Swamp Monster Massacre By Hunter Shea

 

Swamp Monster Massacre
By Hunter Shea
2017 Severed Press
Paperback, 138 pages

After reading The Montauk Monster, I started looking up Hunter Shea books online to see what else I needed to read by him. A two-sentence review by “Nick” on Goodreads ("The fucking bigfoots were throwing alligators at them!" If that sentence makes you smile, then this book is for you.) had this in my Amazon basket before you could say Gator Bombs!

This book does exactly what is says on the tin; Swamp Apes in the Everglades attack a swamp-tour boat that was hijacked by an arms dealer and happens to run over a young Bigfoot in a crash. The airboat’s passengers are the characters, not much more than fodder, but we don’t ask for much; we just want the bloody massacre, and we get it.

Shea once again writes his own cryptozoological rules and gives a lot more Skunk Ape lore than was previously known. Their smell, their underwater prowess and hunting skills are given a great deal of detail and their hatred of the interlopers is well deserved.  With the short page count, I could barely put the book down, especially with Shea’s propensity for ending chapters like “And what happened next would change everything...” I mean, you just have to go on and keep reading!

Hunter Shea gets it. Nature strikes back in a bloody tornado of body parts. I will keep reading his output. He writes for me.

Midnight Magazine
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The Unholy By John Halkin

The Unholy

By John Halkin

1982 Hamlyn
Paperback, 158 pages

 

When I think of John Halkin, my mind goes immediately to his trio of Slither, Slime, and Squelch and, to a lesser extent, Bloodworm. All worthwhile reads, especially Slither which is a masterpiece of the genre. Little did I know that right after that book, he’d written another horror novel; not about slimy, killer worms, but about a mummified, severed arm that crawls to life, attaches itself to poor, unfortunate victims and possesses the fuck out of them.

 

It’s the ol’ religious artifact thing again, but the possession angle is new and modern-day Paris is fucked. The surprisingly spry, lifeless arm squeezes its victim at the elbow, hard enough to pop it off, then grafts itself on, taking over the mind and body of the new host. Pages and pages of bloody killing ensues. Set ‘em up and knock ‘em down. Just how I like my 80’s pulp horror.

 

At 158 pages, the book has no chance to get boring. The pace is rapid, the characters are good enough to hold your interest and the gore is plentiful. The ending is a kind of abrupt and there’s a bit more religion than I usually go for (being a religious relic, the arm needs to be explained a little bit, I guess) but I wholeheartedly recommend this one for fans of grisly horror paperbacks.

Midnight Magazine

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Killer Pack By Albert Herbert and Roger Myers

 

Killer Pack
By Albert Herbert and Roger Myers
1976 Manor Books
Paperback, 221 pages.

 

                “This book is really poorly written,” thought Mike as he read Killer Pack.

 

                It really is. It took two authors to write this one and they obviously didn’t have the heart to tell each other that neither one of them could actually write. One of the most jarring things for me was the endless quotation marks for inner thoughts. I was all like, who are they talking to? Oh… it’s a thought. Now, that’s not technically a writing error but it is endless and really could (should) have been done differently. Choppy sentences abound, as well. A sentence for every action… He got into the car. He started the car. He drove the car to the store. He got out of the car. He chose a shopping cart. He went into the store. He selected his groceries. He went to the checkout. The total for his groceries was $20. (That’s only a slight exaggeration.)

 

                OK, this book came out the same year as David Fishers’ infinitely superior The Pack and shares the springboard of vacationers getting dogs for the summer, then abandoning them when vacation is over. That’s some sick shit, but it makes for some good killer dogs.

 

                A vacation town in Long Island is having a problem with a pack of rogue dogs. People are getting killed. What is everybody going to do about it? That is the crux of this story; not the killer dogs but what the town officials are planning to do about it. Town Supervisor Diana Wentworth is tough as nails and won’t budge on her No Leash Law. An up-and-coming candidate for her job wants to enforce one. (He’d get my vote… leash your dogs in parks, asshole.) Obviously, as attacks happen, Ms. Wentworth’s platform goes to shit.

 

                Yep, that’s pretty much what the book is about. The dogs become secondary. But despite the absolutely abysmal writing and lackluster action scenes, it’s really fairly enjoyable. It was good to see a strong, if fallible, woman in a position of power and thoughtfully constructed gay characters. Both of those things are rare in Seventies pulp horror novels.

 

                I almost want to read this duo’s other book The Last Survivor just to see if it’s as badly written. I would also probably read Myers’ solo release from 2010, Werewolf: A Gay Romp. Just because.

Midnight Magazine
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