Have You Read This? The Children of Red Peak by Craig DiLouie

 

People might say horror and religion go well together (particularly among atheist and/or agnostic horror fans), but I personally feel that such a statement is too reductive. When religion is brought into horror as a horrific element, it is often more about fanaticism. Sure, in the Bible, Abraham was ready to sacrifice his son Isaac because God told him to, a parable about loyalty to God, but if Abraham were to sacrifice his son today, Abraham might be not only the subject of a true crime podcast but an example of the dangers of blind obedience. When does faith become dangerous? When does God, or a god, demand too much of us mortals? Such crises of faith, liberally sprinkled with some human trauma, are explored in Craig DiLouie’s novel The Children of Red Peak.

The story begins with a mystery. In the mid aughts, the Family of the Living Spirit, led to Red Peak by the charismatic Reverend Peale, vanish off the face of the earth. A few of their children survive and grow into adulthood, but they are also burdened with trauma, trauma that has defined their adult lives. David works to get people out of cults, but he is himself trapped by his trauma. Deacon is a musician that seeks to use music to express his trauma as well as keep the psychic wound fresh. Beth is a psychologist who helps others, but all the self-medication and theories of the mind leave her wanting. Emily simply decided to stop fighting, and it is the suicide and subsequent funeral that brings the survivors together to try and put the horrors of Red Peak behind them.

The narrative of the story moves back and forth between the past and present. Readers will see how David and his family enter the Family, experience in graphic detail the events at Red Peak, and journey with the survivors as they all try to discover the mystery. DiLouie moves back and forth between past and present, moving among multiple survivor’s points of view, but readers can still follow the thread as well as the themes of faith, trauma, and the daunting meaning of existence. It would be one thing if this was just about some delusional cultists who were led down a dark path, but some of the best horror in this novel comes from DiLouie asking what if those cultists who committed horrific acts in the name of a deity were right? This is definitely a novel for those who like their horror existential, but it may be a surprise gut punch for those simply looking for a deep dive into the dangers of groupthink.

Graphic Content: Mirka Andolfo's Mercy: The Fair Lady, The Frost, and the Fiend

 

There are some stories where the graphic novel is a perfect medium. Sometimes words pale in conveying the gut-churning cosmic horrors and mutated bodies that permeate Mirka Andolfo’s Mercy: The Fair Lady, the Frost, and the Fiend. However, this work is more than just a hearkening back to when EC Comics could show blood and gore with impunity. Mercy also borrows from many different genres and explores a lot of different themes.

The story itself takes place in Washington State in the late nineteenth-century. The town of Woodsburgh is still reeling from a mining accident that claimed many of its citizens, including the mine’s owner. In comes Lady Hellaine, a mysterious and beautiful stranger who, along with her faithful butler Goodwill, have come with promises to help the community while bringing with them an aura of mystery. However, Lady Swanson, the widow of the mine’s owner and a shrewd business owner, does not trust Lady Hellaine, mainly because Lady Swanson knows more about the otherworldly entities that forced the mine’s closure. Add to this plot a serial killer/monster called the Woodsburgh Devil, and the darkness seething in the mine as well as in the hearts of Woodsburgh’s citizens threatens to unleash something terrible.

This graphic novel is for readers that like their genres mashed up until they are their own unique genre. This story contains everything from historical fiction to cosmic horrors to romance to familial relationships. The undercurrent running through this tale, though, is identity. There are monsters here that wear human faces and seem separate from these identities, but the story shows that identity is not always cut and dry. Yes, these are alien monsters, but in possessing the memories and experiences of those whose skin they wear, do these monsters become capable of becoming human, with all the messy and glorious emotional attachments involved? In other words, how long before a perfect disguise becomes the real thing? Andolfo’s work as artist shows no shyness in depicting these unique monsters, especially delving into body horror as they mutate their human shells. She also uses the story to grapple with heady issues that go beyond mere blood and gore. Yes, it’s an adult comic, but not simply because it depicts sex and violence but because it tackles, if not entirely penetrates, some thorny philosophical issues.

Have You Read This? Crossroads by Laurel Hightower

Many are familiar with the expression “If it’s too good to be true, it probably is.” This idea has been promoted in fantastical story after fantastical story about wishes. Sometimes, like in Aladdin, the protagonist realizes that what they wished for wasn’t really what they wanted or needed. However, in stories like “The Monkey’s Paw,” making a wish means inviting misfortune because wishes aren’t necessarily free, and sometimes the cost is quite steep. And we can’t forget the ubiquitous Faustian Deal where a wish or desire is granted but the wisher has to give up something at great personal cost, most often one’s soul. This process can seem literal as well as metaphorical, as in Laurel Hightower’s novel Crossroads.

Chris still mourns the loss of her adult son Trey, who died in an automobile accident. She visits the scene of the accident, hoping to be close to him, even hearing his voice while she’s there. But a drop of her blood touches the ground around where her son died, and she soon starts to see Trey outside her window. Chris thinks that her prayers have somehow been answered, that her son has returned to him, but she must still sacrifice. She must literally give more and more of herself in order for Chris to remain among the living, but soon the question becomes how much can Chris give before she completely loses herself.

Hightower digs deeply into Chris’s grief as it has Chris committing acts that might make a more sensitive stomach turn, but this is no novel that’s just shock and gore. Hightower showcases Chris’s emotional pain, the pain of a mother who, in Chris’s mind, could not be there for her son when she really needed him. The novel discusses how Chris is so desperate to get her son back that she is willing to literally give her own flesh and blood to rescue him, playing a sort of guessing game because, unlike most stories of Faustian deals and wishes, whatever is bringing Trey back does not make what it wants from Chris clear, leaving her to guess how much blood and flesh is required. The supernatural, in that sense, takes a back seat to the emotional trauma of the characters, from Chris to potential boyfriend and savior Dan to ex-husband Beau, who has seemingly moved on with a new family.  Fans of Stephen King’s

Pet Sematary will find similar ground dug up in Hightower’s tale, but rather than filled full or reanimated pets and Wendigos, Hightower focuses on the pain of parental grief, the hell a parent endures when he or she has outlived their child, and the emotional and physical bargaining a parent will do to bring that child back.

New Arrival: Children of Chicago

One of the predecessors of horror, before King, before Poe, and even before Stoker, would be fairy tales. Yes, they contain magic and yes, these tales have been sanitized for children depending on the teller, but they also contain many horrific elements, from child-eating witches to predatory wolves to women turning to foam for another man. Writers like Christina Henry and Daniel Mallory Ortberg realize that fairy tales are great fodder for horror stories. One such tale that deserves its own horror story is the Pied Piper, the musician who rid the town of Hamlin and then of its children. Cynthia Pelayo noted this and used the tale of the Pied Piper to create Children of Chicago, a crime story/fairy tale/character study.

The story follows Lauren Medina, a Chicago homicide detective investigating a shooting with graffiti referencing the Pied Piper from the fairy tale. Finding other instances of this graffiti with messages like “Pay the Piper,” Medina finds that the Pied Piper is a supernatural entity whose influence is felt far and wide, especially by young people who can call him via a method like the ones to summon Bloody Mary and Candyman. Once summoned and like in the fairy tale, the Pied Piper is all about receiving his payment once he completes a service, and he typically demands a life as payment. Before the story is over, the Pied Piper will claim quite a few lives as payment as Medina goes deeper into the mystery that is claiming Chicago’s young people.

Pelayo doesn’t just rewrite the Pied Piper for a new generation here; this is a story that has a great many influences. She borrows from the Candyman universe in many ways. One is the Chicago setting that the movies use. This, however, does not seem to be borrowing from the movies but the author’s knowledge and love of the city. Pelayo, it seems, could write a history of Chicago based on the information and history she presents here, not as much to move the story forward but to create a living, breathing setting where these characters live. Another similarity to Candyman is its exploration of how a myth can also become a living, breathing thing. The Pied Piper, within this city and this story, has his story told through the graffiti his followers, his congregation, leaves behind. He gains strength every time his tale his told and every time a follower asks for a favor, regardless of the consequences.

The most intriguing part of this story, however, is the character of Lauren Medina. People familiar with shows like Law and Order or any other crime thriller will see Medina’s influences, just as they notice her flaws. She is dedicated to the job, but often to the detriment of her own health and even the health of her relationships. She also frequently uses people to help her in her investigation even as she actively pushes them away. She also deals with her father’s passing, and a department that feels her promotion to detective was undeserved. What becomes fascinating about this character, though, is that readers will see that others’ reticence to fully trust Medina is justified. Ultimately, the ending to this fairy tale/crime thriller/devil’s bargain tale doesn’t wrap up as neatly as some might like, but as a character study of Lauren Medina, an exploration on the power of myth, and a love letter to the city she and Pelayo love, it is sure to attract readers as surely as its supernatural villain attracted rats and children.

Screen to Scream: Summer of '84 and Cricket Hunters

The past year hasn’t been the best one, and there are a lot of reasons why. It’s pretty tempting then to go back to a simpler time, where life made a bit more sense. From binging the sitcoms you watched in the ‘80s or buy a few discount parachute pants, there are a lot of ways to do our own limited version of time travel. The pull of nostalgia can easily pull one down the rabbit hole of VHS tapes and slap bracelets, but we should also remember that nostalgia, quoting from Mad Men ad man Don Draper, literally means the pain from an open wound. In a nutshell, the past isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, and the movie Summer of ’84 and Jeremy Hepler’s coming of age book Cricket Hunters are prime examples of this.

Summer of ’84, like its TV show progenitor Stranger Things, draws a lot of inspiration when Reaganomics and horror permeated the American consciousness. The story takes place in Cape May, Oregon, an idyllic small town full of nice houses and manicured lawns. Teenager Davey Armstrong, a fan of urban legends before the Internet, suspects that his neighbor, a well-respected Police officer, is a serial killer responsible for the deaths of thirteen boys. Pulling his three friends and his crush into the investigation, they search for the necessary clues to prove the killer’s guilt to a town full of unbelieving adults. If the plot sounds like something dredged up from too many Hardy Boys books, that could have been the filmmakers’ intention, if only to later subvert them. What starts off as a Rear-Window type mystery soon becomes something much more high stakes and much more terrifying. The resolution of the film should turn that sugary hit of nostalgia viewers were expecting into something more stomach-churning.

This is a similar formula Hepler uses to great effect in his book Cricket Hunters. The story follows Celia Garcia and her friends during an eventful autumn in 1998 and 15 years later, when the kids now adults are still processing what happened to them. Not only is Celia’s grandmother, a bruja, dealing with a sister who is cursed by a rival brujah, but the kids, including Celia’s future husband Parker, must navigate a city full of danger, including a husband stalking his ex-wife, young Abby Powell’s mother, and a nephew of the brujah who cursed Celia’s great aunt. Young Abby disappeared that year and 15 years later, the adult Parker turns up missing. Celia must dig through her past if she hopes to have a future with her husband. Hepler weaves a story that moves through past and present, showing readers how that fateful autumn has affected Celia’s life today, especially as it unravels when she becomes a suspect in Parker’s disappearance. The real joy in this novel is watching Hepler set up our expectations only to gleefully knock them down. This isn’t, however, mere shock value. It merely proves, like Summer of ’84, that the past shouldn’t be looked at through rose-colored glasses lest you miss something important.

Have You Read This? It Will Just Be Us by Jo Kaplan

 

The popularity of shows like Netflix’s The Haunting of Hill House and its sequel The Haunting of Bly Manor show that the public still has an appetite for spooky ghost stories. When bringing up these and other haunted house tales, it should be noted that there is more to these ghosts than just how they look in a flowing white sheet. Ghost stories are all about memories and hurts buried deep until they come screaming to the surface. This idea is especially evident in Jo Kaplan’s haunted mansion and haunted people novel It Will Just Be Us.

The book follows the story of the Wakefield family, namely protagonist Sam Wakefield. She has just moved back with her mother into the family’s haunted mansion, but what haunts this mansion doesn’t wear a sheet or rattle chains. Wakefield Manor is where different moments in the house’s history constantly replays for its tenants, showing Sam the lives of her ancestors as well as traumas she’d rather forget about. When Sam’s pregnant sister Elizabeth moves in following a fight with her husband, a new specter appears, a faceless boy who wants to play with Sam in the worst possible way.

Kaplan inserts a lot of different horror tropes and plot points like a plate spinner constantly adding one more plate to keep spinning, always with the threat of the whole thing crashing down. While some of those threads seem to dangle, Kaplan’s story crosses the finish line with a complete, even heartbreaking, ending. She also demonstrates a deep understanding of how fully-realized characters, not moaning and creaking doors, draw readers into these stories. She creates very believable relationships and motivations, like the sisters’ love/hate relationship and the mother’s alcoholism, which everyone is forced to watch and relive over and over again. Like any good ghost story, It Will Just Be Us is a character study of people who cannot escape the gravitational pull of events that have them repeat or compound mistakes that could lead to their downfall. Like many haunted house stories, Wakefield Mansion can represent the minds of these women, both familiar home as well as prison where each hallway and stairwell only lead to locked doors. If ever a show deserves to be in the streaming pantheon of haunted house shows, hopefully this book will join them. Until then, people should just read and enjoy the book.

Screen to Scream: Crimson Peak and Mexican Gothic

There are so many haunted house stories out there, I wonder if, in these horror universes, there isn’t a subdivision of real estate that deals specifically with haunted homes (The realtor, smiling, says, “this house is located next to some great schools, the mall, and there’s a convenient Hellmouth in the basement”). That said, there are still people getting more mileage out of this trope, even doubling down into the trappings of Gothic storytelling: large, imposing mansion; odd, secretive characters that may or may not be antagonists, and bad weather (fog, rain, etc.). Guillermo Del Toro’s film Crimson Peak, for example, leans heavily into its Gothic roots, complete with that Del Toro aesthetic, but there are also books like Silvia Moreno-Garcia’sMexican Gothic that are willing to take the Gothic haunted house tale in new and exciting directions.

Crimson Peak is a visually breathtaking film, a literal Gothic tale come to life that can be genuinely scary. The story of Edith Cushing, a young woman who falls for an marries young eccentric Sir Thomas Sharp, is one familiar to many fans of the genre. All the basics are there, from an obtrusive, menacing sister who resents Edith’s presence to a notable physical location, the eponymous Crimson Peak, a mountain stained by its red clay (symbolism). Add a decrepit mansion with a hole in its center (MORE SYMBOLISM!) and you have all the ingredients there, but focused through the lens of Del Toro’s vision, such as his depictions of the ghosts that haunt this place, the movie becomes a sprawling, gorgeously odd movie.

Mexican Gothic is a different kind of story. Yes, there are the basic elements: slightly naïve but plucky heroine, sprawling family mansion that’s mostly isolated, creepy and off-putting family. However, Moreno-Garcia doesn’t rely on a visual aesthetic to draw readers in, instead using well-developed characters and descriptions to captivate readers. Noemi Taboada is more than just a heroine who finds herself suddenly over her head in a mansion far from her social circles. Noemi is a young woman with her own motivations and fears, one who realizes that her status as a woman and a socialite often has many of those she encounters pigeonholing her, even as she slowly discovers who she is and what she is truly capable of by delving into the mystery of High Place. High Place itself becomes more than just a house as Moreno-Garcia’s descriptions go beyond making High Place a metaphorical antagonistic setting and actually cast it as a living, even malevolent, organism. Both movie and book are familiar with the Gothic tradition, but they both find their emotional power by upending these traditions.