Graphic Content: Dark Spaces: Dungeon by Scott Snyder and Hayden Sherman

 

Horror once focused on the moment where a protagonist or a character met the monster or faced their fear, a single moment of terror that was like an adrenaline shot to the reader’s heart. However, horror has recently looked not just at terrors attacking characters in the past but traumas from the past that have buried deep underneath the characters’ skin, festering throughout their lives. One such person is the investigator at the center of Dark Spaces: Dungeon. Written by Scott Snyder and illustrated by Hayden Sherman, this entry into the Dark Spaces anthology series looks at how many people live in dungeons of their own making. 

The story begins with tech entrepreneur Tyler Letts who’s left the fast-paced lifestyle of New York for a quieter life in the country. And while the view outside his window is scenic, it’s the dungeon that’s under his basement that has him calling the FBI (this despite the message painted on the wall that says “Tell No One”). Enter Special Agent Madok, who knows that this is the kind of chamber used by the Keep, an individual whose MO is to keep his prisoners in boxes designed to break bones and wills. Madok is all too aware of the Keeper’s methods, and when Tyler’s son goes missing, Tyler must match wits with the demented dungeon keeper while the clock ticks. 

Snyder’s story reads at first like a straightforward procedural, but as mentioned before, the Keep doesn’t just kill his victims. Sherman’s artwork renders in gruesome detail the Keep’s victims after they’ve spent time in his dungeon. People might be tempted to call this a Saw rip-off, especially considering the elaborate designs of these dungeons, but Snyder’s work is more psychological, delving deep into the trauma is both a help and a hindrance to agent Madok, and the secrets held by both him and the Keep drive the conflict of this work to a shocking twist that just may trap the reader.  

New Arrival: I Was a Teenage Slasher by Stephen Graham Jones

 

Stephen Graham Jones may be entering his Stephen King phase. Not only is his name becoming synonymous with horror, thanks to novels like Mongrels and the Jade Daniels series, but he’s also demonstrating just how prolific he can be. He seems to be writing at a blistering pace where the novels just seem to fall out of his head as fully formed as Athena, but he’s also been branching out into other mediums, like comics. His current novel is a return to one of his tried-and-true favorite horror subgenre: the slasher. However, I Was a Teenage Slasher is far from a rehash of his previous work in the Jade Danies series; rather, it’s a tragic tale of a future slasher who’s agency was stolen from him. 

Lamesa, Texas circa 1989 is far from a bustling town. Their main exports are oil, cotton, and death. Death comes in the form of Tolly Driver, a rudderless seventeen-year-old who hangs out with his best friend Amber while trying to process the death of his father. One fateful night, Tolly becomes something worse than a disaffected teen; he becomes a slasher, an unstoppable killing machine that attacks the teens of Lamesa, taking full advantage of the Slasher rules that govern his abilities and drive him to murder everyone who wronged him. 

Made for fans of slashers but with more emotional heft than most slasher films, the story of Tolly discovering his abilities has more in common with superhero stories than slasher films. Much like superheroes (or villains, in Tolly’s case), his story involves struggling to accept what he’s become. Like the Jade Daniels series, this book is a loving homage to the slasher genre, but Jones flips the script by putting readers in the mind of the killer. That killer, it turns out, does not necessarily want to be a murder machine; rather, he is merely fulfilling the role this universe has given him. To put it another way, one could compare the moral of Tolly’s story to Uncle Ben’s advice to his nephew, the Amazing Spider-Man: With great power comes great responsibility (for Tolly, it should probably be “With great power comes a substantial body count”). 

Have You Read This? Rabbit Hunt by Wrath James White

 

Though I consider myself a scary librarian (meaning one who loves all things horror, and not an actual scary librarian), I must admit that my knowledge has been lacking in one particular area: extreme horror. If more mainstream horror is a hamburger that might have mustard on it, then extreme horror is a burger covered in Carolina Reaper Scorpion Devil’s Spit Sauce (if such a sauce exists). Why I am just dipping my toe into this genre is likely due to a lack of understanding of the genre. Detractors of extreme horror might say that it favors gore over story necessities like plot and character development, but I wanted to see for myself, which is why I checked out Rabbit Hunt by Wrath James Wright. 

The story follows former fraternity brothers Big Mike, Mooky, Rashad, and Steve are excited about a hunting trip and leaving behind their adult responsibilities like their jobs and their wives. Six college kids are also looking forward to getting back to nature by dropping acid and getting drunk. When these two groups meet in the woods, far away from civilization, readers will see a hunt where bodily fluids flow freely and respect for human life flies completely out the window. 

This book definitely lives up to its “extreme” reputation, going above and beyond not just in its original methods of desecrating and destroying a human body but the visceral detail in which these acts are described. However, while such books also have a transgressive quality to them, its level of violence will be readily familiar to fans of such movies as Terrifier. And like Terrifier, the characters might not be considered likable, or even well-developed, but these serve the purpose of the story: to either tear apart human flesh or be torn apart. Slashers like Friday the 13th are filled with these kinds of shallowly drawn characters who are simply fed to the meat grinder in a hockey mask. However, describing Rabbit Hunt as a slasher clone does ignore White’s attempts to ground it into the current and volatile political climate. Many of White’s characters, despite their political leanings, seem quite capable of violence; all they need is the opportunity, which White repeatedly gives them. If White’s tale does have a message, it’s that anybody, anywhere is capable of violence that would shock the sensibilities of civilized (or uncivilized) society. 

Graphic Content: Harrower by Justin Jordan and Brahm Revel

Slashers are back in a big way, and killers wielding life-ending weapons are in. Whether it’s Stephen Graham Jones reinventing the genre in his Indian Lake trilogy or streaming service Shudder pumping out contemporary slasher along with their library of slasher classics geared for gorehounds, maniacs are making a bloody splash. Nowhere and no one is safe, not even graphic novels. One of the latest to capitalize on the slasher renaissance, and seemingly the closest to a traditional slasher, is Harrower, a book of small town savagery written by Justin Jordan and drawn by Brahm Revel.

The small town that is to be the center of carnage is Barlowe, New York. Jessa Brink, along with her friends, are ready to cut loose this Halloween night despite warnings from their parents and the local legend about the Harrower. The Harrower is Barlowe’s resident boogeyman. For generations, the Harrower has stalked the shadowy streets of Barlowe, looking for young men and women who stray from the path of puritanical purity. Unfortunately, Jessa and her friends find themselves in the Harrower’s bloody, destructive path.

Fans of slasher movies will find a lot that’s familiar in this book, from the secondary characters who are only there to add to the body count to the killer and his distinct weapon (in this case, a medieval battle axe swung with deadly precision). Jordan’s story doesn’t necessarily break new ground, but there is also comfort in the familiar. Fans might even feel nostalgic watching the Harrower use brutal methods to enforce a moral code, remembering how Jason Voorhees killed teens who have sex and/or do drugs on his campground. The twist at the end even references how slashers are often portrayed as purity enforcers. Along with Revel’s depictions of carnage, Harrower is a feel-good kind of slasher for fans who long ago wore out their VHS copies of Friday the 13th and A Nightmare on Elm Street, along with those lucky enough to have just discovered the slasher genre.

Have You Read This? Silent Key by Laurel Hightower

 

When it comes to combining genres, horror, like chocolate, goes with everything (if you are allergic to chocolate or simply don’t like chocolate, please insert your favorite food into this analogy). Like chocolate, when horror is drizzled onto a story, it becomes something delicious. Drizzle some horror on a western, and you get something like Alex Grecian’s Red Rabbit, drizzle it on comedy, and you get just about any work from Grady Hendrix. There are plenty of examples of genre mashups involving horror, but one that isn’t as prevalent is the action/adventure thriller (think if Stephen King wrote a story with James Patterson or C. J. Box). Laurel Hightower, however, has given readers a near-perfect blend of action/adventure and horror with her pulpy delicious tale Silent Key.

This tale features former Detective Cam Ambrose, who recently lost her husband Tony and discovered he was having an affair. Fearing those responsible may be coming after her and her family, including her young daughter Sammie and her brother/protector Dimi, she heads to Texas to her Uncle Bert’s place. What was an escape from New York turns out to be even more dangerous as there’s something haunting Bert’s place, something Sammie can see, but something that Cam will barely see coming. To save herself and her family, Cam must find out what is haunting them and what secrets her husband was keeping from her.

It might be an oversimplification to say one simply drizzles horror into another genre when sometimes it requires a balance. Too much of one genre creates a constant shifting in tone and atmosphere that dilutes the final product. Hightower, however, has found the proper balance: a suspense-driven thriller that also utilizes haunted house tropes that will genuinely frighten readers. These kinds of thrillers tend to be full of plot elements and characters that propel the narrative at the risk of losing readers, but Hightower maintains the story’s focus throughout, even creating a potential story universe that can be explored in later books. This is why horror is drizzled into these stories and not poured. Like any good chef, Hightower shows the importance of just the right blend of ingredients.

Graphic Content: Hauthology by Jeremy Haun

 When the pandemic hit, many people suddenly had a lot of free time on their hands. Some people baked

bread, some people caught up on all the Netflix and Hulu shows they never had time to finish, and some just squeezed themselves into a fetal position to futilely escape the crushing sense of existential dread. Writer and artist Jeremy Haun, creator of the body horror series The Beauty, took a different approach. He created a very unique collection of short graphic stories and collected them in the book Haunthology.

Haunthology is a large collection of very short stories. Many of these reflect the horrors of isolation, brief snippets of people suffocating under the weight of existential worry. Others are stories about haunted houses and horrifying curses that are lodged like a stinger in your mind before Haun delivers another one. Each story is its own little monster that’s guaranteed to burrow under your skin.

Haun is well-known in horror circles for The Beauty as well as The Red Mother, but he’s really flexing his creative muscles here. Some might think that writing super short stories is simpler than longer works when, in fact, the opposite is true. In a very limited amount of space and time, the author/artist (Haun is doing double duty here) must incorporate the setting, the characters, and the conflict, before delivering the climax that gives a tale its emotional punch. Each of these stories are great examples of how to create a short short story and should be read by those who want some prime examples of saying a lot with very little.

Graphic Content: Boys' Weekend by Mattie Lubchansky

 

One of the sad facts about growing up is growing away from what you once knew, perhaps even loved. That especially includes friendships, Where you once thought that your best friend would be a part of your life forever, now you find you both have drifted away from each other. The truly sad thing is that the blame does not rest on the shoulders of one person. People, as they grow, get new interests, gain new ways to think about the world, or they might even decide what they once appeared as wasn’t really them. This conflict between drifting apart and staying together, along with a strange cult, is what turns the bachelor party in Mattie Lubchansky’s Boys’ Weekend a literal bachelor party from Hell (or at least Hell adjacent).

Newly-out trans art assistant Sammie is living their best life in New York until their best friend Adam asks Sammie to be the “best man” for his wedding. Sammie meets up with Adam’s groomsmen at El Campo, a bizarre mix of Las Vegas and Atlantis that has few rules since they are in international waters. Not only does Samme have to endure the awkward situations that the other men subject them to, but there’s apparently a cult that has no compunctions about human sacrifice or summoning their god to this realm.

Lubchansky’s artstyle, and the book’s overall tone, isn’t for those looking for a straight-laced Lovecraftian nightmare; those that are would be missing the point. Many of the book’s terrors come from Sammie trying their best to fit in and be subsequently rejected, all while supposed “nice guy” Adam lets it happen. The conflict with the cult is actually secondary to Sammie’s conflict with Adam’s passive-aggressive friends and Sammie’s own desire to live as they want. The book even ends on a touching note that no amount of sea water could drown and should resonate for those, trans and not trans, who are not allowed to live as their authentic selves.

Have You Read This? Always Listen to Her Hurt by Kenzie Jennings

 

There’s a lot of aspects about an author’s life that seep into their fiction, but it’s often that writer’s home that seems to leave the biggest footprint. Some of the more well-known examples of this are the creepy hamlets of Stephen King’s Maine or the crime-riddled backwoods of Chris Offutt’s crime fiction. Kenzie Jennings might be adding Florida to the list of literary locations explored on the printed page with her short story collection Always Listen to Her Hurt. 
Many of the stories from this collection hail from the Sunshine State, particularly those that look beneath the seedy, sweltering underbelly of Florida’s thriving tourism industry. These tales include the story of a harried mother at Walt Disney World or a woman whose vacation destination is a little more out-of-the-way, learning with frightening consequences why some beware of what some locals call “a local thing.” There’s one tale that’s even a revenge fantasy of obnoxious tourists getting their comeuppance from assassins whose specialty is dealing with unwanted guests. 
However, the stories in this collection aren’t all gleefully wicked gorefests. Jennings offers an explanation about all the stories here, but the horror becomes all too real when she explains how some writings are more biographical. These works are typically shorter, but they also offer some revealing glances at true emotional pain. Some might call it jarring, but the purpose of a collection is often to introduce readers to a writer’s overall body of work. What this collection does is show Jennings at her most creative and her most confessional. 

Have You Read This? Wasps in the Ice Cream by Tim McGregor

 

Many people who study horror as a literary genre will often ask what makes a particular work of fiction a horror book? As told by Wikipedia, literary historian J. A. Cudon says that horror is a genre that “shocks, or even frightens the reader, or perhaps induces a feeling of repulsion or loathing.” In other words, horror is more than scares that gets the heart racing. Sometimes, horror is quiet, as slow-acting as a poison, not shocking the heart, but leaving it sick. Such is the case with Tim McGregor’s novella Wasps in the Ice Cream.

It’s Summer 1987, and young Mark Prewitt plans on spending the summer goofing off with his friends. Unfortunately, he and his friends harass the Farrow girls, whose family are the town’s pariahs. Feeling guilty, Mark strikes up a friendship with Farrow sister Georgia, one that threatens to become something more. Mark soon leads a double life, hiding his relationship with Georgia from the town while getting pulled deeper into the Farrow’s world of witchcraft and speaking with the dead. The summer will end with Mark forced to choose between his friends and the fascinating Farrows, as well as how dark the human heart can get.

An elevator pitch for this book would be “Shirley Jackson writes a pitch for The Wonder Years but set in the decade of Stranger Things,” but such a pitch might be reductive for what McGregor has really done with this coming-of-age story. Even the book’s title, referencing Mark’s job, can be symbolic of something dangerous hidden in something sweet, and such symbolism could describe Mark’s relationship with Georgia, Mark’s relationship with his friends, or just Mark’s idealism crashing headlong into reality. Even the book’s supernatural elements take a backseat to McGregor’s stellar character development, particularly with Mark and Georgia, the two characters McGregor pushes the farthest from tropes that have been explored in other books. Georgia is more than just a witch trope, and Mark is a likable enough protagonist but has a graveyard full of secrets.

The story focuses on Mark, but both he and Georgia have an air of tragedy about them. Theirs is a relationship that readers will want to see succeed despite the multitude of hurdles placed before them. Instead of syrupy, afterschool-special sweetness, McGregor opts for something more bittersweet, which many would argue is closer to an authentic portrayal of adolescent love.