THE BLEEDING HORSE AND OTHER GHOST STORIES by Brian J. Showers (Swan River Press, 2026)
I reviewed The Bleeding Horse for ST 14. As the review only appeared in print, I thought I'd revisit it in digital form. And here it is, only slightly tweaked.
'Brian J. Showers' story 'The Toll of Finnegan's Bridge' appeared in an earlier issue of this magazine. His new collection draws on the same rich vein of Irish folklore. What makes it different, however, is its geographical precision. The Rathmines area of Dublin is Brian's patch, and he introduces us to some of its mythology with a careful nod to Sheridan Le Fanu's earlier exploration of Chapelizod. The stories are divided into two sections, 'The Road to Rathmines' and 'Rathmines Road Lower'. I've never visited Dublin, but I now feel I know at least part of it rather well.
'The stories in The Bleeding Horse all fall into the 'traditional' mould - they are moderate, even gentle, in pace, rich in detail, and untricksy in style. Horror is kept at a distance, period detail is carefully inked in, and characters are well-drawn but not over-analysed. In the title story, the ghost is of an old warhorse that (apparently) collapsed and died in a pub after a battle. This is, of course, the sort of thing that has to generate a ghost story. Sure enough, the hapless creature's spirit returns to the boozer, to the discomfiture of the staff. Like most 'true' ghost stories, there's no neat conclusion here. There is, however, a link with the painter Jack Yeats (the poet's brother), who is the subject of the next tale, 'Oil on Canvas'. Jack Yeats' sad life and post-mortem career are well evoked, as staff in a nursing home are faced with a sort of spectral graffiti. Then, in 'Favourite No. 7 Omnibus', we get another painting, this one framing the story of an accident that resonated over the centuries. This is a more serious tale, and deals with the vexing question of free will versus determinism. Is it a ghost story at all, in fact, or a sort of science fiction? Whatever the underlying theory, it's highly satisfying.
'The second group of four stories consists of two linked pairs. 'Meones' Beast' is the local variant on that very common legend of the brave nobleman who slew the river monster that had been eating everyone's livestock. 'Rathmeones' apparently gives us Rathmines, and this most ill-omened part of the district is the subject of the next story, 'Quis Separabit'. Here the author cleverly interweaves historical fact, speculation, scholarship (real and bogus, methinks), and even a Tarot reading to tell the tale of the spectral Blackberry Man. Oh, and there's some automatic writing. And I haven't even mentioned the plot's central McGuffin. I felt at some points that the pudding was a bit over-egged, but I did enjoy most of the details, not least the ghost-hunting group calling themselves the International Cold Spot Society. A nasty end they come to - some of the incidents in the story are genuinely chilling.
'Another very short story, or anecdote, 'Lavender and White Clover', leads into the long final tale, 'Father Corrigan's Diary'. What connection can there be between a pagan burial found with a mouth stuffed with wild flowers and the priests at a Catholic church built on the same site? I am not quite sure if this is a tale of vampirism, metempsychosis, or something else. But the sad case of Father Corrigan and his fellow priests has an undoubted power, vitiated slightly (for me) by the diary form. This is, of course, a personal prejudice - I'm sure others will think otherwise.'
That's what I thought back in 2008, when The Bleeding Horse won the Children of the Night Award. Re-reading the stories now, I think I was, if anything, a bit grudging in my praise. 'Quis Separabit', in particular, is even better than I remember. I ended that review thusly:
'All in all, Brian Showers shows a remarkable talent for combining genuine Dublin lore with his own eerie imaginings. Le Fanu is the tutelary spirit of this book, and gets namechecked several times. I suspect that 'the Invisible Prince' would be rather pleased to find that his approach, with its emphasis on local colour and incident, has survived so well and continues to be used to such good effect.'
This new volume also includes 'Old Albert', a novella first published by Ex Occidente Press in 2011. An epigram from Italo Calvino leads us into an exploration of strange doings at Larkhill House. It's a very effective tale, not least because of the detached tone and attention to detail. An eccentric ornithologist builds a house in Rathmines and, for a short time, pursues his interest in taxidermy. Then he leaves abruptly, putting the house up for sale. An odd departure, heralding far stranger developments...
Sheridan Le Fanu makes a cameo appearance in 'Old Albert', and this is appropriate. As with many of Le Fanu's stories, this one is not overburdened with explanation. Instead, we are offered incident, atmosphere, character sketches, and a brooding sense of something being Not Quite Right. Some truly horrific scenes are well-handled, and there is a genuine surprise ending. Well, I was surprised. And yet the ending fits neatly into the jigsaw of facts concerning Larkhill.
As John Connolly notes in his introduction, these stories 'bring the recurrent past ever before our eyes'.
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