Die Monster Die! scan modified from original image found on eBay.
Witches Tales #12 scan modified from a far larger version found on the glorious treasure trove that is Comic Books plus, without whom this thread would not exist.Have not seen a copy but twenty-four of these rudimentary micro-horrors from the 'forties and 'fifties horror comics were anthologised by Mickie Villa Die [ed.] as
Die Monster Die! The World's Worst Horror Fiction (Malibu Graphics, 1991). Titles include
The Crying Coffin (
Witches Tales #12, July 1952: man kills wife and she gets shirty about it),
Bargain With Satan (
The Beyond #12, June 1952),
Great Illusion (
Witches Tales #20, Aug 1953: monster cows
almost go on the rampage),
The Lens Of Death,
Horror Island,
He Dug His Own Grave (almost certainly
The Man Who Dug His Own Grave,
Doll-Man Quarterly #35, Aug. 1951: reprinted in
Web Of Evil #14, May 1954), and two which, sadly, I've been unable to locate:
It (a single-page precursor of Richard Lewis's immortal
Spiders) and
The Lens Of Death which, we are assured, "parallels Stephen King's recent novella,
The Sun Dog" except its terrible.
Reviewing the book - favourably - in
Scream Factory #10, Autumn, 1992, Michael Mallory writes:
"There was a purpose for those prose fillers as comics historian John Korkis explains in the introduction to the slender but delightful Die Monster Die! Chunks of text were required for comic books to meet the Post office's definition of a "magazine" and thereby maintain second class mailing privileges."So now we know the
Why?!
To my way of thinking it's pretty disingenuous marketing these as the "the world's worst" horror stories when some of us have read Anne Rice. Check out the following and you'll realise I am right. As usual.
THE CRYING COFFIN
"Oh, bellywash! Of course I don't believe such drivel. A crying coffin. indeed!”
Taylor McTavinish drew back out of the feeble circle of light which ringed Thomas Mabbot, the general store-keeper.
"Believe what you will. McTavinish," smiled Mabbot, "but fact is fact!"
"Now, Mabbot, it‘s true I've been away from Sussexville for twenty-nine years but I've always remembered you as a level-headed, solid thinking individual. Yet as I talk to you I realize that you, too, are affected by this crazy ghost story!"
“Ay, that I am. And I only tell you my feelings because I feel it is my duty as an old friend to warn you of any danger. Again I say keep away from that castle your uncle willed you. There's a terror in there which will drive you out of your mind! Ah , . . excuse me, McTavinish, I've got to go to the back of the store. I think I hear Billy knocking with the evening tea."
Taylor McTavinish let his right hand slide forward on the oak counter. It appeared a sickly yellow as if the candlelight had sucked all the blood from it.
“I wonder if Mabbot is right. Nonsense! How could I believe such silly superstition. But he was insistent and he's noted for not jumping at a conclusion. Yet that story is so hard to believe. According to McTavinish
*, my uncle married a rich widow after which both went to live in the family castle. There they lived for a while and then were never seen again. Passersby, after they apparently disappeared, claimed to have heard a man crying and a woman shrieking at the top of her lungs. As a result, the castle is thought to be h . . ."
“All right, McTavinish, I've decided to take you to the castle. But just to it . . . not in it! Before we go, however, let’s have some tea.”
McTavinish Castle poked out of the Sussexville Hills as a stone monument to all that was dark and foreboding in the world. Its ageing walls had seen siege, victory and death. Its halls had felt the tread of feet now long dead. Towards this relic of the past, rumbled a carriage.
“Well, McTavinish, this is as far as I go. I won't spend any more breath trying to convince you of not going to the castle but I will say good luck.”
“Thank you, Mabbot, I’ll be all right!"
A few minutes of brisk walking brought the heir to the large, slime encrusted door of the castle. Just as he was about to push it open, the full moon freed itself from a tangle of clouds and shone down on the man making a sharp etching of his shadow on the door.
But the man went in.
“Strange old place . . . dusty . . . silent . . ."
It was silent. For, just then, McTavinish heard a terrible shouting as if a man and woman were violently arguing. Quickly, he hid behind a pillar. Then he saw who was making the noise, and the blood froze in his veins!
It was his uncle and a woman.
"I’m sorry, my dear, but I must kill you. I need your money. Ha . . . haaaa!"
“Amos McTavinish, stay away from me. Kill me and I'll return to haunt you eternally I . . . arrgghhh!"
The woman fell, a huge, ugly dagger buried deep in her breast. Amos McTavinish wheeled around and pulled a cloth off a coffin he had brought just for this occasion. Quickly, he raised the lid . . . but as he turned around . . .
“Mary! Mary! You can‘t be alive! I just killed you!"
She Came forward . . . forward . . . forward!
“No, no! Ahhh . . ."
SSSSLLLAAAMMMM!Arnos McTavinish, in backing away from the woman, had tripped over the open coffin and fallen in. The lid smashing down echoed through the long and winding corridors.
"Let me out! (sob, sob) Let me out! The top won't open! Let me out! I'll be buried alive!"
Taylor McTavinish remembered what the store-keeper had told him. A shrieking woman and a crying man!
But the full horror was yet to come.
She was standing behind him!
*******
GREAT ILLUSION
"I can do it, Chester! I can do it!"
Dr. Morton's eyes laughed with the thrill of conquest.
"Y-y-you d-don't mean. . . " His assistant couldn't believe it.
"Yes, Chester, I do mean that I can magnify an animal's strength ten-fold! I can make them into supermen ... animals into great prehistoric monsters !"
"But, Dr. Morton," said Chester, "what do you intend to do with this ? If it falls into the wrong hands, sir. . ."
"Ha!" The scientist's laugh interrupted the flow of ethics. "What do you mean by that stupid remark? It will fall into no one's hands but my own! And I will use it as l please! You can either join me, Chester...or leave now !"
"I shall stay, Dr. Morton," was the answer.
"Good!" smiled Dr. Morton. "Then I can tell you why I've spent these many days buying and buying cows. Now I can tell you why I've taken such an interest in ranches!"
Dr. Morton rushed on, filled with frantic excitement.
"You see, Chester," he said, "the cow is the mother of the world! And this mother shall make me the master! Hah! I can tell you understand!"
"Perfectly," said Chester. "You mean to inject the formula into your cows and then send them to terrorize the countryside. You mean to conquer, loot and become powerful on the threat of annihilation of your monster-cows!"
"Excellent, Chester, excellent. Your mind moves almost as quickly as mine. "
"Perhaps faster," mumbled Chester, but the scientist didn't hear him.
The next days were frantic ones.
The two men worked without stopping.
They enclosed a hundred cows in an iron-walled enclosure; They starved them for days. The animals were limp from hunger. And then came the injections. A slow process. . .a hard process. . . but finally it was completed!
"I've notified the townspeople," said Chester, "and just as you said, they laughed! They laughed and they dared you to try!"
"Then they shall see what we can do. . . tonight!"
And that night, Dr. Morton showed the results of his experiments. The townspeople gathered near the enclosure. They were still laughing, still mocking the entire thing.
Then Dr. Morton forced the doors open, the monster-cows rushed out, and the scientist was ready to gain his revenge.
But he couldn't believe what he saw . . . he couldn't understand what was happening. . . and then he heard Chester's laugh.
"You fool! Even the townspeople realized it! You wonder why your starving cows don't attack them! Why instead they eat your grass! Hah! Remember, Dr. Morton, a cow is herbivorous! It doesn't eat meat!"
End
* Probably should read "According to Mabbot ..."
