At the End of Church Street by Gregory L. Hall

I picked up At the End of Church Street by Greg Hall because of the hook:

Live forever young. Every night is an adventure—hunting down tourists, challenging the local police, screaming to the world vampires really exist.

The book sounded a little like Peter Pan with vampires...

Who wouldn't want to read that?

Church Street keeps you running the back alleys of Orlando with homeless kids who live together in an abandoned theater as family. They claim to be vampires and live as such until someone, who evidently believes they are vampires, begins killing them with the age-old vampire slaying favorites: a stake through the heart and beheading.

There are twists and turns through the full-throttle narrative which keep the reader propelled toward the "turn it up to eleven" conclusion.

Greg Hall has added some nice layers to the vampire mythos and, instead of playing pansy with his teenaged protagonists, he gives them real life and death choices to face. This isn't a bloody climax slapped on to the end of a sappy love story; Church Street is all climax, all life and death and love.

And in the end, vampires are badass again.

Check it out at Belfire Press or Amazon.com.

Valley of the Dead by Kim Paffenroth

Zombies are to horror fiction what mosquitoes are to my backyard in August (i.e., everywhere). Some fans gobble the latest zombie novels and wash it all down with undead anthologies and poetry from beyond the grave. I'm not that fan. I have nothing bad to say about the shambling meat-bags; they just don't poke my brain in the right places. And face it: a good portion of zombie fiction these days is pretty derivative. (and derivative is boring in my book)

So yeah, I don't usually read much involving zombies.

Unless Kim Paffenroth writes it.

See, Paffenroth has a way of exposing the selfish, greedy, lecherous horrors of the living as even worse than the mindless hunger of the undead. Valley of the Dead asks "What if Dante Alighieri witnessed a zombie plague and based his Inferno on the horrors of said plague?"

But Valley of the Dead is more than a zombie book. It's more than a "travel story", too. (The episodic nature of Dante's experiences with different groups reminds me of Mark Twain's Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.) Yes, it is both of these things, but a lot of "big questions" about human nature arise through the narrative. Dante and his companions (a pregnant woman, a monk of sorts, and an AWOL soldier) run across a rather sorry lot of (living) human examples of the seven deadly sins and more. He ponders the big questions about suffering, evil, and God while trying to escape a valley of pain, sickness, and death. All too soon, the reader is aware zombies are the least of Dante's problems.

Grab a copy. Give it a go. If you like to think along with your gut-munching horror, this is for you.

Next in the reading que: At the End of Church Street by Gregory L. Hall.

Back from the Dead

...and I'm reading about the dead.



Currently: Valley of the Dead by Kim Paffenroth--and I'm loving it. More later.

Necrotic Tissue #9

I've sunk my teeth into the latest issue of Necrotic Tissue (#9), and I'm pleased to report this magazine keeps on giving.

There's something special about Necrotic Tissue, maybe the attitude. It "feels" like an old pulp magazine, something I imagine to be like the Weird Tales of the '30s and '40s. Indeed, issue 9's editor's choice, "Caretaker in the Garden of Dreams" by David Tallerman, is a work of dark fantasy inhabited by creatures from a Lovecraftian nightmare.

But there's variety within. You can read about the wrong kind of surgery with J. Ventura's "Makeover" or the dense, literary horror of Laura L. Sullivan's "The Butterfly Hunter." Necrotic Tissue invites all styles between its covers.

Being a fan of the short-short form, especially flash fiction, Necrotic Tissue's 100 word bites are a special treat. My favorite from #9 is "Adagio" by Brendan P. Myers, a quick stab of darkness that lingers long after its brief length on the page.

Editor-in-Chief R. Scott McCoy balances it all with some solid non-fiction, including a fine interview with Joe R. Lansdale in #9, as well as an ongoing feature to help writers (and editors everywhere), "Help Me to Help You Help Me". This quarter's installment addresses the magic of ending a short story well. Mr. McCoy has a clean, straightforward and honest delivery in his editorials, too.

At $30 for four issues (one year), I can't think of a better fix for quality short horror fiction in print. Necrotic Tissue is a class act: always on time, always satisfying.

Mama Fish by Rio Youers

Here's why you want to read Mama Fish by Rio Youers: you'll be pissed when it's over.

Youers splices together two tales of Patrick Beauchamp: one from high school when Patrick is trying to befriend school oddity Kelvin Fish; the second features an older Patrick, parent of two and beloved husband. Yes, they come together, in a sense. Any more plot points would taint your reading of Mama Fish, and I'm not here to do that.

The prose is delicious, fast, and propels you to the end. Unfortunately, I feel like the end came too quickly--maybe because I devoured it in one sitting. With two rug-rats running around the house, I don't devour much over ten pages in one sitting anymore. Even when the end becomes inevitable, and it does, Youers held my attention, winding it around his easy style and showing not only Patrick's final choice but why he made it (again, no spoilers here).

Some may be put off by the alternating time frames in the book (instead of all the "high school" story followed by the "older Patrick", Youers goes back and forth), but I enjoyed the way Mama Fish unfolded. With Shroud as the publisher, one might expect horror, and the novella has horrific moments, especially when Patrick is younger. But to simply file Mama Fish in the horror bin limits readers. This is slipstream at its best--a little science fiction, a little fantasy, and a dash of horror.

Why was I pissed when I finished? I wanted more. Give me a few Youers' short stories at least. I know I'll be looking for something with his name on it.

Pick up Mama Fish at Shroud or Amazon.com.

The New Bedlam Project Issue #4

Issue 4 of The New Bedlam project once more delivers on the little town’s promise to unnerve the unwary reader. Once more we travel through its darkened streets to uncover the evil which lurks within the minds and hearts of those within the city limits.

Natalie L Sin takes a different approach, using her unique love of Asia and everything within it to add a different cultural bent and flavour to the twisted happenings in this writers’ haven. Zoe E. Whitten reminds us that not all the residents are writers but horror isn’t picky when choosing victims. Michael C Pennington allows us to see some hope when the writers fight back. Somehow I see this as opening a whole new can of worms – fat and juicy ones.

Barry Napier and J. Jay Waller take a stab at necrophilia, but from completely different angles – so to speak. I’m sure they’re both fine upstanding gentlemen, but the black twistedness of their imaginations is clear for all to see.

And we have creatures. As regular readers know, the imaginings of the writer residents of New Bedlam are the bread and butter of the horror which walks its streets, and so Kevin Lucia and Louise Bohmer serve up a dog of hell and something mystical and creepy (respectively) just to remind us.

Coupled with an excerpt by Brandon Layng from Courting Morpheus (Can of Worms), and another from Jodi Lee’s novel set in New Bedlam (At the Institute), we have an excellent all round issue with something to please everyone – and it’s free. Go check it out.

by Brenton Tomlinson

See No Evil, Say No Evil by Matt Betts

Poetry can be a tenuous thing, especially in the world of speculation. Hooray for champions like Matt Betts, whose chapbook See No Evil, Say No Evil collects some fine examples of speculative poetry that manage to cut a razor's edge between funny and poignant without alienating a reader.

Take "The Redneck Future that Awaits Me" for example. The speaker understands his social position might not be improved in the science-fiction future, but at least "we will have conquered rust".

Then you have the laugh-out-loud "Nobody Eats Porridge Anymore" in which the bears exact a brand of revenge on the "little blond girl".

One of my personal favorites is the brief "Science 101 Destroys All Hope"...something I've been trying to tell a few of my colleagues for years. Maybe finding a penny doesn't lead to good luck, but who wants to live in that world, anyway?

There are no heavy rhyme schemes or rigid meter to contend with in these poems, and you won't find allusions lost in Greek and Latin history. No, the only prerequisite for reading See No Evil, Say No Evil is a sense of humor and appreciation for the imaginative. A good background in late night B-movies doesn't hurt, either.

See No Evil, Say No Evil is still available directly from Matt Betts for the ridiculously low price of $7 + S&H. Go on, choose evil.