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Post by dem bones on Apr 13, 2020 18:01:12 GMT
And from the same source;
Chad Savage - Takes One to Know One: "I had spent the weekend dealing with what I call 'subject nerds', people so obsessed with a specific thing, Star Trek, Dungeons and Dragons, or whatever, that it consumes their lives. I can deal with that. It's not my problem. Subject nerds become a problem when they decide everyone else should be obsessed, too."
Narrator is pestered by annoying vampire wannabe at a convention. 'Vladimir' claims to be the real deal ... Tellingly, this is the final story in the last issue of the superb Coven Journal. It certainly echoes the sentiments of the editor's farewell editorial.
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Post by helrunar on Apr 13, 2020 19:11:47 GMT
Chad Savage is a funny name. I bet that story had a good ending.
I went to a few conventions for the Dark Shadows fandom in the mid 90s through early 2000s (last one was a one day stop at the 2006 celebration of the series' 40th anniversary) and kept wondering why I saw so many people who looked and acted as if they needed "someone from the Home" to make sure they didn't mess themselves in public. I did make some friendships that have lasted, but never made attending a convention my main vacation of any year. It seemed as if that was what it was for a lot of these "subject nerds."
cheers, H.
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Post by dem bones on Apr 15, 2020 8:54:25 GMT
Also from Coven Jounal #4 (it's almost a slimy fan special). Norma K. Lanai - The Night Trilogy: Three vignettes, the third of which, A Night Out, concerns us here. Wandering the streets after dark with the thirst upon him, he chances on an all-night Butcher shop where a goddess in gory apron serves him raw hamburger and, on the house, "a large Styrofoam mug of steaming hot blood." When she smiles at him, he flees in terror, unable to hold his own in the presence of the real thing. Martin V. Riccardo - A Message To Mortals: "My vampire compatriots, male and female, all agree; once one of us has tasted a human vampire fan, there is no desire to go back to ordinary mortals." Zatyr feasts on the blood of a Morticia Adamms wannabe as she sleeps. The experience is so exhilarating that he swears off non-fang fangs as a totally inferior source of sustenance. The sequence in which Zatyr enters his "victim"'s Gothic dream-scape is fun, but the gee-ain't-us-vampire-fans-unique-and-more-intelligent-and-imaginative-than-the-squares sentiments are as risible as they are contentious. Have never understood how anyone can delude themselves that reading/ writing about vampires/ tentacled monstrosities/ Hobbits/ talking dragons/ whatever, or liking/ disliking a particular type of popular music somehow elevates them to a higher intellectual plain than "the ignorant masses." Chad Savage is a funny name. I bet that story had a good ending. I went to a few conventions for the Dark Shadows fandom in the mid 90s through early 2000s (last one was a one day stop at the 2006 celebration of the series' 40th anniversary) and kept wondering why I saw so many people who looked and acted as if they needed "someone from the Home" to make sure they didn't mess themselves in public. I did make some friendships that have lasted, but never made attending a convention my main vacation of any year. It seemed as if that was what it was for a lot of these "subject nerds." Re: the "subject nerd" thing, surely it depends on who's calling the shots? Anyone with an interest in anything is likely someone else's "subject nerd," in the same way everybody is somebody else's "weirdo," somebody else's "them." Chad's still fighting the good fight: Sinister Visions
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Post by dem bones on May 20, 2020 7:16:21 GMT
Peter Abrahams - The Fan (Warner, 1996; originally Little Brown, 1995) Blurb Bobby Rayburn is the ultimate ball player. His homers soar over the outfield fence. Gil Renard's wife left him, and his car payments soar past the roof. But now he's about to sacrifice his sanity to rescue Bobby Rayburn from an irreversible slump. For Gil Renard isn't just a frustrated salesman. He's the Fan.Begins with a transcript of an exchange between first-time caller Gil Renard and the host of JOC-radio's sport show. Gil berates the presenter for a negative attitude toward his baseball team, the Sox, when this, so obviously, is gonna be their year! The close-season signing of superstar slugger Bobby Rayburn for a whole lot of dollars guarantees it. So lay off the Sox! Gil is a knife-salesman for a firm founded by his late father, but the family connection won't save him from the axe unless he can hit his months quota for a change. The problem is, this God**n recession, not to mention those God**n Jap bastards flooding the market with way superior product. What with the child maintenance, the car repayments and the cost of living, Gil's continued existence is becoming too expensive a luxury. But none of this matters, just so long as he and son Richie make the Sox's season opener Bobby Rayburn's career at the Sox has not got off to the best of starts. Eager to impress in his first practice match, he's aggravated the rib injury, and if he wants the lucky number eleven shirt, that punk Primo won't give it up for anything less than $50,000. A promo visit to a dying kid in hospital don't quite go to plan, as he fails to fulfill his promise to hit a home run for him. All this and he loses his talisman, a four leaf clover from a granny in Texas, busted along with his rib as he pulled off a spectacular catch. And now his wife's turned up at the hotel, banging a different baseball groupie a night is out of the question. Gil sells a prize possession - his father's priceless handcrafted Bowie knife - to pay tout prices for tickets to the opening game. Man, it's so gonna be the glory season! Am already getting right into this despite complete lack of interest in rounders or whatever damn fool thing they call it over there. Useful glossary at back should you feel the need to know what a 'pop-fly' is. Mr. Abrahams provides no definition of 'shagger' but I think we can safely conclude it doesn't mean the same thing in the US. P. 63 of 342.
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Post by helrunar on May 20, 2020 12:55:45 GMT
Gosh, Kev. That book sounds like a total snooze. But your writing is so much fun and crafted with such dry wit, I'm really looking forward to your next installment about this one. No pressure, of course.
Thanks for the smile on a rather dodgy Wodan's-day.
cheers, Steve PS. Never heard the word "shagger" over here. According to the online slang dictionaries, it means an individual who runs along and collects balls for sporty types. Fascinating, isn't it.
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Post by dem bones on May 21, 2020 11:09:27 GMT
No 'snooze' about it, far as this reader is concerned. The Fan is dead suspenseful, painfully relevant to the now, and, sporadically, cruelly hilarious. Our protagonist, predictably enough, is a pushy father. He has Richie's future all mapped out - the kid's gonna be the major league baseball superstar Gil would have been himself, had life only dealt him a kinder hand. We're not so sure his estranged wife, Ellen, or her new boyfriend, Tim (in unguarded moments, Richie refers to him as "Daddy Tim"), are onside, and nor, significantly, is the under-nine's coach. Ain't nobody wants a namby pamby cry-baby on the team.
The Sox game clashes with an appointment with a regular client. Gil, who isn't cut out multiple-tasking, takes Richie to the game, leaves him at the match while he drives off in the snow for a sure fire big sale. Events - and his bladder - conspire against him, cost him his job and access to his son, a furious Ellen taking a restraining order against him. He cashes a last pay cheque and hits the bottle.
Meanwhile, the pressure of a big money transfer is getting to Bobby Rayburn, who, like Gil, is superstitious to a fault. The loss of the four leaf clover, the fact the dead Chemo boy, Sean, shared his son's name, and new teammate Primo's refusal to give up the number eleven shirt without substantial reimbursement, all weigh heavy on his bruised confidence. As if damaged ribs were not worry enough, this new concern that his eyesight is failing drives Bobby to consult a psychotherapist. His services don't come cheap.
Between them, trophy wife Valerie (she no longer answers to 'Val') and Wald, Bobby's equally high maintenance agent, convince the star to buy a mansion within short driving distance of Soxtown. Valerie has sure acquired expensive tastes since her humble cheerleader beginnings, and Bobby no longer holds any great affection for her. Beautiful as she is, she's deadly dull in bed. He'll stick with the groupies.
Gil drives drunk to his home town, visits the stadium where he hit a home run, moves on to the cemetery to dig up his father's grave and retrieve the little league trophy he won from the dead man's skeletal fingers....
As he's filling in the grave, some tramp poacher fires a rifle ....
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Post by dem bones on May 25, 2020 16:34:52 GMT
Fair tore through this second The Fan. Have no intention of spoiling the finale, so will take woeful summary only so far. A chance meeting in the cemetery reunites Gil with Len 'Co' Boucicaut, the team-mate he idolised back in the day. Co, a fellow alcoholic, has long turned to burglary and poaching to stay afloat and, taken in by Gil's suit and flash car, is resentful at what he perceives as his "success." He laughs at Gil's fond reminiscences of their magnificent baseball careers. " It was Little League. We were twelve years old!" Useless memories. Co is more interested in making easy money. Learning of Mr. Hale's invaluable knife collection, he drives them around to turn the place over. Old Mrs. Hale, a former fencing champion, disturbs them at work, drives a length of steel through Boucicaut, who bleeds to death as they make their getaway. Gil drives back to the cemetery, digs up his father's grave a second time, and buries Co on top of his old man's bones.
Back in Soxtown, Primo won't budge on the shirt issue no matter what Bobby is prepared to pay - could it be they have an agent in common, playing one against the another? The pair come to blows in the rest room of Cleats' bar - Gil, puking in a cubicle, witnessing the altercation. Bobby, his confidence shot, demands Wald get him a transfer somewhere, anywhere he can wear the lucky eleven again. Wald, who, as we suspected, is a conniving bastard, persuades the star to begin planning for life after baseball. He arranges for him to be interviewed at home by Jewel Stern, celebrity baseball analyst, for a spread in the New York Times magazine. Bobby, who detests the media, takes a shine to Jewel who gets on famously with little Sean. They get to see plenty of each other as events move toward a bloody end.
Gil sleeps with Co's hooker girlfriend, only to stab her when, seeing the blood all over his car, she accuses him of murdering her man. It seems everywhere he goes these days, someone winds up dead - maybe he should take out a few on behalf of his beloved Sox - starting with those he holds responsible for Bobby Rayburn's loss of form. He takes to hanging around Bobby's mansion, and sees something he shouldn't which he will not be slow to use to advantage should opportunity arise. His world, and that of his idol, are now on collision course. We are about to find out if any good can come of meeting your heroes.
As with Bob Randall's classic, have no hesitation in recommending this to those who like their stalkers ultra-unhinged.
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Post by andydecker on Jun 24, 2020 15:40:25 GMT
Peter Cannon - The Undercliffe Sentences (Made in Goatswood, Chaosium, 1995) horror writer Carl Dreadstone mingles with his fans at the Brichester Fantasy Convention . "In fact, his only regret was that he had missed the panel scheduled opposite him, featuring S. Hutson and S. Hudson. Like superman and Clark Kent, Hutson and Hudson had never been in the same room at the same time. For years he'd suspected that the author of Heathen and the author of Hounds of Horror were one person - though he wouldn't put it past the man to hire a double to keep the deception alive. Hutson, or Hudson, as the master of contrived plot and prervervid prose, was more than capable of pulling that kind of juvenile stunt, he was sure."
Nothing like the snobism in writer's circles. After too many pages of similar sharp-witted satire the plot unfolds; Dreadstone - who misses his agent, who is in the US signing a movie deal with his other client Jay Ramsey (get it?) - has written about Errol Undercliffe - him of Ramsey Campbell's early story - and is surprised about the editing job of his newest story. He visits Leda Arco, the editor, who is the widow of Undercliffe and more as first appears.
I guess it is a matter of taste. You either love it or hate it. I found it pretty dreadful - pun intended.
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enoch
Devils Coach Horse
Posts: 117
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Post by enoch on Nov 14, 2021 1:55:56 GMT
I'd be curious to hear what horror stories or novels other Vault folks found scary.
I'm not scared or even creeped out by most horror that I read. I'll happily read Lovecraft before bed, and enjoy listening to audio recordings of M.R. James' ghost stories as I drift off to sleep. There are exceptions, though -- stories I won't read after the sun sets because they keep me from sleeping well. These stories either kept me awake after I read them, had me stop reading to glance over my shoulder, or caused cold chills and/or gooseflesh. These are not necessarily my favorite stories, or even necessarily great ones, though some are. What scares one, like what makes one laugh, is entirely subjective. But for what it's worth, here is my list. They are all short stories or novellas, as I am not very fond of horror in novel form.
"The River Styx Runs Upstream" by Dan Simmons. Interestingly, this story is sometimes assigned reading in medical ethics classes here in the U.S.
" ''''''''''''''' " by Joyce Carol Oates. What the hell is the title of this story, anyway? I've used parenthetical marks as the closest approximation, because the title isn't in any language, it's just a bunch of squiggly lines. I borrowed the anthology in which I read this (I think it was one of those "Year's Best Horror and Fantasy" collections) so I can't really cite this one. Out-Lovecrafts Lovecraft by miles and miles.
"Petey" by T.E.D. Klein. All of Klein's stuff has actually given me chills, but this story actually made me put the book down and look around the room while reading it, such was its effect on my imagination.
"Again" by Ramsey Campbell. Not my favorite Campbell story, but makes my flesh crawl to the point of wanting a bath after I've read it. That's a compliment to the author, by the way.
"1408" by Stephen King. That rare story that makes me dread a bloody sunset more than the dark of night, and eye the pictures on my walls and even my telephone with trepidation.
"Enoch" by Robert Bloch. This is where I got my moniker, of course. His "The Hungry House" is a close second.
"The Business of Madame Jahn" by Vincent O'Sullivan. Actually pretty boring until the last couple of paragraphs and especially the last sentence. Then it feels like ice water has been dumped down my back.
"Smee" by A.M. Burrage. I love a cozy English country-house ghost story. This is, uniquely, one of that breed that managed to unnerve me, rather than simply relax and entertain. Love Burrage too, but except for one part of "Browdean Farm" this is the only one of his stories that affects me this way.
"The Wall-Painting" by Roger Johnson. It's not the end that's so frightening, it's when he can't find the light switch in that dark room. Believe me, I remember this one every time I fumble for a light in the dark.
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david
Crab On The Rampage
Posts: 45
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Post by david on Nov 14, 2021 11:18:52 GMT
I don't find most horror fiction very scary either, though that doesn't necessarily mean that it is not good. I tend to like quiet horror that generates a sense of unease or disquiet, although I don't mind a good shock moment now and then. One of these that still sticks in my memory comes at about the midpoint of Fritz Lieber's Conjure Wife.
I don't know whether this counts or not, because it is allegedly non-fiction, but the scariest book I ever read is John Keel's Mothman Prophecies. I first read it when I was about twelve years old, and even though I was already pretty skeptical about things paranormal, it really creeped me out (and still does). I think the thing that really gets under my skin is that many of the strange characters in the book, like the Men in Black, often don't act in ways that are overtly menacing but just slightly off or outright bizarre. Keel creates a sense of mystery about them that is never resolved.
Many of the best horror writers do the same thing. Arthur Machen in "The White People," for instance.
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Post by cauldronbrewer on Nov 14, 2021 17:31:20 GMT
I don't find most horror fiction very scary either, though that doesn't necessarily mean that it is not good. I tend to like quiet horror that generates a sense of unease or disquiet, although I don't mind a good shock moment now and then. One of these that still sticks in my memory comes at about the midpoint of Fritz Lieber's Conjure Wife. Was this the end of Chapter XIV? I can't think of many stories that have caught me off guard as much as that moment did.
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Post by cauldronbrewer on Nov 14, 2021 17:44:54 GMT
I don't know whether this counts or not, because it is allegedly non-fiction, but the scariest book I ever read is John Keel's Mothman Prophecies. I first read it when I was about twelve years old, and even though I was already pretty skeptical about things paranormal, it really creeped me out (and still does). I think the thing that really gets under my skin is that many of the strange characters in the book, like the Men in Black, often don't act in ways that are overtly menacing but just slightly off or outright bizarre. Keel creates a sense of mystery about them that is never resolved. I should read that one of these days. I did see the film with Richard Gere, but all I remember is the Mothman whispering "chaaaaaaapstick" through the phone in a creepy voice.
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david
Crab On The Rampage
Posts: 45
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Post by david on Nov 14, 2021 21:00:42 GMT
That's it. More like 2/3's of the way through the book now that I re-check.
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david
Crab On The Rampage
Posts: 45
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Post by david on Nov 14, 2021 21:07:46 GMT
Ha Ha. The film was ok. I thought the book was much creepier. Not that it is a great book by most objective standards. It jumps around quite a bit, which might have actually been intential on Keel's part because it adds to the sense of disorientation. And it turns out that some of the strange phenomenon that he was experiencing, like the bizarre phone calls, were actually fellow "paranormal investigators" like Grey Barker and Jim Mosley messing with his head.
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Post by dem bones on May 20, 2023 10:12:55 GMT
David A. Sutton - Photo-Call: (Charles L. Grant [ed.], Final Shadows, 1991: The Evil Bones, 2023). Norton Evans Bainbridge, genius photographer of misery and decay, arranges a special surprise for Jeremy Hitching, the gushing "number 1 fan" who is forever plagiarizing his work.
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