Pestilence By Edward Jarvis

Pestilence
By Edward Jarvis
1983 Hamlyn
Paperback, 158 pages

                                                      

    I really didn’t like Maggots, written by Jarvis three years after this one, despite the amazing cover. Why did I try so hard and wind up spending so much on this, his only other horror book? Do I like pain? Self-abuse? Or am I just one of those pitiful completists? Whatever the reason, I managed to snag a copy of this rare one and decided to dig in right away.

    I was immediately reminded of why I didn’t like Maggots. His dialog is all over the place, more like chatter than a conversation and his prose isn’t much different. Is his tongue in his cheek or hanging out of his mouth with a dallop of drool dripping off of it? The set-up is slow and before too long, the meeting, conferences and phone calls begin to pile up. This is what frosted my balls with the other book.

    Garry, a journalist, loses a couple of fingers while cleaning his drains. He has no clue how that happened, but it falls in place with odd occurrences happening all around the world. A young actress in India loses a leg, ducks and other animals are disappearing and the water is becoming a dangerous place. Garry gets recruited by his pal Miles to head up an investigative unit and from there, phone calls ensue. And meetings. At least Jarvis throws us a few bones in this one though, with a few bloody attacks occurring while they’re still trying to figure out the cause.

Well, after discovering that those vile Russians have done some underwater nuclear bomb testing (tsk tsk!), the eventually find out that giant prehistoric lampreys are the culprits. Real life lampreys can get to almost four feet but these guys double, triple… multiply that by hundreds. One takes down a Blue Whale, another takes down a Great White Shark on Cape Cod (where the exploits of local man Quint and the town of Amity are referred to, in an amusing nod). The names increase as the sizes increase… Giant Lamprey, Mammoth Lamprey, Mega Lamprey… Supreme lamprey!

    OK, I know Jarvis is taking the piss out of the genre, but it is hard to tell sometimes if he is laughing with us or at us. Garry is such a cad; he makes a Guy N. Smith leading man look like a choirboy. The night that he gets news of his wife’s death (by lamprey), he fucks his secretary. Jarvis takes an 8-page detour from the story on page 100 to show us the town of Rye. This book is completely absurd in a Lionel Fanthorpe kind of way. In the end, I have to say that despite the fucking meetings, it was pretty fun and quite bone headed. The ending may be the dumbest ever and for that, I give it extra points.

The Lurkers By Guy N. Smith

The Lurkers
By Guy N. Smith
1982 Hamlyn
Paperback, 158 pages
                                            

    The Master covers familiar territory with this one, with a family of outsiders facing the hatred and wrath of the small-town locals, but he throws enough variations into the short page-count to keep the story fresh and exciting.

    Peter Fogg was a working class nothing who wrote a book in his spare time. It got published and turned out to be a big hit. He got greedy and moved his wife Janie and his son Gavin to a secluded rental house deep in the Welsh Highlands to write another book. Janie hated it; she could sense something evil in the woods around the house. Gavin hated it because being English, he was the target of his Welsh schoolmates’ ire. And there was that old stone circle up on the hill, visible from the house.

    Smith sets up the story and lets the dread seep in slowly, from the townsfolk making no bones about how unwelcome the Foggs are to the slaughter of their pet cat and rabbit, whose remains are found at the stone circle. Are the townsfolk responsible or are the ghostly druids back, making sacrifices in the name of Old Scratch? Janie has had enough and takes Gavin back to civilization, leaving Peter on his own against whatever evil forces are at work. There is something out there.

    Guy N. Smith’s daughter has said that the house in this book was based on their own home. It sounds like a lovely place, except for the brewing evil! Fogg’s stand against whatever is out there is a suspenseful stake out in the middle of a crippling blizzard and Smith really ramps up the feeling of isolation. Many twists unravel and this satisfying book can be plowed through in a sitting or two. A highly recommended non-crab book from a legendary writer.

    Originally published in GNS2: A Guy N. Smith Fanzine by Chris Elphick

The Scourge By Nick Sharman

The Scourge
By Nick Sharman
1980 Hamlyn
Paperback, 211 pages

 

                I have read roughly half of Scott Grønmark’s books written as Nick Sharman and have enjoyed them all. He is a gifted writer and I enjoy his use of the English language, sentence structure and storytelling. Every now and then, I pause and admire a sentence. While this doesn’t get the book done any faster, it is yet another way to enjoy one’s reading experience.

 

                Strange things are afoot in London (again!) and folks are dying in mysterious ways. A private eye, Kiley, is almost killed alongside one of the victims and he gets himself involved with an investigation into the seemingly unrelated deaths. The deeper he gets, the more he realizes that he is embroiled in a dangerous and bizarre case. Things point to pharmaceutical kingpin David Benson and “Project Alpha” and time is getting short as people die.

 

                This one is not as nasty as some of Sharman’s other horror books, there are still some very upsetting death scenes. As much of a detective novel as a terror tale, The Scourge is a page-turner in every respect as we follow Kiley on his relentless pursuit for the answer. Yes, there are ridiculous and convenient situations to move things along and Kiley would likely have died a million times over while taking too many chances, but taken for what it is, an 80s pulp horror novel, that’s all part of the fun.

 

                I read a few reviews that made fun of the ending but for me, the last 25 pages are pure, unadulterated perfection. I almost broke a sweat turning pages and I swear I almost slipped in a puddle of blood. Fun, fun, fun with a Capitol F, dammit. This book was released by Signet in the US with a somewhat dull cover. I suggest holding out for the original UK Hamlyn cover with the bloody eyeball. I’m not sure what it has to do with the novel but it’s a hell of a striking image!

The Spirit By Thomas Page

 

The Spirit
By Thomas Page
1979 Hamlyn
Paperback, 252 pages

                We’ve got a Bigfoot novel here, ladies and gentlemen, and it’s a pretty good one. While it is far from perfect, it is satisfying, a quick read and it delivers the goods. I mean, it pretty much opens with a beheading!

                Two men are tracking Bigfoot across the country. One is John Moon, a Native American Vietnam vet in search of inner peace and to "learn his name", his place in life. Bigfoot is The Spirit that will show him the way. John Moon is pretty much bonkers, by the way. The other man is Raymond Jason, a moneybags adventurer whose prior expedition was marred by a lethal Bigfoot encounter. He seeks not only revenge, but to show the world that the monster exists. Raymond Jason is pretty much an asshole.

 

                Our two main characters travel state to state, even into British Columbia, tracking the beast. They finally get up close and personal with their quarry at a mountain in Washington state. Luckily for the reader there is a ski resort that has recently opened on Bigfoot’s home base.

 

                OK, I mean John Moon’s character isn’t exactly enlightened by today’s standards, but I wouldn’t call it completely un-PC. The fact that there is only one female character stands out more for me. Hey, it was the 70s; a grain of salt is often needed. But the story revolving around the two men and their searches is a tight thriller, full of action and I blew through it quickly after deciding (about 50 pages in) that it was pretty good. Some neat ideas about the origin of the Bigfoot species are offered up, as well.

 

                Page is no stranger to fantastic fiction, having written The Hephaestus Plague in 1973. You know, the one the movie Bug was based on with incendiary beetles? Based on that book and this one, he is OK by me. The Spirit has been re-released by Valancourt under Grady Hendrix’s Paperbacks from Hell banner, so it’s easy enough to find now. And as Hendrix says about The Spirit, it’s a rare Bigfoot novel with absolutely no Bigfoot rape scenes. Yay!

Parasite By Richard Lewis

 

Parasite
By Richard Lewis
1980 Hamlyn
Paperback, 187 pages

 

Richard Lewis knows how to handle a nature-strikes-back premise and he proves himself capable once again with another new pandemic horror out to threaten Britain. The parasite in question is a tiny freshwater worm that spreads bilharzia, also known as schistosomiasis. It’s real. Look it up. It is unpleasant. Of course, Lewis’s parasite has mutated a bit to make the disease even more unpleasant. This parasite can cause madness, gooey death and 80s pulp-horror mayhem.

 

The reader knows what is going on before the characters in the book do and it’s enjoyable to follow them as they uncover the unimaginable. That said, there tends to be a few too many meetings among the doctors, scientists, and politicians for my taste. It doesn’t ruin the book, like it does in Edward Jarvis’s Maggots, but it does slow down the narrative at times. Still, Lewis keeps things moving along and throws us some gruesome parasite action just when we need it.

 

There is a well written romance between our main character George Carson and his associate Jill Turner. Plus, George’s kid, born of his late wife, catches the parasite which brings a new level of pathos to the story. Of course, in true Lewis fashion (SPOILER), he throws in a late-story rape to show that humans are always the true horror in the world. (END SPOILER). It just seems like overkill, but hey… it fucks with you, and I guess that is the point.

 

So, while this isn’t the perfect Richard Lewis book (that would be Devil’s Coach-Horse aka The Black Horde), it is still prime 80s Hamlyn Horror and is well worth adding to one’s nature-strikes-back collection. I just wish there had been less meetings in it.

Night Killers By Richard Lewis

 

Night Killers
By Richard Lewis
1983 Hamlyn
Paperback, 208 pages

                I love Richard Lewis. He never lets me down. He jumped on the nature-strikes-back bandwagon in the late 1970s and knocked out a bunch of excellent horror novels. He wrote TV and movie tie-ins under his real name Alan Radnor, but his horror books as Richard Lewis vault him deep into my heart, right there alongside Guy N. Smith.

 

                Night Killers is a gruesome novel about cockroaches that develop a taste for human flesh. The origin of their dietary change opens the book in very gruesome fashion, with a serial killer’s poor disposal of a victim’s body. This whole opening is a grueling, gory, and exciting scene and eventually leads us to another excellent horror set piece. It’s not until 30 pages in that we meet our main characters. Like most of the great eco-horror novels, Lewis sets ‘em up and knocks ‘em down… the deaths are gruesome and harrowing. Much to my delight, there is a scene with a toddler… no, he wouldn’t go there… Yes. Yes, he did. I am a big fan of “nothing is sacred” horror.

 

                Taking place in a seedy section of London, Sally is in charge of Unity House, a hostel for alcoholics and vagrants; a place for them to stay and be safe. Her boyfriend David, a reporter (I know, an oft used trope) might have stumbled on a big story here in the East End. Main characters or not, Lewis puts them through the paces, and you never know if they’re going to make it to the end or not. The book never lets up with grisly roach killings and claustrophobic situations of hopelessness. Except for a gratuitous rape scene (really, hadn’t she been through enough already?), I have no complaints at all about the savagery Lewis ladles on.

 

                While I enjoyed every moment of this book while reading it, perhaps it is telling that when I sat down to write this review a few weeks later, I didn’t remember it very well. I had to skim through and reread it a bit to remind myself what it was that I liked so much about it. Even though it evidently didn’t stick with me, I loved it as I read it and gleefully recommend it.

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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.

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The Ghoul By Marc Ronson

 

The Ghoul
By Marc Ronson
1980 Hamlyn
Paperback, 202 pages

 

                My wife was reading The Plague Pit by Marc Ronson at my recommendation. That was a pretty good book. One day, I was looking at vintage horror paperbacks online (as I am wont to do) when I stopped on Les Edwards’ cover of Ronson’s The Ghoul for Hamlyn Books. Great cover, indeed. So, I called Andrea over to see the cover and she said, “It looks like he missed arm day.” Skinny arms… he missed arm day at the gym. For some reason, I thought (and still think) that is the funniest goddam thing ever. I immediately found a cheap copy and bought it, if only to enjoy the cover.

 

                While not as fully satisfying as The Plague Pit, this one is still very enjoyable. It is about the unearthing of a tomb in the Valley of Jinn in the Middle East. The archaeological team digging it (led by a woman, not a common thing is 1980s pulp horror) encounters hiccups in the form of a nearby hippy cult, scared locals, and the titular ghoul. A dozen moderately interesting characters weave throughout the story, keeping the pages turning if only to find out why they’re there at all. That’s not a knock, just an observation; this is pretty ambitious for a 200-page book.

 

                One thing that slows me down in a book of this sort is the exotic names of people and places. I hope I don’t sound xenophobic when I say that I tend to sound out the exotic Arabian names in my head, decide it’s too hard, then mumble the name as I read… “Rmm-nn-mmm”. I’m lazy. I found relief when the archaeologist’s father Max was around, though his character is far less interesting than the locals of Abu Sabah.

 

                Still, this is a fun, quick book with plenty of intrigue, claustrophobic horror, a love triangle, and deceitful characters making the ol’ opening of a tomb premise sparkle a little bit. One gripe… not enough ghoul. He isn’t in it as much as I’d like. We need more ghoul. Maybe he was at the gym, trying to work up those arms.

 

                The abrupt ending all but promises a sequel, but that never materialized. Marc Ronson (Marc Alexander) passed away in February 2020.

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Doomflight By Guy N. Smith

Doomflight

By Guy N. Smith
1981 Hamlyn
Paperback, 221 pages

It is well known that I adore Guy N. Smith’s nature-strikes-back books, but when he digs deeper than crabs, ‘gators or bats and their destruction of the human race, it can be hit or miss for me. Doomflight is an ambitious piece of writing and it’s fairly good, but not entirely satisfying.

A huge, international airport is being constructed on the site of a previously failed aerodrome. That one had failed because of countless mishaps. Y’see, the land it’s built upon is the site of a Druid circle, the ritual stones buried deep under the cement of the runways. Naturally, all hell breaks loose, with Druids, sacrifices, ghostly, old-timey airmen and a massive loss of human lives. It’s huge, I tell ya.

Smith tells an intricate tale, and the story builds and builds to a fiery climax. It would make a hell of a movie. Sadly, I got a little impatient waiting to get to that climax. It might be that I had some kick-ass books in my “To Be Read” pile or it was a story that just wasn’t engaging me, but the last third became a bit of a slog. Eh, it happens. Maybe if he threw just one giant crab into the mix…

Still, it’s hard to not recommend any books by the master. Especially with Smith’s recent passing, we have to savor every word he has written. The Les Edwards cover here is worth the price of admission, too!

This review originally appeared in Midnight Magazine #9, March, 2022.

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The Pike by Cliff Twemlow and Devour by Paul Adams

Something a little different here: a whole article on books featuring Northern Pikes as the monster. This appeared in Midnight Magazine #6 as "Comin' Down the Pike". 

It is a walloping understatement to say that Peter Benchley’s Jaws inspired dozens of knock-off killer shark books and movies. Hell, it pretty much spawned the entire nature-strikes-back genre, at least it’s phenomenal 1970s resurgence. Ah yes, sharks: the world’s deadliest fish. Stay out of the ocean!

 

Luckily, in the days before River Monsters was on TV, there were a couple of writers who strayed a bit from the norm and did enough research to find something different. Ignoring the salty sea and looking into freshwater, two books came out a year apart championing the Northern Pike as a worthy killer.

 

The pike is indeed a formidable fish. They are large (they can reach sizes of up to four feet long) and have a mouth full of very sharp teeth. They can be aggressive, and they are fast. They don’t blink! Sounds like pulp horror monster royalty to me.

 

Part time actor, musician, screenwriter, and bouncer Cliff Twemlow mercifully set aside some spare time to write The Pike, which was published by Hamlyn in 1982.  This quick horror novel (just 160 pages! Perfect!) is about a twelve-foot-long pike swimming loose in Lake Windermere in England, shredding everything in its path. This, of course, pulls a lot of thrill seekers to the shores of the lake, hoping for a glimpse of the fish or a body part or two.

 

No real explanation is given for the exceptional size of this fish, but none is needed. We just gear up for the next attack. The novel concentrates on the characters in between the killings; the shop owners in the town who are enjoying the exploding economy thanks to the sightseers, the believable romance between the two leads and ol’ Ulysses Grant, the marine biologist who is the colorful Quint-like character in this story. It stays interesting and more or less scientifically plausible throughout and Twemlow doesn’t wait too long between the gruesome deaths.

 

Interestingly enough, Twemlow adapted his novel into a screenplay and things were in motion to make a film version of The Pike. Calling in some friends in high places, he even got Joan Collins on board and the publicity mills were rolling. A giant, mechanical pike was created (for a quarter-million bucks!) and demonstrated on TV and Joan even posed for a few toothy pictures with it. Unfortunately, funding never came through for the movie and, much to our collective loss, The Pike was never made.

 

Relevant to absolutely nothing, Lake Windermere became a cryptozoological hot-spot decades after the pike retired. Since 2006, a large Nessie-like Sea Monster has been sighted many times in the lake. Named Bownessie, the beast hasn’t had much hard evidence reported about it, but a lot of interesting pictures can be found online. It ain’t no pike.

 

Arriving a year before Twemlow’s book, Devour (Futura, 1981) was Paul Adams’ contribution to killer pike literature. A trim, 188-page presentation of pulp perfection, this publication is my preferred pike paperback. Adams’ fish are mutants, evolved from spawning in the polluted waters of Eastern Britain. Chemical dumping is to blame, and Adams preaches the ecological warnings with a heavy hand, which I personally love. You fuck with nature; nature will fuck you up.

 

Devour is far gorier than The Pike and Adams evidently learned how to set up a successful nature-horror story from his friend Guy N. Smith. (Smith even wrote a forward to Adams’ book Extreme Hauntings: Britain's Most Terrifying Ghosts praising his friends’ work. I’m still not certain they’re not the same person!) Like Smith, Adams’ keeps things moving very quickly and Britain gets laid to waste, like in every notable book in the genre. Characters are introduced and dispatched all in one chapter, leaving you wondering exactly who is going to be alive and in charge by the end of the book. The gore is laid on thick and the blood flows freely. These mutated pike can even plop through the mud on rainy nights, hunting their human meals on land. There is nothing that isn’t great about this book. It is a perfect example of why I love this specific genre.

 

Of course, there are sharks, piranhas, octopuses, and all sorts of watery predators in the pages of horror fiction, but these two excellent books really flexed their fishy muscles and showed us how badass the Northern Pike can be. A near miss is R. Carl Largent’s The Lake which features a “garpike” (just a layman’s term for the unrelated, but also large and scary-looking gar) but the fish isn’t the main menace in the book which, like Devour, is also very environmentally conscious. There is also a short story called “The Pike” by Conrad Williams in his collection Born with Teeth (PS Publishing, 2012), but it is really more of a fishing tale. It was reprinted in Nightmare Magazine #72 (September 2018). The pike completist can read it here.

 

While I await someone to write Night of the Guppy, I will continue to revel in these masterpieces from the Seventies and Eighties.

Update- 7-25-2023... a film about Cliff Twemlow!!! The trailer is here!

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