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Author Topic: Filthy Creations 7 (just when you thought it was safe)  (Read 2505 times)
Calenture
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« on: July 13, 2013, 11:23:42 AM »



Apologies if this seems like spamming. Look at it this way: if you write good stories, we could be interested in printing them.

CLICK THE IMAGE ABOVE TO VIEW A PROMOTIONAL VIDEO OF IMAGES AND TEXT EXTRACTS FROM THE MAGAZINE.

Reviews below (abbreviated) are by Demonic, administrator of Vault of Evil, and Andy Boot, author of Fragments of Fear: An Illustrated History of Horror Films, and numerous mass-market novels including A Dream of Innan and contributions to Don Pendelton’s Executioner series.

The magazine can be purchased through PayPal for £3 (inc. P&P) or is free for review. Use this link to buy: PayPal page

Or if you want the free review copy email me at: oldbooksandmags@yahoo.com

Demonik:

 Franklin Marsh - The Wicket Man:  An opposing batsman's alarming faux pas sparks pitch invasion by partisan home supporters. ...Still sparkly and new. Grimly feendish.

Equally ghastly though lighter on chuckles is:

Penni McLaren Walker - The Architect's Tale: Commercial artist Hugh buys a beat-up old drawing board and a folder of vellum sheets at a car boot sale. The board is missing a leg, but duct tape and a broom handle soon set that right. It's the best tenner Hugh ever spent! His work improves out of all recognition, earns him a commission from Mr. Feirth… As luck would have it, Feirth is something of a specialist in ancient Egyptian artifacts, and recognises Hugh's "drawing board" as the very architect's table used by the murdered Hiram Abith, the genius builder of the Temple of Solomon.  Feirth is a little hazy as to the finer details of the inevitable 'curse' , but then, nobody need pay any mind to such preposterous superstitious drivel…

D. F. Lewis - The Only Climax: In his afterword, Rog Pile refers to this single-pager as "a literary riddle of sorts." Which is a better way of putting it than anything I'm likely to come up with.

D. F. Lewis - All Endings Are Happy: Maybe one day I will tackle The Nightmare Factory and then - it will all become clear?

Robert Mamone - Myceleum: Frank invested unwisely on the stock market, necessitating a move from the city to a place in the country. This has done nothing for his relationship with second wife, and tonight's flare up is more than their sons can bear. So Derek - counting down the days until he starts college - takes, Tommy, his eight-year-old step-brother, out in the fog to explore the copse at back of their garden. The woodland is dense with ugly, bloated  mushrooms and Tommy, hit full in the face by a cloud of spore, drops like a stone.

Once discharged from Hospital, Tommy's behavior takes a turn for the .... strange. Frank and Jill, reconciled, agree it's best he sleep with them tonight. The kid couldn't be more delighted ....

Charles H. Galloway - Shapeshifter: When a hurricane lays waste to the coastline, the immediate population either turn to violence or give up the ghost altogether. Marten Lee is among the latter contingent. Numbed by alcohol, he packs a weapon and books into a decrepit hotel near the beach. As he places gun to head, a group of earthbound elementals prepare to pounce. The suicide's worst fear - death is not the end, and the sequel is worse than the rubbish life you just terminated. If Architect's Table and Myceleum have an early Pan Book of Horror feel to them and The Wicket Man is Reg Parlett's  Creepy Comix gone bloodthirsty, then Shapeshifter is the Fantasy Tale of the piece. Liked it a lot, especially the triumphant former people passing around cigs as they set off to the seaside.

Andy Boot:


FC dropped through the door just as I'd found a copy of FC 1 that I didn't realise I had anymore, lodged into a large format p/b called, appropriately enough, Forgotten Horrors.

But there's nothing that can be forgotten aout FC 7 - it was a highly entertaining weekend's read away from packing cases.

The stand alone stories of length reminded me of an Amicus portmanteau, albeit a very bloody and nasty one. Mr Marsh gives us a very gory take on what village sport is really about with a streak of jet black humour; Penni Walker and Charles Galloway, who are new names to me, prvided very nasty but compelling tales, and Robert Mammone's story really is beautiful written - he has a great style, and I'd like to read more of his work. His evocation of atmosphere and mood are really superb.

Des is cryptic and Des-like. I like his writing, but it's been a while since I read any, and he seems to be getting more gnomic. Frustrating and fascinating... and why not? I think that's actually what I like about him.

 Coming into novels part-way through is frustrating, but all the more so when they are of the quality of Sendings and The Death Tableaux. I noted that Rog mentioned the former reminded him of Norah Loft's The Devil's Own (aka The Witches) and I can see what he's getting at - the restrained tone and the sheer reasonableness of the narrator and his wife just inspire dread for what is to come without resorting to hyperbole. Very finely judged writing, and with a nicely placed and suitably subdued cliffhanger of a final eight paragraphs. As for Mr Herbertson... loads of arcane references, odd characters, and within an everyday milieu that makes them all the more eccentric. A good pulpy basis to the plot, with some proper writing on top of that. It's got everything that ticks my boxes and makes me wonder who the hell this kid Kennedy is and how she fits in...

It should be obvious that I found it highly entertaining, which is more than can be said of a lot of recent horror writing I've chanced across in the last few years (One Eye Grey excepted). Maybe that's because it seems to have a foot in the past - not in a negative way, but in taking those elements of the old that are still effective and bringing them into the twentyfirst century. Or something. Or maybe I just liked it, full stop.
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