The Thing! (aka Ohhhhh, It Feels Like Dying)

The Thing!, by J.J. Madison

No month stated, 1971  Belmont Tower

(Originally published by Midwood Books as Ohhhhh, It Feels Like Dying)

The copyright page makes no mention that this grungy little paperback original was originally published by sleaze purveyors Midwood Books, but the title page does somewhat confusingly inform us that The Thing! was “first published as Ohhhhh, It Feels Like Dying.” At any rate, the re-titling of this Belmont Tower edition bears no relation to the contents of the novel; The Thing! is not a monsterama creature feature, but is instead what Grandma would’ve called a “stroke book,” with the horror stuff only a secondary concern to the sleaze. 

Which is to say, I loved the hell out of the book. I loved it! But then, I’m a sucker for Belmont Tower at its most grungy. What made this most surprising was the authorship of the book. According to The Vault Of Evil, “J. J. Madison” was in reality British author James Moffat – from all accounts a notoriously “prolific” author whose books are often considered subpar. And yet, I have only read and reviewed one other Moffat novel, the Nazi She-Devil yarn Jackboot Girls, which I really enjoyed, so admitedly I am judging the guy based off of two of his (apparently) three-hundred published novels(!). 

I say this British authorship is surprising because, if you’ve spent any time here, you know I’m not the biggest fan of British pulp. I find it fussy, stuffy, and stodgy. (I just copyrighted that as the title for a new animated series for kids, fyi.) And yet if I had not known a British author wrote The Thing!, I would’ve guessed it had been written by any of the American authors in Belmont Tower’s or Leisure Books’s stable. There is absolutely nothing “British” about the novel, absolutely nothing to give this away, and indeed there is a familiarity with New York City (another commonality with many Belmont and Leisure publications) that gives the impression “J.J. Madison” is a native New Yorker. 

I know zero about James Moffat, but I do see he was born in Canada, so perhaps this explains why his pulp comes off, at least in the two books of his that I’ve read, as more American than British. Then again, a pair of British pulpsters also turned in the decidely “American” Cut around the same time, so who’s to say – these pulp writers were so prolific they could probably mimic a tone when they wanted to, and maybe Moffat’s direction from his editors at Midwood Books was to “sound American.” 

Anyway, I digress, as usual. The Thing! is awesome, truly so, coming in at the usual brief Belmont Tower length (186 pages of big print) and offering all one could want in a sleazy vampire yarn. But those looking for straight horror might come away dissatisfied. To be sure, James Moffat follows a “sleaze first, horror second” approach throughout The Thing!, and folks that’s just fine with me. In fact the sexual material was so frequent and explicitly described, with copious detail on anatomical functions, that I almost started taking notes for future reference. 

But then, there’s just as much time spent on photography, and camera lenses, and how to properly pose models for perfect photos, something the Vault of Evil forum-goers also noted. Moffat adheres to the time-honored method of pulp writers everywhere in how he meets his word count by writing about stuff he’s interested in, even if it has no bearing on the plot. Thus one must be prepared for a lot of detail about photography and proper light and shadow and developing prints and all this other stuff you might not want to read in a novel about a sex-starved vampire babe. 

This, apparently, is the titular “Thing” of the Belmont reprint: Myra Manning, a stacked blonde movie goddess of yore who has gotten a second life in a mega-successful daytime soap opera titled “Deadly Love” which is clearly modelled after Dark Shadows. In the soap Myra plays a vampire, and we readers already know from the back cover that Myra herself is a vampire. Now as as I’ve said before, hot vampire babes are at the very top of the “hot evil women” heap, even higher up than Nazi She-Devils, but friends everyone knows that a hot vampire babe should have black hair, not blonde hair!! 

However, given the zeal with with James Moffat indulges in utter sleaze, filth, and depravity throughout the novel, I was willing to let this one slide. And yes of course, there are exceptions to this rule – I mean good grief, just consider Ingrid Pitt in the 1970 Hammer Films production The Vampire Lovers – but still. It’s a time-worn pulp conceit that good girls have blonde hair and bad girls have black hair, and it’s interesting that Moffat decided to overlook that. 

The book moves fast and Moffat does a great job of making it horror, yet at the same time never explicitly states that there is anything supernatural about it; again, this could be disappointing for someone looking for a standard type of horror novel, but there is absolutely nothing standard about The Thing!. It’s a dirty, smutty, yet undeniably fun little book, mostly because I got the strong mental impression of Moffat drunkenly chortling to himself as he pounded at his typewriter. 

We know what we are getting from the start, as Moffat opens the novel on the set of “Deadly Love,” as an episode of the soap is filming, with Myra as a vampire biting a man – and, when the cameras are turned off, the man complains that Myra has really bitten him. Moffat also shows a Hollywood that is long gone, with hardbitten, foul-mouthed veterans of the studio age who bitch at each other with no concerns over the “inclusion” of today; Myra’s poor co-star is raked over the coals for being gay, and Myra likes to strip in front of the director, displaying her “heavy breasts,” and taunting the gawking director: “You’re about to come in your pants.” 

Next we are introduced to the hero of the tale: Ken Painter, a ‘Nam vet who has no qualms with hitting dogs and roughing up women – another reminder of how “unsafe” 1970s pulp is in our modern era. Our intro to Ken is a harbinger of the type of book The Thing! will be: a several-page sex scene that leaves no sleazy stone unturned as Ken explicity boinks a woman he’s shacked up with in the Midwest…a woman who runs a gas station her dead husband left her, and who came across a stash of cocaine that spilled on the highway after a pharmaceutical truck crashed(!?), and who now spends her days in a dark room with the TV running, in a cocaine daze…and Ken has blissfully joined her for a few days of rampant coke-fueled sex. 

Friends, this is how you introduce your protagonist. 

Ken (as Moffat refers to him throughout the novel) was a combat photographer in Vietnam, and now he wants to make his living as a professional photographer, but he’s a penniless vagabond. He leaves the coke-sex girl and heads for New York, where we have another protracted sequence where Ken jury-rigs some pay phones in the Port Authority, and then runs afoul of the mobsters who run the payphones. Again, none of this has anything to do with the horror genre, but it does bring to life the grungy, crime-ridden New York of the early ‘70s. 

But after running into Myra Manning in Central Park – where Ken mauls the woman’s guard dog and nearly drowns the poor animal, all because it ruined his shot and got water on his camera – Ken is given a new opportunity: to be the personal assistant for famous actress Myra, who promises she’ll get a publisher who will do a book of photos of Myra, photos taken by Ken. 

First, though, the two enjoy an exuberant sex scene that is only a precursor of the wild sleaze we will encounter as the novel progresses: 

Moffat foreshadows that there is more to Myra Manning than there seems: she’s a beauty with a perfect body, but Ken was a “kid” when she was a Hollywood queen and also there’s that pale-faced former assistant of hers with a bandage on his throat who slinks out of Myra’s penthouse apartment on Ken’s first day, trying to throw Ken a meaningful look… 

But really, at this point it’s a Hollywood novel, with a lot of stuff about the filming of Myra’s soap opera and the squabbling that goes on behind the scenes. That is, with a lot of material about photography…and a lot more explicit sex, as Myra begins to “initiate” Ken into something unstated, first by secretly dosing him with strychnine and then engaging him in yet more super-explicit shenanigans: 

But it’s not all drug-fueled super sex with the beautiful Myra who has almost superhuman control of her womanhood (cue those anatomincal notes I mentioned): in between the memories of sexual bliss Ken is haunted by scenes from “a nightmare,” with Myra wearing a “half-mask” with “canines,” and the feeling of blood flowing down Ken’s side as she feeds from his neck, but Ken is sure none of this could be real. Still, there’s this band-aid on his throat, and Myra’s insistence that he not remove it so that it can heal properly…claiming that Ken was so drunk he cut himself shaving… 

Then there’s Noire, Myra’s professor friend who is a mountain of muscle with a shaved head…the impression is he’s an Anton LeVay type after a few visits to the gym. He’s a specialist in all things vampire, and has been teaching Myra about it, and there’s a lot of stuff about historical vampires, and Noire’s insistence that such creatures existed…but, again, there’s nothing here that they are supernatural creatures, ie the living dead as you’d encounter in traditional vampire fiction. Instead, the impression Moffat gives is that these “vampires” are humans who drink blood to stay young. Moffat leaves it vague enough that the reader could take it either way, but the fact that Myra is a famous TV actress who often admires herself in the mirror should tell you right away that the traditional vampire lore is not being followed here. 

The “nightmare” stuff becomes more extreme as Myra continues dosing Ken with strychnine – which leaves him fuzzy-minded but super-aroused, capable of all-night action – and also throwing orgies where Ken witnesses such craziness as a young girl being ravaged by Noire’s massive “phallus.” As I said, the depravity is just off the charts. 

Only gradually does Ken realize what’s really going on: Myra is a vampire and she’s using him as a meal on legs. Ken finds salvation in another group who works on the soap opera, and with their help he escapes Myra’s clutches…and also he also helps a guy with some pointers on photography; even in the climax Moffat still indulges in page-filling, but it’s so well-written and quick-moving that I didn’t mind. 

More importantly, here Ken finds true love, courtesy brunette hottie Carol, an up-and-coming starlet on the soap who initially gave Ken the cold shoulder. Moffatt again displays his penchant for sizzling shenanigans when Carol gets Ken to do a nude photo session of her – for a play she’s interested in, naturally – and then she essentially throws herself on him, leading to a sex scene just as explicit as those with cougar Myra: 

SPOILER ALERT: Skip this and the next four paragraphs if you don’t want to know the finale, but given the obscurity and scarcity of The Thing!, I thought I’d note what happens for posterity. Basically Myra and Noire go the expected route and take Carol prisoner, so like a true Belmont Tower hero Ken goes out for revenge. Yes, I know Midwood originally published the book, but Midwood was a Belmont Tower imprint, so it still works. 

So Ken goes after Myra and, having seen how she “ages ten years” in just a few minutes without her amphetimines (again, the connotation is that Myra is not a traditional vampire, but just a human who has vastly elongated her life by drinking blood and taking uppers), Ken strips Myra and ties her to a chair in the empty studio and then he essentially broils her with high-watt studio lights placed directly on her nude body. Curiously Moffat does not have Myra break, even as her body shrivels in the intense heat, and Ken at length even begins to respect her strength. 

From there to a brief confrontation with Noire, who is about to rape Carol with that massive phallus of his; a fight which sees Ken nearly get ripped apart, and features a finale that seems like a rip-off until you think about it and realize Moffat has pulled off a neat trick with proper setup. Essentially, Noire is about to escape with Carol in his car and he puts Ken’s face up against the exhaust, trying to smother him. Then Noire gets in his car, thinking Ken is dead – but Ken opens the door and pulls Carol out. We recall then the opening setup, in which we were informed that Ken was drummed out of ‘Nam because he’d developed a tendency to hyperventilate when nervous. Thus, when Noire was “smothering” Ken with the exhaust fumes, the carbon monixide was actually helping Ken control his hyperventilation! I’m not sure if the science is legit, but Moffat certainly writes it with confidence. 

That said, Noire’s sendoff is laughable – in his haste he barrells out of the parking lot and runs into a truck, killed by the steering wheel slamming into his chest! And at novel’s end we learn that the withered hag that was Myra Manning has “disappeared” from the world, and, safely knowing that her legend will live forever, she plans to dose herself with strychnine, rip out her teeth and cut off her fingertips, and then douse herself with gasoline and immolate herself “before the tremors” make muscle movement impossible! 

And meanwhile Ken and Carol head off for a happily ever after… 

End spoilers. Yes, the finale is rushed, but hell, what Belmont Tower doesn’t have a rushed finale? I was satisfied that James Moffatt even told us what happened to all of the characters. All told, I loved the hell out of The Thing!, but I will be the first to acknowledge that your own mileage will vary. 

Here is the cover of the original Midwood edition, from 1971, which does a better job than any of the reprints of depicting the actual contents of the book...though note the artist at least also agreed that hot and evil vampire babes should have black hair: 

And here is a link to Too Much Horror Fiction, where you can see a few other covers Belmont Tower graced this book with over the years; according to a comment Andy Decker made at the Vault Of Evil forum, the copy I read, the cover for which is shown at the top of the review, might actually have been from 1978. If so, the copyright page itself only states 1971. My assumption is Belmont Tower just took the actual Midwood Books printing from 1971 and affixed different covers to it over the years.

The Werewolf vs The Vampire Woman

The Werewolf vs Vampire Woman, by Arthur N. Scarm

No month stated, 1972  G-H Books

Ramble House trade paperback reprint (As The Werewolf vs The Vampire Woman), 2007

I’m certain I have a copy of this obscure paperback tie-in somewhere, but I’m unable to find it – thankfully, Ramble House has reprinted The Werewolf vs The Vampire Woman, and their reprint might be even superior to the original, as it contains cool interior illustrations by Alan Hutchinson. 

This novelization of an equally-obscure Spanish horror film is probably more well-known today than it was in 1972. In fact it’s interesting that this movie, part of the cycle of werewolf movies starring Paul Naschy, was even slated for a novelization in America; too bad more drive-in fare wasn’t novelized at the time, but at least we’ll always have Coffy. 

I have not seen all twelve (or thirteen, if you count the rumored “lost” film) of the Naschy werewolf movies, but I have seen a few of them, The Werewolf vs The Vampire Woman among them, and that’s more than can be said for tie-in author “Arthur M. Scarm,” who clearly has not seen the movie, and here turns in a wholly original novel that is like nothing I have read before…and given the amount of trashy, bizarre stuff I’ve reviewed on here since 2010, that’s really saying something. 

Instead of the Gothic yarn lensed by director Leon Kilmovsky, with Naschy’s werewolf character in rural France and trying to save a pair of cute co-eds from a resurrected black magic sorceress of a vampire, Scarm’s “novelization” is a dark comic epic in comparison, a nasty, mean-tempered, but nonetheless humorous story about a werewolf and a vampire queen, and the havoc they wreak together. 

It’s also insane, and seems to be a booze and/or coke-fueled first draft, jumping wily-nily from one atrocity to another, Scarm laughing madly at the typewriter as he pounds the keys. And yet for all that, there is something to The Werewolf vs The Vampire Woman that ascends the nasty nature of the book and instead comes off like the morbid tale of two doomed characters. 

Scarm isn’t content to just make up his own story instead of following the film; he also comes up with a new approach to werewolves and vampires. For the former – well, despite those cool interior illustrations I mentioned in the Ramble House edition, which show “hero” Waldo the Werwolf (presumably Scarm’s version of Waldemar Danisnsky, which is the name of Naschy’s character in the films) as a full-blown wolf man, complete with fur and fangs, Scarm specificies in the novel that Waldo looks for the most part like a normal man…save for a curious “band of hair around his middle,” which is the sign that he is a werewolf. 

As if this wasn’t WTF? enough, we also learn that once a year all werewolves become actual werewolves, ie with the fur and fangs, and Waldo’s night happens to be New Year’s Eve. This is the night the werewolves go really wild and murder with a total bloodlust…not that they don’t kill the same way every other night of the year. Even more strangely, Scarm has it that the werewolves don’t kill by tearing people apart, or by strangling them like Larry Talbot in the old Wolf Man movie; no, Waldo uses stakes, which he carries around in his back pocket and hammers into the hearts of his prey: men, women, and children. 

Vampires in Scarm’s world are also different: they can go out in daylight and they can be photographed and filmed. Actually, Scarm doesn’t mention that this is even notable, giving the impression that he’s not aware that vampires traditionally are supposed to shun daylight and cast no reflection. There are parts where Wandessa, the vampire queen – the same name the character has in the film, though she isn’t referred to as a vampire queen there – looks at her reflection in the mirror, admiring her beauty…not to mention the part toward the end where she becomes a movie superstar. 

I also forgot to mention, but in addition to being “daywalkers” and having reflections/images that can be captured on film, vampires also have “hollow teeth” for fangs, and drink blood direclty through these teeth, like straws. They also don’t seem to be very averse to religious iconography; at least, nothing of the sort is used against Wandessa in the book. 

I’ll refrain from comparing the novelization to the actual film, as there is no comparison. Other than the very beginning, which sees “Waldo” being brought back to life by a foolish coroner who takes the silver bullet out of the dead man’s chest, not believing there’s any such thing as werewolves. As with the film, Waldo kills the man and escapes, and also as with the film, we have a pair of coeds – Genevieve and Elvira – who are interested in the legendary Wandessa, and want to find her for a class project or something. 

It’s here that the novelization deviates, and wildly so, but for posterity, the movie proceeds on an altogether level-headed narrative, at least when compared to Scarm’s story: young Genevieve (hotstuff German actress Barbara Capell) accidentally brings Wandessa to life, and the sexy vampire babe (as played by Patty Shepard) is out for blood – and meanwhile Waldemar and Elivra (big-haired Gaby Fuchs) fall in love. Overall it’s a pretty cool movie, and I’m sure it was a blast to see at the drive-in. 

Scarm says to hell with all that. Genevieve and Elvira are college students who want to find Wandessa, the queen of the vampires, and somehow Waldo the Werewolf hears about this and decides to tag along – that is, when he isn’t banging them, usually both at the same time. Now let me tell you right here and now, while you will often see Arthur Scarm’s The Werewolf vs The Vampire Woman described as sleazy, or filled with sex, I want to specify that all of the sex either occurs off-page or is not even described at all. 

Indeed, there is an almost “storytelling” vibe to the tale, a half-assed omniscient tone that gives the impression that Scarm has pulled up a chair and is telling you a tall tale; there is no real attempt at conveying a proper story, and the entire thing comes off more like the booze-fueled recounting of a legend or myth. It also occurred to me that Scarm’s story is like a ‘50s pre-code horror comic, operating as it does in a non-reality, almost fairy tale-like atmosphere, with a vibe that is both vicious and humorous. 

Waldo is certainly a hard character to relate to, and it’s clear Scarm doesn’t intend him to be a hero. Waldo is a murderer, killing hundreds of men, women, and children in the course of the book, if not by a stake to the heart then by other ways. Wandessa is equally as sadistic, though there are several parts where she tries to break free of her vampire ways, “drinking just enough blood” to keep her satiated, but ensuring that her victims don’t die. 

Actually another interpretation of Scarm’s The Werewolf vs The Vampire Woman is that it’s a thinly-veiled account of two alcoholics getting on and off the wagon. Waldo is the driver, comfortable with his murderous ways and constantly pushing Wandessa to embrace her bloodlust, and Wandessa will put up a struggle but ultimately fall off the wagon and start killing again. But soon enough they both want to be free of their addictions, leading to crazy parts where they go to a therapist. 

There’s no attempt whatsoever at conveying realism; I don’t expect that from a horror novel, but Scarm sets the novel in an entirely different reality. This is apparent from the beginning, in which a pair of college co-eds want to wake up a vampire queen for their college thesis. Scarm doesn’t even bother much with background material; Wandessa has been “dead” in a coffin since the late 1800s, but cannot remember how she got there, and Scarm never bothers to fill in the blanks. As for Waldo, we have no idea how he became a werewolf, but we know he certainly wasn’t born one, because, in another curious tidbit Scarm relays to us, werewolves are made, not born, because werewolves cannot have orgasms. 

Crazily enough, Scarm sticks to his bizarre supernatural theologisms through the book as if they were holy writ; after reading this novel, I thought maybe I’d missed something and maybe werewolves really did look just like normal people, only with a band of hair around their “middle.” And hell, maybe they do stake their prey instead of strangling them or eating them. Hell, who’s to really say?? 

The first chapter alone is nuts. Waldo comes back to life, hooks up with the coeds, and they go looking for Wandessa’s grave. And as mentioned Waldo has his sexual way with both gals, and while the stuff isn’t explicit we do learn that Waldo has a giant “wang,” which is another indication he’s a werewolf. Oh and there’s a third girl, Ruth, who didn’t even exist in the film, a nurse who fell in love with Waldo when he was brought back to life by the coroner (after which Waldo promptly took advantage of her there in the operating room – but she liked it, of course), and who is now in love with Waldo and wants to go wherever he goes. 

Waldo is a bad guy for sure, and to his credit he tells the girls – and us readers – this from the get-go: “Only expect evil from a werewolf.” He treats the girls roughly (though again, they enjoy it), kills to slake his bloodlust, and secretly plots to drive a stake into Wandessa’s heart when they find her because he hates all vampires. “And yet, I was in love with a vampire once,” Waldo ruminates, but this hint of actual backstory is so quickly cast aside that I actually laughed aloud. 

Scarm is like that throughout; he trades between total lurid vileness and soul-plumbing introspection. To be honest, if I hadn’t known better I would’ve suspected The Werewolf vs The Vampire Woman might have been an early novel by Len Levinson, as Scarm’s style is not totally dissimilar. Then again, I might be just as inclined to suspect Russell Smith, given the breathless narrative tone and the overall deranged vibe. But as it turns out, according to the sleuthing of Paul Collins, “Arthur Scarm” was really a writer named Leo Guild…who it turns out I’ve reviewed on here in the past, at least a short piece he wrote about Hollywood for a men's magazine. 

Oh and I forgot to mention, but Scarm (I just prefer to refer to him by his goofy pseudonym) gives werewolves all kinds of bizarre powers…like, Waldo can enter the dreams of people, turning the dream into a nightmare, and also he can…shrink a woman’s breasts, which he promptly does to one of the girls, leading to the unforgettable line, “My wonderful breasts!” Not to worry, as Waldo later grows them back, all via black magic…this scene alone is very Len Levinson-esque and would’ve had me emailing Len asap to see if he wrote the book. 

The novel goes from one atrocity to another as Waldo kills all and sundry – even, suprisingly enough, characters we thought were going to be important to the plot. In one instance Waldo gets so mad that one of the three girls tricked him into having sex with her that he bashes her to pieces…then, in one of Scarm’s frequent bizarre interludes, Waldo runs away and disguises himself as a clown, apropos of nothing, and starts following the two remaining girls as they hunt for Wandessa’s hidden grave. He even buys the circus so he can follow them around “without drawing attention.” 

Unlike the film, Wandessa is the co-protagonist of this novelization; upon her resurrection in a graveyard, she hangs out with the group, fighting against or alongside Waldo for the rest of the book. Waldo plans to kill her, but due to comic reasons is unable to put his silver knife in her heart, but after thinking of it a bit he’s happy because the two can team up and kill people together – the first pairing of a werewolf and a vampire, we’re told. 

Eventually, Wandessa is the only recurring character outside of Waldo who remains in the book, and this only furthers the fairy tale nature of Scarm’s narrative; these two are like the center of the universe, despite being impossible to track down by the police. They rove across the country, killing with abandon – and even here it’s not traditional horror novel stuff, with bizarre, darkly comic stuff like the two of them fixing the switches at an intersection, causing a horrific pile-up of cars, and then Waldo and Wandessa going into the wreckage to kill the maimed survivors. 

Scarm shows no limitations with how far he will go, with an especially repugnant scene where Waldo puts his murderous eye on a group of kids, even luring them back to his apartment so he can kill them. Even Wandessa is sickened when Waldo murders a young boy by smashing his head; for her part, Wandessa “only drinks a small amount” of a little girl’s blood, just enough to satiate herself but to not kill the girl. 

Waldo is even more crazed on his “werewolf night,” ie New Year’s Eve, where he turns into your traditional-looking furry werewolf and goes on a kill spree. Even here Scarm follows his own path; on his special night, Waldo is granted additional powers, and indeed can will himself anywhere he wants just by thinking about it(!). So we have crazy horror movie stuff where he’ll just appear on a train and start staking people in the heart, travelers who find themselves confronted by a werewolf that has come out of nowhere. 

Scarm shows a definite talent for keeping the madcap, vicious plot moving, but it seems clear that he writes himself into a corner, as the second half of the novel goes into freefall. First, Wandessa, who like a recovering alcoholic keeps trying to reform, only to be dragged back down by Waldo, sets her “friend” up with the cops and then takes off to hide in Hollywood…and here we go in an entirely different direction, as a naïve Wandessa somehow lands herself a contract with a movie studio. 

Now it’s essentially a Hollywood novel, only our aspiring starlet is a vampire. Of course Scarm has it that she’s starring in a horror movie, as a vampire no less, and soon Wandessa is using her true vampire nature to become a bigger and bigger star – “actually” biting her co-stars and whatnot. Things get progressively goofier when Wandessa tells the director she knows a “real werewolf” and Waldo gets hired onto the picture! 

Now the narrative has changed entirely, and instead of murderers on a killspree, Waldo and Wandessa are big Hollywood celebrities. They’ve also found true love – though Scarm toys with the idea, he never has Waldo and Wandessa become an item – and are about to get married(!), Wandessa to a black actor and Waldo to a butch sort of stunt woman. Meanwhile the cops are closing in…which is itself goofy, as these two commit atrocities throughout the novel, yet are always “hiding” from the cops…cops who can never seem to catch them. 

Not to make this sound like War and Peace or anything – though to be sure, I’d rather read The Werewolf vs The Vampire Woman than War And Peace – but Scarm does a good job working in the “doomed couple” nature of Waldo and Wandessa, particularly when it comes to their (super)natural hatred for one another. This plays out in a rushed but memorable climax which sees Wandessa having some hot lesbian lovin’ with Waldo’s fiance…much to Waldo’s fury. 

I do appreciate that Leo Guild/Arthur Scarm took the opportunity to write an entirely new story, yet at the same time it would’ve been just as cool if he’d novelized the actual film. I haven’t seen all the Naschy vampire movies, just the ones from the ‘70s, and The Werewolf vs The Vampire Woman is one of the better ones, and a book that actually told its tale would have been welcome. I’m going to bet Naschy himself was unaware that this novelization told a completely different tale than his movie. 

Thanks again to Ramble House for making this bizarre novel available for the masses – head over to their website for your copy today! Guaranteed to be the strangest book you will read this year…or any other year! To be honest, I feel that I’ve barely even described how whacky and disturbed this novel is. 

Here’s the cover for their edition, with artwork by Gavin L. O’Keefe:

Mummies

Mummies, edited by Steve Banes

December, 2017  IDW Publishing

This super-cool trade paperback collects several mummy-centric yarns from the pre-code horror comics of the early 1950s, and boy I had a lot of fun reading it. As a kid in the ‘80s I was a devoted comic reader, but even then I was interested in older stuff, so I knew about the horror comics of the ‘50s, particularly those by EC. As a Stephen King-obsessed teen in the early ‘90s I was really into EC, and I recall having several black-and-white hardcover collections of Tales From The Crypt and Vault Of Horror and the like. Now that I think of it, I wonder whatever happened to them… 

Well anyway, Mummies makes for perfect Halloween reading, collecting as it does several non-EC horror comics. While the stories here are certainly repetitive – basically, an ancient Egyptian mummy comes to life and kills a bunch of people – every single one of them is fun, probably an element that is sorely lacking in today’s comic books. 

I stopped reading comics decades ago, but I still have an appreciation for the old stuff, and there’s nothing better than pre-code horror. I’d forgotten how vicious these comics were, not to mention how darkly comic, which makes it even more humorous when you realize they were essentially produced for the kids of the day. Well, it goes without saying that things have become a lot more watered down in the world of kid’s entertainment in the ensuing decades; then again, I read a lof of pre-code horror comics when I was a kid, and even then I was able to appreciate the goofy, over-the-top vibe without finding any of it scary, so those ‘50s comics creators knew what they were doing. 

I was never a horror kid, but I did have an early obsession with the Universal Monsters Mummy. Looking back on it, I’m certain this obsession started with the cover of an LP my brother, who is seven years older than me, bought sometime in the late ‘70s. A record titled Famous Monsters Speak, which was a spoken-word affair, with a Dracula story on one side and a Frankenstein Monster story on the other side. Despite the cover showing the Mummy, the Wolf Man, and even the Creature From The Black Lagoon (another childhood favorite), none of these three characters were actually featured on the record! Well, all that aside, the illustration of the Mummy really appealed to me: 

I also recall that shortly after this, probably in the very early ‘80s, when I was six or seven years old, I got a Mummy costume for Halloween. One of those oldschool deals with the plastic mask. I just searched for it on Google and found it – apparently it was a Ben Cooper costume from 1979:

I was also so into mummies that I wrote a story about one when I was seven years old.* But it was not until years later that I actually saw all of the Universal Mummy movies, snatching up the DVD box set when it was released. I have fond memories of being unemployed during the summer of 2011 and watching the Mummy movies (and the other Universal horror movies) while drinking my way through several bottles of wine I grabbed off the clearance shelf at Tom Thumb…ah, good times. 

I don’t recall seeing too many mummy pre-code horror comics; I’m sure EC had some that I read back in the day, but if so I don’t remember them. I can see why the concept might not have been used very much, as mummies don’t really lend themselves to much return on investment so far as horror fun goes; just try watching the Lon Chaney Jr. Mummy movies in one sitting. Indeed, you’ll quickly see why clearance-rack wine is necessary. The movies are incredibly one-note and repetitive…nonetheless they are still fun, and I’d rather watch them than any modern-day horror movie. 

This trade paperback was edited by Steve Banes, aka Mr. Karswell, who for many years has run the indispensible The Horrors Of It All blog, where he uploads high-quality scans of stories from his pre-code horror comic collection. This blog is one of the best on the entire internet, and I try to read a comic a day on there – and the blog has been running for so long that there is an incredible wealth of material on there. In fact, many of the stories in Mummies can be found on The Horrors Of It All. 

But still, it is a different experience entirely to see the comics phyiscally, ie not on a computer or device screen, and Banes and IDW have done a phenomenal job reproducing these old comics. For one I am happy to say that they have not felt the need to tidy things up or re-color the comics. Personally I hate it when old comics are re-colored; like for example that Amazing Spider-Man Ultimate Newspaper Comic Collection book I reviewed on here a few months back: great, fun stories, with wonderful art, but the colors had been redone to make it all look more polite and “correct.” 

Personally, I’m a huge fan of the oldschool, blurred-out, “messy” look of vintage four color comics, something I was unable to appreciate all those years ago in the black-and-white EC Comic hardcovers I collected. Sure, the art itself looked great, but missing out on the color really took something away…and, as a simple flipping through Mummies will indicate, the colors certainly popped in pre-code comics. In fact there is an almost proto-psychedelic vibe to these comics in how the colors are so overdone and deranged; in many ways these comics are also harbingers of the drive-in horror fare of the following decade, the cheap monster flicks of the 1960s with their lurid and overdone Technicolor prints. 

And that’s another thing: these comics, despite being from the ‘50s and being made for kids, actually play like the more sensationalistic monster movies of the ‘60s. The only thing missing is the nudity. The violence certainly isn’t missing: in the stories here you will see countless murders, and atrocities like people eaten alive by ants or put inside of iron maidens. And there is in fact a T&A quotient, with each story featuring a young female with ample charms who is often put in a compromising position that results in her clothing being a little torn…yes, the comic producers of yore certainly knew what kind of material their young male (and older male!) readers wanted to see. 

I was interested in the uniformity of design the various artists followed for their depictions of the mummies. Instead of the Boris Karloff or Lon Chaney Jr. approach, which was the mummy wrapping overtop the entire face, the pre-code horror comic illustrators went for a look more aligned with the Ben Cooper costume I showed above, with a demonic skull-like face. They’re more “Pushead” than “Karloff:”

I mean just take a look: 

Only a few mummies in the stories collected here deviate from this look. The mummies themselves are all of a piece, though; unliving pharaohs who are either awoken by wily professors or come back to life due to a curse that was placed eons ago. It’s also humorous that all of the archeologists are either superstitious, stubborn, vengeful, or all three at once. 

The stories are busily plotted despite being so short; some pages are overstuffed with dialog and captions, to the extent that the actual art is often lost in the shuffle. But to be honest this is part of the charm; I much prefer the cluttered storytelling of old comics to the streamlined, “cinematic” art of today’s lame comics. 

Overall I had a lot of fun reading Mummies, and even though I wasn’t even born yet in the ‘50s, it still made me nostalgic, mainly because I did read ‘50s horror comics as a kid in the ‘80s. It made for perfect Halloween reading. Here are some random photos from the book:  

*As mentioned above, I was so inspired by my Halloween mummy costume that I wrote a story about it. I was seven at the time, if not younger, and it was a “drawings with text on construction paper” type of story. Well anyway, all I recall is that the story, humorously, followed the exact same template as many of the stories in Mummies, proving that even a little kid realizes there’s little variety in a mummy-centric horror story: basically, a pharaoh dies, becomes a mummy, and centuries later the mummy comes to life and wreaks havoc. 

I wrote a lot of stories as a kid, but here is why this particular one has always stuck with me. After writing it, I proudly showed the story to my mom, and I recall her standing there and reading it as I waited expectantly for her approval. I recall her face became troubled as she read a certain line, and then she showed me the story and asked, “What does this sentence say?” 

It was at the beginning of the story, the part set in the ancient past, where the pharaoh had just died and was about to be mummified. “Oh,” I said, “that sentence says, ‘The servants wrapped the pharaoh’s body.’” 

The troubled look abruptly left my mom’s face. “Okay,” she said, “but you spell ‘wrapped’ with a ‘w’ and with two ‘p’s.” 

It wasn’t until many years later that I realized the sentence I had actually written: “The servants raped the pharaoh’s body.” No wonder my mom looked so concerned. 

What made me remember this was that look that briefly passed over my mom’s face as she read my story – I got a first-hand, real-time glimpse of the power of storytelling, and how it can elicit both positive and negative reactions. 

Of course the irony is, if I were to write a mummy horror story today, I probably would write, “The servants raped the pharaoh’s body.”

Random Record Reviews: Volume 9

It’s a Satanic drug thing, Part 1: 

Monster Magnet: 25…Tab 

Glitterhouse Records, 1991 

My copy: Napalm Records, 2017 

I wasn’t into Monster Magnet in the early to mid ‘90s, and I don’t recall knowing anyone who was into them, either. By the time Monster Magnet got big in the late ‘90s, I had already moved away from “modern music,” so long story short – I was never a Monster Magnet fan. Until now! Within the past few months I have belatedly discovered this New Jersey band, formed in the late ‘80s by a group of psych explorers who seemed to have walked out of the early ‘70s. In particular, I am only interested in the earliest era of Monster Magnet, which is to say the first few releases (specifically: one album and two Eps), which featured John McBain on guitar. 

This, 25…Tab, is one of those Eps, with the caveat that the EP is actually longer than most LPs! The track “Tab” alone is over 30 minutes long, putting the limits of analog technology to the test; happily, this 2017 repress on 180 gram vinyl sounds great, save for the fact that it’s pressed a little quietly. The ideal LP side length is around 20 minutes; any more “data” on the side and something has to suffer in quality, usually either the bass level or the volume level. While the bass is nice and loud on the repress, you really have to crank the sucker up – but then, your only other option on vinyl is the original German release from 1993, and I doubt that sounds any better. 

I’m getting ahead of myself. This EP is great! It sounds so much like Hawkwind at times that you could be fooled into thinking it had been released 20 years earlier. This is what really appeals to me about Monster Magnet; they did heavy psych rock with vintage equipment. I don’t know much about what Monster Magnet did after, but their self-titled 1990 EP (inexplicably only released in Germany…and to this day not reissued in the US!), this Tab EP, and finally their debut album Spine Of God, are all pretty damn great. 

Not “heavy metal” per se, Monster Magnet is more heavy rock in the vein of the early 1970s, with lots of space rock and psych touches. It’s pretty awesome, and these guys were in for the whole trip – the subtitle of this Random Record Review, “It’s a Satanic Drug Thing,” comes from the back cover of Spine Of God: “It’s a Satanic drug thing…you wouldn’t understand.” 

The entirety of Side 1 is taken up with “Tab,” a 30-minute headtrip of sonic effects and various rants from “lead singer” Dave Wyndoff, all of it anchored by the mantra-like bass of John McBain (who does not play his customary electric guitar on this track). I’ve played this song a lot and you really can get lost in it; I once saw it compared to the freak-out psych section in the middle of Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love,” just taken to an epic length, and that’s actually pretty accurate. Just imagine that going on for about 30 minutes. 

Side 2 gets into more “standard” song forms, starting off with the other title track, “25,” which is more Hawkwind than Hawkwind: 

This one features McBain on guitar and boy does it rip – probably one of my favorite Monster Magnet songs. This track cuts hard into the following number, “Longhair,” which is an instrumental with a strutting, freak-flag-flying sort of vibe, and then the EP ends – or at least the original release ended – with “Longhair,” a mellow track with overdubbed McBain guitar that is the closest thing to a “normal” song on the EP. This 2017 vinyl reissue tags on a live take of “Spine of God,” presumably from 1990 – the track isn’t even mentioned on the LP jacket – and it’s so bootleg you can hear the people in the audience talking about it, one of them even saying, “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were recording!” 

Overall, a great “EP” that is really more so an LP, and the cover art must also be mentioned – an appropriation of a vintage science illustration, with Monster Magnet’s mascot the Bulldog added to it. The print job of the LP sleeve is great; the colors really pop, and also they made it a gatefold, but the inside is just a blurry photo of Monster Magnet on stage. Check it out, just be sure to crank up the volume. 

Acid Reich: Mistress Of The Perpetual Harvest 

Cool Beans, 1989 (original cassette release) 

My copy: Mental Experience/Galactic Archives, 2021 

Speaking of Monster Magnet…man, I like this obscure release a lot more than I probably should. And also I consider myself fortunate to have a copy; per the label, this will never be reissued. So what we have here is a late ‘80s recording by the proto-Monster Magnet – Dave Wyndorf, John McBain, and Tim Cronin – augmented with two additional musicians from the underground New Jersey scene. According to an insigtful interview printed on a flyer that is placed inside the sleeve – an inverview conduced by psych musician The Plastic Crimewave – this material was recorded during downtime in a home studio in between working at local record and comic book stores. 

I find myself fascinated by this late ‘80s New Jersey scene that Monster Magnet was part of; it’s just super cool to think of these longhaired dudes in their 20s coming home from a day selling comics and then breaking out their vintage guitars and Orange amps and hitting record on the 4-track…playing music that was entirely out of fashion in the late ‘80s. 

The origin of Acid Reich is it was just another “band” these guys would record as, usually releasing stuff on cassette tape on a “label” run by Cronin. Plastic Crimewave got hold of the original tape and it was used as the source for this vinyl LP release…which sounds a lot better than you’d expect, but be aware this is certainly lo-fi: the drums are a pounding tribal din and the guitars are more scrappy than heavy. But man it is heavy acid rock of the highest order, sounding more like an underground heavy rock bootleg from 1971 than anything from 1989, and of course I mean that as a compliment. 

They also don’t short-change you on material: the LP runs around 40 minutes, the perfect LP length, but there are only 5 songs on it! Side 1 features the awesome “Black Sun,” which features echo-treated Tim Cronin endlessly shouting “Black sun…in my head!” like a madman over a lo-fi metal jam, and then unexpectedly we have an epic-length cover of Pink Floyd’s “Set The Controls For The Heart Of The Sun,” always one of my favorite Floyd songs. But man, Waters and company even at their most “far-out 1969 Alan’s Psychedelic Breakfast” never got this far out; it starts off somewhat similar to the Floyd original before heading into the outer reaches of heavy lo-fi psych metal. 

Side 2 is more of the same – there’s an Acid Reich “Theme,” which is along the lines of “Black Sun,” and a heavy instrumental psych-metal-fest called “Revenge of Tim Boo Ba,” before things close out with a sarcastic take on “Amazing Grace,” which seems to feature Wyndorf on vocals. Oh and I should mention, as with “Tab,” John McBain plays bass throughout the entirety of Mistress Of The Perpetual Harvest (a local rocker named Shaune Kelley plays guitar on the LP), which is a shame, as McBain’s guitar tone was phenomenal – I mean, just check out “Nod Scene” from Spine Of God. 

As mentioned, I contacted Guerssen, the parent label of Mental Experience, to see if they were going to repress this LP, and they responded that they were not going to. So, I went on a hunt, determined to get my own phsyical copy for an affordable price. I was lucky enough to, but given how obscure the album is, you might have to resort to the digital release on the Acid Reich Bandcamp page. 

Spiral Shades: Hypnosis Sessions 

RidingEasy Records, 2014 

A little over twenty years ago I became a hardcore Black Sabbath fan, Ozzy-era only of course, mostly due to the awesome reviews by The Seth Man on Unsung. I bought the Black Sabbath CD box set when it came out in 2004, and still have it, and over the years I’ve gotten a few of their albums on vinyl, but prices have always been too high. And besides, the music is what matters, and Ozzy-era Sabbath is still some of my favorite music. 

But while the first four albums are generally the most loved by fans, I’ve always been a fan of Sabotage, Sabbath’s 1975 LP that saw them retaining their sound while bringing in progressive elements…not to mention a lot of sonic trickery. I mean “Megalomania” is by far my favorite Black Sabbath song, a 9-minute track that starts off dreamy before going off the deep end into sonic FX-ridden riff heaven (or hell), not to mention some serious cowbell action. Why this track is not better known than “War Pigs” is a mystery for the ages, but whatever – 1975 Sabbath was the best. 

Instead of continnuing in this pace, Sabbath unfortunately delivered Technical Ecstasy the following year, a muddled album that retained the progressive rock vibe but ruined everything with a generic “rock” approach. (And yes, that review I linked to is one I wrote for Unsung over twenty years ago!) But man, this 2014 album, produced by two guys – who weren’t even together in the same country when they recorded the album! – is the true followup to Sabotage that Black Sabbath never gave us. 

With a guy named Filip Petersen, in Norway, handling all the guitars, and a guy named Kuhshal Bhadra, in India(!), handling the vocals and drums, Spiral Shades is a studio group if ever there was one…and that’s fine with me. I’ve never been a fan of live albums. I like to hear the studio technology taken to its limits, and like Monster Magnet, Spiral Shades has done the same thing – taken a vintage metal sound to its limits. This album truly sounds like it could have been recorded and released in 1975, and again that is a compliment. 

And I haven’t even mentioned Bhadra’s vocals. There is a whole scene that’s developed in the past several years of Sabbath-worshipping “doom” metallers who have their own ersatz Ozzie on vocals…but folks, Kuhshal Bhadra is more Ozzy than Ozzy. This dude has Osbourne’s sound and delivery down pat, and there are tracks here you could play to someone who isn’t even really gullible and fool them into thinking it’s actually a Black Sabbath song. It’s truly incredible. 

And not only that, but the songs themselves have the Sabbath sound, while not coming off like ripoffs or repeats of what Sabbath did; Hypnosis Sessions really does sound like a true followup to Sabotage, the riff centering all the songs in true Iommi fashion, with the band sometimes going for slow-build epics and other times going for head-banging riffathons. So far as the latter go, my favorite track on the album would be one of those short head-bangers, “Wizardry,” which features some cool fx on the guitar:

Coming in at nearly an hour, Hypnosis Sessions was released as a double album, meaning it’s the opposite scenario as with Monster Magnet’s 25…Tab vinyl release. Since each side comes in at around 12 to 14 minutes, there are no issues with lack of bass or volume. The album sounds great, and vinyl would be the ideal medium to play it in, but it does bum me that RidingEasy got cheap and didn’t release it as a gatefold. This means that both LPs are jammed into a standard jacket, thus ensuring that some day the seams will split. 

Spiral Shades took nearly ten years to record a followup, the digital-only Revival; I’ve only listened to it once, but it is very much along the lines of Hypnosis Sessions, and it’s a damn mystery why RidingEasy didn’t keep them on the roster and release this one on vinyl as well. 

Saltpig: Saltpig 

Heavy Psych Sounds, 2024 

My favorite release on this list, Saltpig came out via the wonderfully-named Heavy Psych Sounds, a Rome-based label that focuses on, you’ll be shocked to know, heavy psych rock, metal, doom metal, and etc. There are a ton of artists on this label and I highly recommend you check them out. Also they do quality vinyl releases, and it was in this fashion that I discovered Saltpig’s debut LP…which turned out to be my best music discovery of 2025, and certainly the best “new release” I’ve heard in perhaps decades. 

I’m always buying music and listening to music, but it’s all old stuff, if you know what I mean. I realized a few months ago that there had to be new music out there that was worth listening to, and further I realized it was we hardcore rock junkies who were doing a disservice to these new groups – we’re so busy buying “Very Good Plus” copies of old records on Discogs that we are oblivious to new music that might be just as good. 

And Saltpig is certainly a case in point. These guys are awesome, coming off like an unholy mix of Black Sabbath and The Stooges...maybe after the two had sat through a triple-feature of horror movies at the local drive-in. Like Spiral Shades, we have here a two-man group: Mitch Davis on vocals, guitars, and production, and Fabio Alessandrini on drums. Man, these guys are phenomenal: this album is so great that I’ve played it constantly since I got it. Usually I play records only a few times and then move on to the next new thing, but I’ve played Saltpig over and over. In fact I’m playing it again right now! 

On the label page I linked to above, Saltpig’s music is described as a direction early 1970s proto-metal might have gone if it had not evolved “towards greater precision, bigger drums and more robust production.” I read this after listening to the album a few times, and I have to say, this description really sums up their sound. One can easily imagine that this would be the direction heavy music went in the early ‘70s. There is a sort of lo-fi murk to Saltpig, yet at the same time the production is phenominal, with a lot of buried effects; it’s a headphone album as well as a “blast on your stereo” album. 

Side 1 is comprised of 5 tracks, each in the 3-5 minute span, centered around a Sabbath approach but offering a lot of variety. Oh and I forgot to mention, but a key to Saltpig’s success is Mitch Davis’s vocals; his is not an Ozzy wail, or a death metal grunt…his vocals are top-notch. The dude actually sings, which is what brings me back to the Stooges comparison…I mean, Iggy Pop/Stooge had one of the greatest rock voices ever, and Davis seems to have taken his inspiration from that area instead of a more traditional “doom metal” approach. 

That said, Davis’s vocals are usually buried beneath FX and other trickery; as mentioned there is a very cool murk to Saltpig, lending to its “occult” vibe. But this is a drive-in monsterama kind of occult (ie the best kind), with side 1’s subjects ranging from demons to burning witches. Starting off with “Satan’s War,” Saltpig hits the ground running, and the way the 5 songs blend into one another, side 1 almost comes off like a continnuous piece. “Satan’s War” promptly displays their penchant for buried effects, with lots of sound effects buried beneath the music – even after listening to the album so many times, I still am surprised by the errant noises when listening on my headphones. “Demon” and “Burning Water” are aggressive, riffing numbers, and “When You Were Dead,” with its grungier, more lo-fi metal-punk vibe, is a harbinger of Side 2. “Burn The Witch” opens with a horror movie sample and almost sounds like ‘80s goth metal in the chorus. 

Flip it over to side 2 and it’s another story entirely...one single track, “1950” (the title is actually the length of the track!), a mind-blower of blown-out amps and screamed, fx-ridden vocals, where Saltpig just rides a riff into infinity. It sounds like James Williamson-era Stooges looking into the future and doing a shorter, slightly faster take on Sleep’s “Dopesmoker.” Speaking (again) of the Stooges, if you are a fan of that band, then you’ve gone down the murky roads of bootlegs and unofficial releases, and it’s incredible how Saltpig has exactly replicated that sound with “1950;” it sounds like some track lifted off Heavy Liquid or Rough Power or one of the innumerable other Stooges boots. 

For nearly twenty minutes we have this RIFF, which rolls upon itself over and over, before slowing down a bit for (what passes for) the chorus, and throughout it all Mitch Davis’s voice is lost in the sonic din. Man, it’s incredible! “1950” is my favorite new song in years and years and years. The track is so great that Saltpig even made a music video for it!

I was so blown away by Saltpig that I actually contacted the band throught their website, telling them how much I enjoyed the album. I was nearly as blown away when I received a response…in which they told me that they are putting “the finishing touches” on their followup album! Folks, I can’t tell you how amped up I am to hear another Saltpig album. I mean, think of it. This is the first time I’ve been excited to hear a new album since…when? Maybe not since the ‘90s! 

Highly, highly recommended – I got the basic black vinyl pressing, but Heavy Psych Sounds offers various pressings at various prices, plus digital as well, so take your pick – just so long as you check it out. And while the vinyl is likely pressed from digital, which is how it is done these days, I suspect the album itself was recorded in analog, as it has that vintage sound, which adds to the vibe. Just a perfect album, and one I will continue to listen to again and again.

Bloodsong: Season Of The Dead - Halloween '25 

Digital release, 2025 

Rounding out this review with a special mention of a new single release from Bloodsong, who I have raved about before – first about their Initium Meets Earth A.D. release, and their later Season Of The Dead. The other day I got an email notice that Bloodsong had just put up a new song on Bandcamp, and I went over there immediately to check it out. 

Coming in at 2 tracks, Season Of The Dead – Halloween ‘25 features remakes of earlier songs, and what’s notable is that this one-man band has now become a two-man band. (Two-man bands could almost be a theme of this post!) Main man I, Misanthrope has been joined by the awesomely-named “Dr. Anthony Fulci” on lead guitar, and the good doctor shreds it up on new mixes of “Season Of The Dead” and “I Want Your Blood.” 

While both of these songs were great in their previous mixes, it must be said that Dr. Fulci brings something new to the table, in particular “I Want Your Blood,” which is here transformed into the greatest song Bloodsong has yet done. Like I said before, if you’ve worn out your Misfits and Samhain records, you need to look into Bloodsong; absolutely no band comes as close to capturing that mid-‘80s Samhain sound, while still offering something new and uniquely their own. 

I think the only thing missing is a physical release of Bloodsong’s material…I’d love to have some of this stuff on vinyl. Hopefully I, Misanthrope and Dr. Anthony Fulci will continue to join forces and bring us a full album of heavy horror punk, but in the meantime this two-track single is perfect Halloween listening, so head over to Bandcamp and check it out!

The Gilded Sarcophagus (Dr. Holton #1)

The Gilded Sarcophagus, by Charlotte Hunt

No month stated, 1967  Ace Books

So obscure it wasn’t even mentioned on Curt Purcell’s otherwise-comprehensive Groovy Age Of Horror, Dr. Holton ran for six novels that took place squarely in the groovy era, and though the books were packaged as Gothics, overall they had more in common with Doctor Orient. 

Charlotte Hunt was a British author, her real name Doris Marjorie Hodges; she passed away in 1997. This first volume of the series, The Gilded Sarcophagus, certainly reads like the work of an English author. So British it hurts, the novel is overstuffed with the usage of “quite” and the action is anemic. As for the sex, there’s none. One can only hope that future volumes improve on this; another thing going against The Gilded Sarcophagus is that it is written in first-person. It seems that future volumes trade off between first-person and third-person. 

Another thing that makes the Dr. Holton series unique for a Gothic is that the protagonist is a man. I’m no expert, but it seems to me that Gothic focused on damsels in distress. Thus Hunt walks a strange line here, as her narrator must come off as the manly hero while also coming off as being in distress. Ultimately it makes Dr. Paul Holton seem like a wimp. 

This isn’t helped by Holt’s speciality: he’s not a master of the mystic arts or magic or anything like that – no, he’s a psychiatrist! He’s got a clinic in London, and he’s engaged to young Julie Font…so there goes any hopes of him scoring a little, as he would if this series had been written by a red-blooded male author. No, there’s no hanky panky in this book at all. It’s essentially G rated, probably more so than even the average Gothic of the era. 

Hunt/Hodges clearly wanted a Sherlock Holmes – Professor Moriarity rivalry, as Dr. Holton seems to be concerned with the ongoing feud between Dr. Holton and the wily Manfred Blackton, a conman with occult leanings. I envionsioned Blackton as an almost satanic villain, but having read the book he comes off like just a generic bad guy, with nothing memorable nor even too extreme about him. Indeed at one point he even specifies that he’s “not a sadist.” 

Another schtick with the series is that each novel seems to center around some mystical artifact; in this first one, it’s the legendary “Roth Parchment,” an ancient Egyptian document which was supposedly written by a scholar from Atlantis…a scholar, folks, who is named Roth(!?). Now look, I know Atlantis is a legend and all, but don’t you think Hodges could’ve come up with a better name for her ancient Atlantean occult mage than Roth? Why didn’t she just go all the way with it and say the guy’s first name was John while she was at it? 

Well anyway, it’s not that our narrator is even interested in this stuff to begin with. He comes into it all via his fiance, Julie; it’s Julie’s brother, Simon, who is a translator of hieroglyphs and who apparently was helping Uncle Rupert translate the parchment…which Rupert has somehow gotten hold of. But meanwhile the tale is more centered around Simon’s disappearance; Julie is certain foul play was involved, and that the wily Manfred Blackton was behind it. 

There is a lot of talking and debating and belaboring in the 222 pages of The Gilded Sarcophagus. Neither Paul Horton nor Julie Font are memorable characters; Horton, via his narration, comes off like a fusspot, and Julie is always worried and concerned. In fact she might be closer to the traditional protagonist of a Gothic; a pretty young woman who is always scared. 

Blackton is not introduced to the tale for a bit. Hodges’s narrative is cluttered and clunky; she introduces a ton of characters to us in the opening chapters and also relies very heavily on expository dialog. She also repeats herself in the narrative; both Simon and his uncle have lost a woman they loved, and each man has sort of gone of the deep end in his grief. Initially it is easy to confuse the two characters. 

For old Rupert, he has found solace in the Circle of Ra, an occult group headed up by Blackton, a wide-shouldered rake who is always accompanied by a raven-haired beauty named Zerena. These two, it is my understanding, will be a thorn in Holton’s side for the entirety of the series. Zerena acts as a medium for the Circle of Ra, channeling the spirit of an Atlantean, with Blackton as the Aleister Crowley behind it all, but unfortunately we readers know it’s all a crock; there is no actual supernatural content in The Gilded Sarcophagus. 

There is no real tension to the narrative; everyone tells Julie that her brother – who by the way is in his late 20s or something like that, so it isn’t like he’s a kid – has probably just taken off for somewhere. But Julie reveals to Holton that she and Simon have a psychic bond, and once spoke to each other via ESP. This is the furthest we get into the metaphysical realm in the novel. 

I mentioned Curt Purcell’s long-gone blog at the start of the review, but truth be told there aren’t many “groovy age” details in The Gilded Sarcophagus, though a cursory glance at future novels – particularly the ones in third-person – get a bit more groovy. This first book could just as easily take place in the 1930s, given the lack of mention of any ‘60s topical details. There is a blandness to the entire book, though. 

It doesn’t help that there isn’t even any T&A to keep us pervs entertained; the author is almost skittish about writing anything “saucy,” once again proving my theory that most British authors can’t write pulp because they’re afraid they’ll get their sleeves dirty. But then again, techincally this is a Gothic, so maybe they were just anemic to begin with. 

Another issue is that so much of the novel is exposition. Holton and Julie speak together in overly formal tones – again, the British thing – and there’s a lot of stuff where characters will exposit to each other on things. Nothing really happens until midway through the novel when Blackton makes his appearance in the text, at a memorable séance sequence in which the Circle of Ra meets in Chelsea. 

Given that the entire novel is relayed through Holton’s perspective, the séance is seen more as a ruse by Blacktorn, Holton seeing through the cheap effects the man uses to fool his gullible audience. Holton’s inspection is minimal at best for Blackton’s hotstuff, raven-haired assistant, Zerena, unfortunately; about the most we are told is that she is pretty, but the narrator – not to mention the author – is not interested in dwelling on her charms. Lame! 

Regardless, Zerena manages to break free of the narratorial constraints and emerges as the most memorable character in the novel, despite only appearing in a scant few scenes. She and Holton have a brief conversation after the séance, where Hunt clearly sets up future meetings between the two; indeed, The Gilded Sarcophagus ends with Zerena essentially stating that “fate” has kept the two from being an item, or somesuch. 

Unfortunately, Holton’s ever-shocked, deadbeat fiance Julie gets in the way, and given that the novel ends with her and Holton getting married(!), my assumption is she’ll be there to further get in the way in future volumes. But Hunt doesn’t even dwell on anything naughty between Julie and Holton; theirs seems to be a chaste relationship. 

Things finally pick up steam with the discovery of a corpse or two, and the unexpected outing of Blackton as a villain with murderous intentions. But still even so, he’s not a sadist, people! And our narrator is a chump, caught twice in the final quarter; he spends a few chapters trussed up in a dungeon, at one point resorting to actual prayer to get himself free(!). 

The finale sees Holton trussed up yet again, and folks he is literally saved by the deux ex machina appearance of some newly-introduced character…now that I think of it, perhaps Holton’s prayer was answered, after all. But there’s no big action finale, and Holton has no martial skills to speak of; there’s a part where Blackton knocks him out, and Holton informs us that he wasn’t as fast as he normally was because he was tired from being trussed up all night…this kind of made me laugh out loud, as the narrator must explain to us why he was unable to fight the main villain. 

As you’ll no doubt be unsurprised to learn, Blackton and Zerena escape at novel’s end, paving the way for the next volume, The Cup Of Thanatos, which hopefully will be better.