, “You look like vermilion dollars,” in a mock-gumshoe voice, whenever she wore it.</span>valdemarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03829872956512652469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3173887948269031901.post-22468068195333535892024-03-16T08:43:00.012+00:002024-03-16T08:43:00.132+00:00ST 55 - Opening 3 <span><div style="font-size: large; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Mrs Crace</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">Cliff McNish</span></i></div><i style="font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><i>In Memoriam: Robert Aickman</i></div></i><div style="font-size: large; text-align: right;"><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">“When a garden flower is crushed it cannot simply be put back together; why do you never grasp such matters?” </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">Such was Father’s typically irritated response to a minor breakage by his own small, motherless children. Gilly and I learned to make a show of listening attentively whenever Father lectured us. He was very much a man to enlarge upon our innocent faults during this period. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">“Can you repair the stem, mm? Will the tulip’s stamen miraculously return to life?” </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">“No, Father.” Our faces duly bowed. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">This was during the worst of the austerity era following the war, 1946–47. Scarcity was a watchword everywhere, even in a well-to-do family such as ours with its own servants and grounds.</span></span>valdemarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03829872956512652469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3173887948269031901.post-51647090506730147442024-03-15T08:38:00.003+00:002024-03-15T08:38:00.126+00:00ST 55 - Opening 2<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Porcupines</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Carole Tyrrell </i></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">I needed a pen and stationery cupboards aren’t what they used to be. First day as Head of Finance and Brewsters wanted figures quickly. But the laptop wasn’t ready yet according to IT. So, I had to enter the sarcophagus-like silence of Head Office. I collected a temporary ID at the front desk from a security guard and took the lift to the fifth floor. The lift doors automatically opened and ahead of me were two double doors. A sign attached to the wall beside one of them helpfully announced that this was the Finance Department. I pushed one of the doors open and emerged into a room devoid of life. Instead, it was tenanted by desks, chairs, coat stands and on top of a low filing cabinet was a dusty coffee machine surrounded by a cluster of ill-assorted mugs. But no people, just flashing lights indicating long unanswered voicemails on the desk phones.</span></div>valdemarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03829872956512652469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3173887948269031901.post-2789577601171337372024-03-14T08:38:00.007+00:002024-03-14T10:06:14.051+00:00ST 55 - Opening 1<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large; text-align: right;">The Rock Statue</span></span></p>
<p class="stauthor" style="text-align: center;"><i><span lang="EN-US"><span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Mark
Falkin</span><span style="font-family: Californian FB, serif; font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;"><i><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: medium;">“What does any individual,
terrestrial life or death matter when seen from a galactic perspective? Yet, we
still throb.” —Marilyn Nelson</span></span></i></p>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">On
the way there, they each notice the hawks perched on the expressway lights.
Sabrina thinks they look like finials. She wrist-drives as she talks to her
mother loudly on hands-free. Morgan is at ten and two listening to an audiobook
with an annoying narrator. Janice steers with her right hand low on the wheel,
left hand out the window ruddering her car’s wake. Karen grips the steering
wheel’s middle bar and listens to NPR. War in Eastern Europe. The latest virus
variant making its move across oceans. The signal is lost once beyond the
exurbs.</span></span>valdemarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03829872956512652469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3173887948269031901.post-82315835111024062242024-02-11T17:39:00.004+00:002024-02-11T17:41:14.867+00:00Read an AI generated ghost story<p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><i>I gave MS Copilot the following prompt, which is not complex and you can see where problems arose..</i></b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: var(--cib-type-body2-font-size); font-weight: var(--cib-type-body2-font-weight); white-space-collapse: preserve;">Please write a ghost story in the style of M.R. James set in Edwardian England at Cambridge University. It should be 3,000 words long and feature a mysterious book with a Latin title, a professor in his mid-forties who wears glasses, and a young woman reporter. The book tells how to contact spirits of the dead. The professor wants to use it to discover buried treasure somewhere in the grounds of the university.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="color: #fff2cc;">The Book of Shadows</span></b></span></p><pre style="border-radius: var(--cib-border-radius-large); border: 1px solid var(--cib-color-stroke-neutral-primary); box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 4px; margin-top: 0px; padding: 10px;"><code style="font-variation-settings: var(--cib-type-body1-font-variation-settings); font-weight: var(--cib-type-body1-font-weight); line-height: var(--cib-type-body1-line-height); text-wrap: wrap;"><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Professor Arthur Langdon was a respected scholar of ancient languages and literature at Cambridge University. He had a passion for collecting rare and obscure books, especially those related to the occult and the supernatural. He had amassed a large library of such volumes in his office at the university, where he spent most of his time studying and translating them.
One day, he received a letter from a colleague in Italy, who claimed to have found a remarkable book in an old monastery. The book was written in Latin, but with a strange and unfamiliar script. The title was "Liber Umbrarum", or "The Book of Shadows". The colleague said that the book contained secrets of contacting the spirits of the dead, and that he had managed to decipher some of the rituals and spells. He also said that the book hinted at a hidden treasure buried somewhere in the grounds of Cambridge University, and that he was willing to share the information with Langdon, if he agreed to help him with the translation and the exploration.</span></code></pre><pre style="border-radius: var(--cib-border-radius-large); border: 1px solid var(--cib-color-stroke-neutral-primary); box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 4px; margin-top: 0px; padding: 10px;"><code style="font-variation-settings: var(--cib-type-body1-font-variation-settings); font-weight: var(--cib-type-body1-font-weight); line-height: var(--cib-type-body1-line-height); text-wrap: wrap;"><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span><a name='more'></a></span>
Langdon was intrigued by the offer, and agreed to meet his colleague in Cambridge as soon as possible. He was eager to see the book for himself, and to uncover the mystery of the treasure. He had always dreamed of finding something that would make him rich and famous, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity.
He arranged for his colleague to stay at a nearby hotel, and invited him to his office the next day. He was surprised to see that his colleague had brought a young woman with him, who introduced herself as Alice Carter, a reporter for the London Times. She said that she was interested in writing a story about the book and the treasure, and that she had accompanied the colleague from Italy. Langdon was not pleased by this, as he did not want to share his discovery with the public, or with anyone else for that matter. He was also suspicious of the woman's motives, and wondered if she had ulterior plans.
However, he decided to be polite and hospitable, and welcomed them to his office. He asked to see the book, and his colleague handed him a leather-bound tome, wrapped in a cloth. Langdon unwrapped it carefully, and opened it with reverence. He felt a chill run down his spine as he looked at the pages, covered with strange symbols and diagrams. He recognized some of the words as Latin, but others were unfamiliar to him. He felt a strange attraction to the book, as if it was calling to him.
He asked his colleague how he had found the book, and what he had learned from it. His colleague told him that he had discovered the book in a hidden chamber of the monastery, where it had been locked away for centuries. He said that he had spent months studying and deciphering the book, and that he had learned many things from it. He said that the book was written by a monk named Brother Ambrose, who had been a member of a secret order of occultists, known as the Order of the Shadow. He said that the order had been founded by a mysterious figure, known only as the Master of Shadows, who had taught them the secrets of contacting the spirits of the dead, and of using them for various purposes. He said that the order had been persecuted and hunted down by the Church, and that Brother Ambrose had been one of the last survivors. He said that Brother Ambrose had hidden the book in the monastery, along with a map and a clue to the location of the treasure. He said that the treasure was a collection of ancient relics and artifacts, that had been gathered by the order, and that had great power and value. He said that the clue was a riddle, written in Latin, that read:
"Sub arbore magna, quae in horto est, thesaurus est. Sed non est facile invenire. Quaerite signum, quod in libro est, et sequimini umbras."
Langdon translated the riddle as:
"Under the great tree, that is in the garden, the treasure is. But it is not easy to find. Seek the sign, that is in the book, and follow the shadows."
He asked his colleague what the sign was, and his colleague showed him a page in the book, where there was a drawing of a pentagram, surrounded by five candles. He said that this was the sign, and that it was a symbol of the order, and of their connection to the spirit world. He said that the sign had to be drawn on the ground, under the great tree, and that the candles had to be lit. He said that this would open a portal to the realm of the dead, and that the shadows of the spirits would guide them to the treasure. He said that he had brought the candles with him, and that they were ready to perform the ritual.
Langdon was fascinated by the story, and by the book. He felt a strong curiosity and a greed for the treasure. He agreed to help his colleague with the ritual, and to split the treasure with him. He did not care about the woman, and thought that she would not be a problem. He suggested that they go to the garden that night, when it was dark and quiet, and that they bring the book and the candles with them. He said that he knew where the great tree was, and that it was not far from his office. He said that they should meet at his office at midnight, and that they should not tell anyone about their plan.
The colleague and the woman agreed, and left Langdon's office. Langdon locked the book in his desk drawer, and waited for the night to come. He was excited and impatient, and could not think of anything else. He did not notice the strange noises and shadows that began to appear in his office, as the book exerted its influence on him. He did not notice the dark and sinister aura that surrounded him, as he became obsessed with the book and the treasure. He did not notice the danger that he was in, as he prepared to unleash the forces of the dead. He did not notice anything, except the book and the treasure. He did not notice anything, until it was too late.</span></code></pre>valdemarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03829872956512652469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3173887948269031901.post-3083499335094819792024-02-10T14:48:00.008+00:002024-02-11T14:28:04.805+00:00'The Crucifix'<p><span style="font-size: medium;">The penultimate story in Peter Bell's new <i>Hauntings</i>, 'Portrait', was first published in Supernatural Tales back in 2014 as '|The Refurbishment'. It seems an eternity ago, and I hardly need to add that my opinion of the story is at least as high as it was when I accepted it. So, moving along, we come to the final tale. And we also come full circle, as we began in The Cairngorms with 'The Bothy' and now we head north of the border again. On which note:</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">'Pamela was sure there was more to Scotland, a wilderness to experience.'</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Perfectly valid in context, but not ideal from a tourist information viewpoint. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEimo_ZJRSFIHtt139bt5uwwPqq7r7T_fDnF5LwhVbK62AbqyrmcnW77IhLmKsz_1BweIfP2kgGTtydOWX-Faj4wG1Ifpb-JZCPy84AM9ksxlljMN2anKBsH8TbKKZjYSzERAhbKlOHJrX0G720BGloMTAfIr6QTKecCeVa69CNg9F7mL-UyM3vRNp8W" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1826" data-original-width="1338" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEimo_ZJRSFIHtt139bt5uwwPqq7r7T_fDnF5LwhVbK62AbqyrmcnW77IhLmKsz_1BweIfP2kgGTtydOWX-Faj4wG1Ifpb-JZCPy84AM9ksxlljMN2anKBsH8TbKKZjYSzERAhbKlOHJrX0G720BGloMTAfIr6QTKecCeVa69CNg9F7mL-UyM3vRNp8W=w234-h320" width="234" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">'The Crucifix' is superficially quite simple as to plot. Pamela, an unscrupulous book dealer, finds herself out of work and takes a job in Scotland, cataloguing a country house library on a behalf of a widow who just wants to sell her late husband's books'. </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>(As a minor aside, isn't it surprising that - in all those Lovecraftian knock-offs - nobody ever seems to consider how staggeringly rich they could become by simply selling the </span><i>Necronomicon </i><span>and all those other arcane volumes?) </span><span>The family were hardcore Covenanters who killed 'witches' and Catholics with grim enthusiasm. Pamela happens to be wearing a crucifix bequeathed by her grandmother, but takes trouble to hide it.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Things go quite well, not least when Pamela discovers that the late laird's collection includes some immensely rare and valuable items. This is a story that only a true bibliophile could have written, especially the scene in which Pamela discovers and immensely rare copy of <i>Dracula</i>. In some old-fashioned ghost stories, Pamela might take a hint and play it straight, just brushing up against terror before doing the right thing. Here, however, greed takes charge and our anti-heroine finds herself facing a judgement on her morals that, while harsh, is not entirely unwarranted. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">And so we reach the end of <i>Hauntings </i>by Peter Bell. I think this is the author's best collection, harking back to the classics and paying homage to the greats of the field, but offering much that is new and interesting. This volume is a worthy addition to any library, haunted or otherwise.</span></p>valdemarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03829872956512652469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3173887948269031901.post-70971635802563993702024-02-09T19:07:00.004+00:002024-02-09T19:07:28.159+00:00'The Swing'<p><span style="font-size: medium;">The next story in Peter Bell's new collection, <a href="https://sarobpress.blogspot.com/2023/10/new-title-news-hauntings-by-peter-bell.html" target="_blank">Hauntings</a>, is in fact 'The Tunnel'. But that story first appeared in Supernatural Tales (issue 17, many years ago) so I hardly need to add that I found it more than acceptable. I'll move on, therefore, to a short tale that first appeared in the second Brian Showers anthology in his Uncertainties series.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">As you might expect, this is a tale that offers the reader a choice - how much to believe? The time is that unspecified period a few decades ago, with the 'slight haze of distance' recommended by Dr. James. A group of boys are hanging out at a friend's house and the topic of conversation turns to ghosts. A claim is made - Mr. O'Neill across the road has a picture of a ghost. The photograph is obtained, and proves to be disturbing - it has a 'hideous impression of authenticity' (a phrase I thought was plucked from 'Pickman's Model', but I was wrong). </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The photograph subsequently attracts the attention of a mysterious, patrician-looking visitor, and is taken who knows where? The boys grow up, and eventually, the narrator receives news of Mr. O'Neill's death. The man's son explains the possible origin of the phantom captured by his father's camera. Then a story in a tabloid newspaper revives memories of the photograph. Is it a coincidence that so similar a fate befell someone else decades later, and at the same spot? </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">While a relatively slight tale this one impressed me. I have always found ghost/spirit photography fascinating, along with the idea of events recurring for arcane reasons. Some places are arguably cursed, haunted, or otherwise rendered uncanny. And, as the author makes clear, such spots are as likely to be found in a run-down housing estate as in a ruined abbey.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The review continues tomorrow.</span></p>valdemarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03829872956512652469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3173887948269031901.post-38039093031772080572024-02-07T21:04:00.003+00:002024-02-07T21:04:39.382+00:00'The Curator of Souls'<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhWCcMZ28aYYUJFmwHXpN0L6iHz7dXC5x2xIz28oXwiv-a46_wlt6vkEwfsS15XbuyhXZ8_2rx3IaD22e6JaJ7qY_zo6S8HqXAh2sD2eA417zk3ZNtvaGLb2a364e_0E3VgvUBmfCU-h83ppoDGPf6w2BNj3M0NdG2BXbnHp1UDi4tJfwJ-UEbnj3Za" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1288" height="404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhWCcMZ28aYYUJFmwHXpN0L6iHz7dXC5x2xIz28oXwiv-a46_wlt6vkEwfsS15XbuyhXZ8_2rx3IaD22e6JaJ7qY_zo6S8HqXAh2sD2eA417zk3ZNtvaGLb2a364e_0E3VgvUBmfCU-h83ppoDGPf6w2BNj3M0NdG2BXbnHp1UDi4tJfwJ-UEbnj3Za=w325-h404" width="325" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium;">A middle-aged academic falls for a student twenty years his junior. Dr. Slade is unwise but infatuated. Laura is beautiful, erudite, and mysterious. She vanishes periodically, refusing to say where she has been but sending Slade postcards that sometimes bear enigmatic messages. Eventually, after introducing Slade to many and varied erotic experiences, Laura takes her lover to meet another professor, whose studies mirror certain episodes in the writings of Edgar Allan Poe.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">This story bears an epigraph from 'The Oval Portrait', but Laura is very reminiscent of Ligeia and Morella. Peter Bell successfully creates a convincing affair that hints at self-destructive tendencies on Slade's part. The finale delivers the goods, as intellectual playfulness gives way to bizarre - one might say grotesque - discoveries. This is another fine tale from <a href="https://sarobpress.blogspot.com/2023/10/new-title-news-hauntings-by-peter-bell.html" target="_blank"><i>Hauntings</i></a>, which captures some of the Romantic weirdness of Poe while remaining firmly grounded in English horror tropes, particularly the idea of horror revealed within a sleepy cathedral city.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Another one tomorrow - so far, no duds!</span></p>valdemarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03829872956512652469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3173887948269031901.post-8218954508019527122024-02-07T11:26:00.002+00:002024-02-07T11:26:25.485+00:00Next issue - cover and contents<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvjevQOxr9z4BTR7zPe7IVKSbKb9k4UMuzFZEwmh6WOljbFLavN2Gc6VcGrK6tDIbP-dOFDSE51RQoAnu4_aQgc5UuHiEKjcetUKWz42mzRUbjM18mpC2cGbOVelvvx0f5c2yPIurPl13WDVMPcsSrGsG1VkUsrLy1XEUCgWGKlSnbQkm5WLhPsn6X/s1403/Screenshot%202024-02-07%20112438.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="912" data-original-width="1403" height="370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvjevQOxr9z4BTR7zPe7IVKSbKb9k4UMuzFZEwmh6WOljbFLavN2Gc6VcGrK6tDIbP-dOFDSE51RQoAnu4_aQgc5UuHiEKjcetUKWz42mzRUbjM18mpC2cGbOVelvvx0f5c2yPIurPl13WDVMPcsSrGsG1VkUsrLy1XEUCgWGKlSnbQkm5WLhPsn6X/w568-h370/Screenshot%202024-02-07%20112438.png" width="568" /></a></div><br /><p></p>valdemarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03829872956512652469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3173887948269031901.post-44113973615465672072024-02-06T18:52:00.003+00:002024-02-06T18:52:46.406+00:00'The Cry of the Curlew'<p><span style="font-size: medium;"> 'Anxiety is never a good counsellor'. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">In this story from Peter Bell's <i><a href="https://sarobpress.blogspot.com/2023/10/new-title-news-hauntings-by-peter-bell.html" target="_blank">Hauntings</a> </i>a retired teacher returns to her deceased aunt's house in rural Aberdeenshire to find things changed. Fiona's girlhood memories are a mixture of the idyllic and the disturbing. Devoting her time to studying earth mysteries and related matters, Fiona sets out to investigate the area with an adult, informed eye. Instead, she gets lost in one of the vast conifer plantations that were created after the notorious Clearances, and stumbles upon some ruins that arouse feelings of unease.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">This is a relatively gentle tale, but one that lingers in the mind. The curlew's cry, held to be ominous by some, is a kind of leitmotif running through the story. The truth that emerges after the visit of a respected professor is a sadly familiar tale of working-class folk victimised by callous landowners. Not exactly a ghost story, then, more an account of a haunted landscape. The beauty of the rural skies stands in contrast to the bleakness of glens set aside for rich men to shoot game. But then, the story is loaded with powerful imagery, not least the scene in which Fiona gets lost in the woods and suffers near panic. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">More from this running review tomorrow. So far I am enjoying <i>Hauntings</i>, as you may have guessed!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>valdemarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03829872956512652469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3173887948269031901.post-36772670245453920782024-02-05T19:37:00.003+00:002024-02-05T19:37:39.532+00:00'Ragnarok' <p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">This story from Peter Bell's new collection <i><a href="https://sarobpress.blogspot.com/2023/10/new-title-news-hauntings-by-peter-bell.html" target="_blank">Hauntings </a></i>(Sarob Press 2023) jogged my memory. The protagonist ventures to another one of those remote rural churches, this one containing a remarkable hybrid monument to Christianity and Norse mythology. I think I visited the same church with Peter during an excursion arranged by A Ghostly Company. And the cross in question is fascinating, with Odin and other Scandinavian hairy types getting equal billing to Jesus and his entourage. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">The idea of a 'blended family' of deities is here taken a little further, though. The cross is decorated not merely by Norse deities but entities that recall our old pal Howard Philips Lovecraft and his school. The stained glass in the church confirms that something distinctly odd is going on. But the true horror occurs when the protagonist explores the nearby countryside and encounters the most disturbing manure heap in contemporary fiction. I kid you not. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">This is a fun story, a pick-and-mix combination of M.R. Jamesian tropes with Lovecraftian monstrosity. I suspect the author had a lot of fun writing this, and I certainly enjoyed reading it. More tomorrow in this running review. </span> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjdFe9WjLX3Ee6_LMkvhdpcd0l6nbEc8312T2uZ5Ldsiykr_dz4mcXu_vYxuYvQOqHhfmPId-GaJ_FFzRUUcn5Q1PaB9LlRjdpSGFRNppOlkioELcQDnDdybYWUlLGtVvz3MRnvcUCMd0qDsk7S82twFzlARG0CUToK3oykNcaZADmfuV-kLEZYYLQy" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1826" data-original-width="1338" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjdFe9WjLX3Ee6_LMkvhdpcd0l6nbEc8312T2uZ5Ldsiykr_dz4mcXu_vYxuYvQOqHhfmPId-GaJ_FFzRUUcn5Q1PaB9LlRjdpSGFRNppOlkioELcQDnDdybYWUlLGtVvz3MRnvcUCMd0qDsk7S82twFzlARG0CUToK3oykNcaZADmfuV-kLEZYYLQy=w232-h316" width="232" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>valdemarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03829872956512652469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3173887948269031901.post-68138613235396439392024-02-04T14:43:00.000+00:002024-02-04T14:43:42.130+00:00'The Reunion'<p><span style="font-size: medium;">The third story in Peter Bell's <i><a href="https://sarobpress.blogspot.com/2023/10/new-title-news-hauntings-by-peter-bell.html" target="_blank">Hauntings </a></i>strikes a remarkable contrast to its predecessors. A book dealer exploring the former East Germany for rare finds instead discovers a deeply personal horror. An earlier version of this story appeared in Delicate Toxins from Side Real Press, and as you might expect if you know that publisher, it is tinged with decadence. Here we find absinthe, seduction, hallucinatory moments, and many an obscure volume emphatically not for sale.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">But this is also a tale of personal tragedy, the way one incident can hollow out a person's life, leaving them a kind of human-shaped shell going through the motions of existence. The protagonist, a widower called Julian, first ventured into East Germany not long after the Wall came down. His small daughter vanished, inexplicably, in one of those trivial moments of inattention all parents know. Cue the intrusive and unhelpful media interest and the horrifying realisation that the child could not be found.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Years later, Julian returns to Saxony for an auction that proves disappointing, then gets lost and low on petrol. He finds refuge at what appears to be a kind of time-warped brothel with an aged madame, a remarkable library, and some even more remarkable girls who watch Julian 'like cats about to pounce'. One, in particular, reminds him of his lost daughter. The original horror of loss is multiplied by a dark denouement. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The writing in this one surprised me. While still recognisably Bell's, it is far more intense, with poetic passages. 'Monstrous clouds were reaching to the apex of the sky, a bloody canyon rending the tumultuous heavens; crimson, scarlet, vermilion (...) The gloom became intense. But it was not the outside he dreaded, but the darkness within himself.' </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">An excellent tale, which nods to Lovecraft, Ewers, and perhaps Jean Lorrain as much as Dr. James and his disciples. I wonder what haunted domain I will be exploring next? Stay tuned for more of this running review.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>valdemarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03829872956512652469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3173887948269031901.post-69058994733146621432024-02-03T14:59:00.003+00:002024-02-03T14:59:23.993+00:00'Rounding the Stone'<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiKl0KMqPrzyYUYu5LbE7fN14vr4iiH-BG_duvz1XYIRORo5ToMB-ZKo_aofO7XrImEcDSVu7Momh6W4stZ7K1CLFx7Ss-GcLeO5dnj7TETATGnOsbEXuoNfuqqf5TWOgi-WttwYF5tANRBVNDKuz_XT1pLb1wZnPIYajInStVQq1ScrfNIpl5aBbXU" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1826" data-original-width="1338" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiKl0KMqPrzyYUYu5LbE7fN14vr4iiH-BG_duvz1XYIRORo5ToMB-ZKo_aofO7XrImEcDSVu7Momh6W4stZ7K1CLFx7Ss-GcLeO5dnj7TETATGnOsbEXuoNfuqqf5TWOgi-WttwYF5tANRBVNDKuz_XT1pLb1wZnPIYajInStVQq1ScrfNIpl5aBbXU" width="176" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">The second story in <a href="https://sarobpress.blogspot.com/2023/10/new-title-news-hauntings-by-peter-bell.html" target="_blank"><i>Hauntings </i>by Peter Bell</a> is an old-school and very enjoyable ghost story that namechecks M.R. James. You know something bad is going to happen to the protagonist when he dismisses MRJ's fiction while praising his scholarship. The story has a near-contemporary setting, with lockdowns and masking referenced. But it's not concern over the virus that leads to resentment from the locals when our narrator sets out to find an obscure chapel in the Welsh borders. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">This is a nicely balanced story, redolent of many a classic tale, and rounded off by scholarly references. It leaves just enough unexplained while linking the latest pandemic with earlier plagues, and stressing how Christian tradition sometimes dovetails with earlier beliefs. As always, Bell evokes that spirit of place so essential to the Jamesian tale.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Tune in tomorrow for my opinion of the third story!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"> <br /></span></p>valdemarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03829872956512652469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3173887948269031901.post-13540570400864662042024-02-02T19:50:00.004+00:002024-02-06T18:53:08.820+00:00HAUNTINGS - Tales of Supernatural Dread by Peter Bell (Sarob Press 2023)<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6Gu0i2VoC2RiAxJawigPTTiaYakD5VzAGGY-gMQkuplrEj44dQynEgTok-9FlaGFJAk8m4P5NBwRcDNe8waW0UoCKRQ7arMVG5ZgFqPVz5aSOUsojOxylm2oJB-96BtuzlILMgA4Qx7HyQlXJAjpHvzsBf9h9uA1aVNyD0EWHWDXkt10itLMJqZcl" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2678" data-original-width="2155" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6Gu0i2VoC2RiAxJawigPTTiaYakD5VzAGGY-gMQkuplrEj44dQynEgTok-9FlaGFJAk8m4P5NBwRcDNe8waW0UoCKRQ7arMVG5ZgFqPVz5aSOUsojOxylm2oJB-96BtuzlILMgA4Qx7HyQlXJAjpHvzsBf9h9uA1aVNyD0EWHWDXkt10itLMJqZcl=w322-h400" width="322" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paul Lowe provides another excellent dustjacket</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I received a review copy of this book from the publisher.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">It's been a while since I did a running review of a collection as I work my way through the stories, so I thought I'd revive the custom here with 'The Bothy'. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The first tale in <a href="https://sarobpress.blogspot.com/2023/10/new-title-news-hauntings-by-peter-bell.html" target="_blank">Peter Bell's new book</a> evoked nostalgia in your humble reviewer, as it is set in the Cairngorms. I have happy memories of childhood summer holidays in that part of Scotland, very different from those set down by the story's narrator. The tale concerns two friends who set out to tackle a hazardous trail in late winter and find themselves benighted in the eponymous building during a blizzard. A third person appears, clearly desperate, and the men try to help her. Come the next morning, the two are alone again, confronted by an apparently insoluble mystery. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">This is a good start to the collection - a solid ghostly tale with a well-described setting and sympathetic characters. There is also a very nice touch that recalls some of the cleverer devices of earlier writers such as E.F. Benson (a mountain lover himself) and of course Blackwood. So, a good start. Looking forward to the next one, which I will read tomorrow night. </span></p>valdemarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03829872956512652469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3173887948269031901.post-51389509945731370582024-01-24T22:54:00.001+00:002024-01-24T22:54:17.946+00:00Supernatural Japan (A Documentary, 2018) presented by Chris Harding<iframe width="480" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/xexUJeyQQ7Y?si=-146WjMMQyoqBbd-" frameborder="0"></iframe>valdemarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03829872956512652469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3173887948269031901.post-14451178233390202962024-01-24T21:13:00.001+00:002024-01-24T21:13:09.439+00:00THE GOOD UNKNOWN AND OTHER GHOST STORIES by Stephen Volk (Tartarus Press 2023)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi7FAygSpaGqHJbpJHnsPf4LDQIvNFPADSwYyi79xH98malRyr2XbHtBMZCCYu9CZfF3QDmQOBBBZeLRD0yguNBdNOHYrt70dxzghy3xcE6rYTt21mQtTB3bWQdyazRE2t530i-9p9XpQ0IjqFkEvzINq7tAQLfbW2KDXL9rceTZQ0sa4i_5aGPBo29" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="501" data-original-width="1461" height="154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi7FAygSpaGqHJbpJHnsPf4LDQIvNFPADSwYyi79xH98malRyr2XbHtBMZCCYu9CZfF3QDmQOBBBZeLRD0yguNBdNOHYrt70dxzghy3xcE6rYTt21mQtTB3bWQdyazRE2t530i-9p9XpQ0IjqFkEvzINq7tAQLfbW2KDXL9rceTZQ0sa4i_5aGPBo29=w446-h154" width="446" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://www.stephenvolk.net/" target="_blank">Stephen Volk</a> will forever be associated with the groundbreaking BBC TV show Ghostwatch (1992), which remains one of the most controversial programmes ever broadcast in the UK. Not bad for a ghost story. Some writers get a bit peeved when they are always mentioned in connection to just one thing when they have done a lot of things. Volk, however, has always seemed good humoured about Ghostwatch, and one story in this collection underlines the point.</span><p></p><p></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />'31/10' adopts the position that the whole thing was 'real' - Michael Parkinson, in this alternate reality, ended up psychiatric care and Sarah Greene disappeared without trace. Ten years after the fateful broadcast they re-enact the show and wackiness ensues. It's an enjoyable take on conspiracy theories, which proliferated around the show even before social media. </span><p></p><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj-md-NX5O_-i5NLzbPP-AVPMFwUzIXTIEnBFU5PIQx6Q5iqLOerTmlmMdvQA1mxw2AjPoDUXlzlQscAjSoZlqH_6XApmCwKywaX7RFeS9MwASN1O7f9vYqwPR7G_yr9xz0njPtb5Le8VPWLyR2s2cmHRSZN5O4TBlLu9fLN3H1QzSboZhHYOQrkiIT" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="533" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj-md-NX5O_-i5NLzbPP-AVPMFwUzIXTIEnBFU5PIQx6Q5iqLOerTmlmMdvQA1mxw2AjPoDUXlzlQscAjSoZlqH_6XApmCwKywaX7RFeS9MwASN1O7f9vYqwPR7G_yr9xz0njPtb5Le8VPWLyR2s2cmHRSZN5O4TBlLu9fLN3H1QzSboZhHYOQrkiIT" width="160" /></a></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>Elsewhere, the various forms and tropes of the literary ghost story are explored. There's a neat homage to Lafcadio Hearn in 'Hojo the Fearless. This is the tale of a samurai sent to protect a village assailed by ghosts. Fans of the film Kwaidan will appreciate how the tone and atmosphere are recaptured. 'The Waiting Room' was, as the author notes, inspired by a true life ghost story involving no less a luminary than Charles Dickens. And 'Baby on Board' employs two of the most effective (for my money) ghostly conventions, the long journey undertaken by night and the down-to-earth copper reporting strange events. The story calls to mind Robert Westall. <br /><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj07kA9-0zb5CzLD1H1_rgwtUc_fGT79o8mI_sJlWGoCshmyq3xnynUM380d0Ag2OKQ6inipSRqXTeyp6MxSzCXnntpUmwLOQRXM95Ifl-JCl0Jcq192AhaBr7Gc8_ADSbatskXhjWFQ9vvEZqMWGiByU61iDQJ0h7J9P9XO9UK3zS57ZNrZMxZOuNF" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="889" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj07kA9-0zb5CzLD1H1_rgwtUc_fGT79o8mI_sJlWGoCshmyq3xnynUM380d0Ag2OKQ6inipSRqXTeyp6MxSzCXnntpUmwLOQRXM95Ifl-JCl0Jcq192AhaBr7Gc8_ADSbatskXhjWFQ9vvEZqMWGiByU61iDQJ0h7J9P9XO9UK3zS57ZNrZMxZOuNF" width="320" /></a></div><br />Elsewhere we find something approaching the M.R. Jamesian ghost story in 'Cold Ashton', one of those tales in which a traveller attends a wedding in a small village and then becomes intrigued by a potential mystery. 'Unrecovered' also uses the classic theme of the archaeological dig, here spun differently in terms of who is digging and what ensues. Very different again is 'Three Fingers, One Thumb', with its excursion to a certain kingdom of a magical nature, and the question of what lies behind the smiling (or leering) masks. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">The longest story here is really a short novel, 'Lost Loved Ones', a sequel to Volk's TV series Afterlife. I think fans of the show will find it satisfying, with its exploration of the life of Alison, a troubled medium in our very troubled world. I did feel the character - as I remember her from the series - came to life on the page.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">All in all, all of the eleven stories here will more than satisfy fans of the genre. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>valdemarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03829872956512652469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3173887948269031901.post-84801306449482068842023-11-20T19:10:00.005+00:002023-11-20T19:10:57.439+00:00Ebook of latest issue now available!<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgAU732TPNr1z9vAHOJxKXsavnrxbnpLm-CJrG69riS-QwuB1xCsWPF5jFhiuIK5t5Ke0Q3Rn4AK14rX8AwBnISSl5EFgO1uUJLsbxrBv2Ee1EudEitl-QJe-VVeEZNfZwMTpNkjxm5SbjVgs6bj3Z1nmtW8oFW-pPuHNZj0HQuU9XtP1TDIYt0-YGa" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="614" data-original-width="384" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgAU732TPNr1z9vAHOJxKXsavnrxbnpLm-CJrG69riS-QwuB1xCsWPF5jFhiuIK5t5Ke0Q3Rn4AK14rX8AwBnISSl5EFgO1uUJLsbxrBv2Ee1EudEitl-QJe-VVeEZNfZwMTpNkjxm5SbjVgs6bj3Z1nmtW8oFW-pPuHNZj0HQuU9XtP1TDIYt0-YGa=w200-h320" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Go <a href="https://www.lulu.com/shop/steve-duffy-and-sam-dawson-and-kelly-white-and-michael-chislett/supernatural-tales-54/ebook/product-45559ed.html?page=1&pageSize=4" target="_blank">here</a> to purchase this disturbing image of Santa plus some fiction as well.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">New stories by:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Helen Grant</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Christopher Harman</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Michael Chislett</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Kelly White</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sam Dawson</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Steve Duffy</span></div><br /><p></p>valdemarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03829872956512652469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3173887948269031901.post-29838237468163976062023-11-19T19:28:00.002+00:002023-11-19T19:28:49.848+00:00NIGHTMARE ABBEY 4<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTsY4pFzFBOS-dsViMCiL792pZVHxOGT02xjx5AlLFX1CBcQrf6cVB2XPRBp112bUWRAyyZs52HUl1aP30Pvgfzs38SKN3QAeWyEPCXu6mGDjB-_UUtyq5pTF9Cn49hA2e-68bzf1mExruKPL1VYqvuq9oPY5e9grrbzrwa5jCRYl79114_4pGw4zQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1441" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTsY4pFzFBOS-dsViMCiL792pZVHxOGT02xjx5AlLFX1CBcQrf6cVB2XPRBp112bUWRAyyZs52HUl1aP30Pvgfzs38SKN3QAeWyEPCXu6mGDjB-_UUtyq5pTF9Cn49hA2e-68bzf1mExruKPL1VYqvuq9oPY5e9grrbzrwa5jCRYl79114_4pGw4zQ=w282-h400" width="282" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-size: medium;">Here comes another one! Just in time for the festive season, the fourth issue of NM creeps out into the fading twilight courtesy of editor Tom English. As before, the mag offers a mixture of new stories and reprints, plus plenty of non-fiction content. Among the latter is an interview with Paul Finch - accompanied by a reprint of an excellent story of his - and a look at Val Lewton's lost film The Bodysnatcher by John L Probert. There's also the first part of a history of horror comics by John M. Navroth.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Among the stories, Helen Grant's 'Invasive Species' is a fine example of the 'somebody goes back home to find it's changed due to weird stuff happening' subgenre. Here the protagonist returns to a small Scottish island to deal with the aftermath of her father's death, only to find that new housing developments are marring the landscape. But there's more to it than that...</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Another one that grabbed me is 'The Brightest Heaven' by John L. Probert. This takes another familiar trope - the writer seeking inspiration in odd places - and plays with it very cleverly. Is there an actual muse out there, somewhere, waiting to be tracked down? And what price might be exacted by such an entity?</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Steve Duffy comes through, as always, with a story that offers plenty of atmosphere and a cunning denouement. 'Truth Lies at the Bottom of a Well' sees a team from Time-Life Books on a photo shoot in the mansion of an eccentric family. An eccentric young family member offers a member of the team a private tour, of sorts. And yes, there is a well, and no the denouement is not what you might think. Or at least not quite.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">A very different house features in 'Sundown in Duffield' by Steve Rasnic Tem. An old man and his adult grandson return to the family home. But what prompted the old man's father to flee the house in the first place? This a quasi-haunted house story that eschews all the usual gimmicks in favour of a slow build-up to a genuinely eerie conclusion.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">'Finding the Hollow Man' by David Surface is also memorable, perhaps because I have a thing about caves and what may lurk in them. The sole survivor of a tragedy that claimed several young lives yields to a persistent researcher and tells the story of the Hollow Man. Strange things happen in the dark, but it is the final passage - written by daylight - that has the greatest impact.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Those are just a few of the stories on offer - the ones that I liked best that also qualify as supernatural tales. Nightmare Abbey has cemented its reputation as a high-quality publication that recaptures the spirit of the pulp era but with the added bonus that the quality of the writing is much higher. You can find NM on Amazon.</span></p>valdemarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03829872956512652469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3173887948269031901.post-74240877181180713812023-11-18T13:26:00.003+00:002023-11-18T13:26:49.777+00:00New Winter Issue Out Now!<p>Order the print issue <a href="https://www.lulu.com/spotlight/davidlonghornathotmaildotcom?searchTerms=&pageOffset=1" target="_blank">here</a>: <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiTzc4EMEfhDE2LzLR-xrx-CSgOwOoOaC0wvVvFXQex2UyGRqY6rMaud5KFL7uraFbESf8KRYzsCny_QHtV6RSCp4kbVmt0gTEnrxpcRmQk0BE18GBvtW1TfIuS4XtZsGLsNtusNJPJX4QeJi7yEM8V7Vc1bIxPkrXnP7HymmqzvvEIUqbWCXyPF3kQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="282" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiTzc4EMEfhDE2LzLR-xrx-CSgOwOoOaC0wvVvFXQex2UyGRqY6rMaud5KFL7uraFbESf8KRYzsCny_QHtV6RSCp4kbVmt0gTEnrxpcRmQk0BE18GBvtW1TfIuS4XtZsGLsNtusNJPJX4QeJi7yEM8V7Vc1bIxPkrXnP7HymmqzvvEIUqbWCXyPF3kQ=w281-h400" width="281" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>New stories by: </b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Helen Grant</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Christopher Harman</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Michael Chislett</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Kelly White</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Sam Dawson</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Steve Duffy</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><br /><p></p>valdemarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03829872956512652469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3173887948269031901.post-36076475239735459622023-11-06T09:12:00.004+00:002023-11-06T09:12:46.113+00:00POSSESSIONS AND PURSUITS by John Howard and Mark Valentine (Sarob Press 2023)<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhd5ZcmZH0Go6k2Oc5eCbFzAxlNTt0iyXmaErjbQOoBV2dkgE51NaMLYESbm08OslwONCylqPk3Oghu2VIl0d7Sw2SGRMu2x19y4Bv3wKCeF9X3ARGs8fj4yGSOKyHfO8Mv-TS8TZQOfEbr8VmLNNqvxSNOo01cma5BIYepOhfKRUkX0OKwkc7fd_Ix" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="616" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhd5ZcmZH0Go6k2Oc5eCbFzAxlNTt0iyXmaErjbQOoBV2dkgE51NaMLYESbm08OslwONCylqPk3Oghu2VIl0d7Sw2SGRMu2x19y4Bv3wKCeF9X3ARGs8fj4yGSOKyHfO8Mv-TS8TZQOfEbr8VmLNNqvxSNOo01cma5BIYepOhfKRUkX0OKwkc7fd_Ix=w288-h400" width="288" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paul Lowe cover art, excellent as usual</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span><p></p><pre style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "poets electra", Georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 1.25rem; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px; overflow: auto; text-wrap: wrap;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;">Though warm my welcome everywhere,
I shift so frequently, so fast,
I cannot now say where I was
The evening before last,
Unless some singular event
Should intervene to save the place,
A truly asinine remark,
A soul-bewitching face,
Or blessed encounter, full of joy,
Unscheduled on the Giesen Plan,
With, here, an addict of Tolkien,
There, a Charles Williams fan.</span></span></pre><pre style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "poets electra", Georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 1.25rem; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px; overflow: auto; text-wrap: wrap;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;">From 'On the Circuit' by W.H. Auden (<i>About the House </i>1965)</span></span></pre><pre style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "poets electra", Georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 1.25rem; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px; overflow: auto; text-wrap: wrap;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><br /></span></span></pre><pre style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "poets electra", Georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 1.25rem; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px; overflow: auto; text-wrap: wrap;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;">Auden, the great poet of modernity and political engagement in his youth, later found solace in a more conservative (small C) and Christian worldview, which the writings of several Inklings helped him form. While the influence of Lewis and Tolkien on other writers has often been acknowledged, Charles Williams remains a somewhat shadowy figure. Fairly prolific, much admired, but seldom imitated. Too difficult in some ways, too mainstream in others, it has taken two Williams' fans and Sarob Press to produce what might be the only 21st century body of 'Williamsesque' fiction. </span></span></pre><span><a name='more'></a></span><pre style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "poets electra", Georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 1.25rem; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px; overflow: auto; text-wrap: wrap;"><br /></pre><pre style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "poets electra", Georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 1.25rem; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px; overflow: auto; text-wrap: wrap;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><a href="https://sarobpress.blogspot.com/2023/08/new-title-news-possessions-and-pursuits.html" target="_blank">This third and final shared volume</a> includes two novellas by Mark Valentine and a short novel by John Howard. Their approaches differ, as in the <a href="https://suptales.blogspot.com/2022/08/this-world-and-that-other-sarob-press.html" target="_blank">previous book</a> which I reviewed here. Valentine's stories are both playful and look at the numinous and strange intersecting with superficially mundane British life. </span></span></pre><pre style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "poets electra", Georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 1.25rem; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px; overflow: auto; text-wrap: wrap;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;">'Masque and Anti-Masque' sees a small but ancient provincial university torn between modernisers and traditionalists over whether to continue with an odd custom. Meanwhile an eccentric scholar submits a book to the university's press which purports to reveal deeper truths behind the tradition. It wouldn't be a Mark Valentine story if I didn't learn a new word. This time it's Mazzaroth.</span></span></pre><pre style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "poets electra", Georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 1.25rem; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px; overflow: auto; text-wrap: wrap;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;">'The Prospero Machine' is set in an unspecified decade of the last century (probably) and concerns seaside slot machines that dispense fortunes, cookie style, in return for those old brown pennies. A poet on winter vacation falls in with the owner of the Prospero company and devises new rhyming couplets to keep things fresh. But when a local artist is recruited to add a touch of class to the little slips of cardboard things take a strange turn. </span></span></pre><pre style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "poets electra", Georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 1.25rem; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px; overflow: auto; text-wrap: wrap;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;">'The Fallen Sun' is a multi-layered novel reminiscent (to this non-expert) of Williams' novels <i>War in Heave</i>n and <i>All Hallows' Eve, </i>in which a wide cast of diverse characters are linked by a strange phenomenon and/or mystical McGuffin. The setting is 'between the wars', the setting moves between London and Istanbul with Ataturk in charge. Thanks to the new, secular Turkey, restoration of the Christian murals at Hagia Sophia is under way. But a vital component appears to be missing.</span></span></pre><pre style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "poets electra", Georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 1.25rem; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px; overflow: auto; text-wrap: wrap;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><i> </i>John Howard imagines (or discovers) the Mirror of Byzantium. This unique artefact is pursued by an array of characters for various motives. Its power involves transforming the users view of the world and revealing a parallel, hidden reality. But is this otherworld good, evil, or what? As the mirror journeys from Istanbul to London, there are revelations about its power and the innermost nature of the characters. </span></span></pre><pre style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "poets electra", Georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 1.25rem; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px; overflow: auto; text-wrap: wrap;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><span style="background-color: black;">This book is an absorbing read, full of strange erudition and wonderful imagery. Wherever he is, I think Charles Williams would be pleasantly surprised by how sincere and talented his admirers are. Perhaps he already is...</span></span></pre>valdemarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03829872956512652469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3173887948269031901.post-44277100995985496482023-10-31T13:57:00.001+00:002023-10-31T13:57:00.138+00:00'No Passage Landward' by Steve Duffy<iframe frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://youtube.com/embed/V7w4MYnN3dE?si=RtFeDJ9BXHf7eOBA" width="480"></iframe><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Another modern story with that classic feel by one of the handful of writers who've been contributing to ST from the very first issue. Listen to it at night, in the dark, and enjoy. And don't have nightmares!</span></div>valdemarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03829872956512652469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3173887948269031901.post-90032406309885869522023-10-30T13:55:00.001+00:002023-10-30T13:55:00.178+00:00'High Tide at Fang Rock' written and read by David Longhorn<iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/geICJL3FKTk?si=eMmG0xHviPb9v2ft" style="background-image: url(https://i.ytimg.com/vi/geICJL3FKTk/hqdefault.jpg);" width="480"></iframe><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Thought I'd include an obscure story of my own, with a nautical theme. Well, a lighthouse theme, anyway. Doctor Who fans will know that this is a homage to a classic Tom Baker-era story. </span></div>valdemarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03829872956512652469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3173887948269031901.post-47354827185438426262023-10-29T13:52:00.001+00:002023-10-29T13:52:00.150+00:00'New Corner' by L T C Rolt<iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/9OXPwQ9leyI?si=To53w8F8_Rm5Kw0b" style="background-image: url(https://i.ytimg.com/vi/9OXPwQ9leyI/hqdefault.jpg);" width="480"></iframe><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Another reading by yours truly. A tale that combines motor racing and folk horror, which must be a first - though of course, automotive ghost stories were nothing new in Rolt's day. As with the steam train, it only took a few years for radically new technology to be used in ghost stories. </span></div>valdemarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03829872956512652469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3173887948269031901.post-81831200865769126462023-10-28T12:49:00.006+00:002023-10-28T12:49:00.149+00:00'Rats' by M.R. James<iframe frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://youtube.com/embed/pCvf-Gjj5Dk?si=BwMco9YcR92yemhR" width="480"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">My reading of a classic. Hope you think it's up to the mark! I'm pretty sure MRJ didn't read his stories in a (slight?) North East accent but you never know! </span></div>valdemarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03829872956512652469noreply@blogger.com0