Werewolf hunters for hire pursue their most dangerous quarry ever — a man-beast who attacks even when the moon isn’t full.
By C. Michael Forsyth
My friend Sean, a horror aficionado with an encyclopedic knowledge of the genre, recommended “Werewolf: the Beast Among Us,” and he didn’t steer me wrong. I really enjoyed this fun, twisty B movie.
Shot in Romania with excellent production values, it’s in some ways a throwback to the old Hammer films. No automatic weapons, no sweet and glittery monsters. Some might call this anachronistic, but I dug the old-fashioned good-versus-evil battle.
The movie, set in the 1800s, features a band of werewolf hunters for hire that comes to the rescue of a town plagued by a lycanthrope. Alarmingly, the creature strikes even when the moon isn’t full! They’re aided by a young man desperate to save his village from the unstoppable beast, which has slain dozens. It’s “The Magnificent Seven” with werewolves – a high concept I just love.
The team is led by Charles (Ed Quinn), a taciturn American gunslinger, and each of the mercenaries has different quirks and specialties. My favorite is the sexy girl bounty hunter Kazia who wields a crossbow and wears a bite-proof corset. There’s also the suave, unflappable Englishman Stephan, who sports a vest full of throwing knives. Steven Bauer (Al Pacino’s right-hand man in “Scarface” and almost unrecognizable here) is aboard as the grizzled, beer-swilling Hyde.
Action and gore abound and there’s a mystery too. Which villager is the beast? Could it be the youth himself? His mother, who always appears to be missing when the attacks occur? His girlfriend? Her reclusive, wealthy father?
Day to day life in a town besieged by a werewolf is depicted with entertaining realism. In one memorable scene, the beleaguered town doctor (Stephen Rea from “The Crying Game”) is deluged by victims – and mercifully puts down a bitten farmer to spare him from the curse.
TAKE NO PRISONERS: Werewolf stomper Kazia (Ana Ularu) is deadly with a crossbow.
SPOILER ALERT – SPOILER ALERT – SPOILER ALERT
The identity of the werewolf isn’t too hard to figure out – the culprit practically has “lycanthrope” stamped on his forehead. But there are some clever red herrings, including the suspicious town constable who turns out merely to have epilepsy. (It might have been prudent for him to warn fellow villagers, “I foam at the mouth from time to time, so please don’t shoot me.”)
Although it’s the most surprising twist, I didn’t really like the revelation that Stephan is a vampire – I preferred him as a cocky dandy. I mean, when Charles recruited a vampire didn’t it occur to him that the guy might TURN OUT TO BE EVIL???
Likewise, the ending in which Charles takes on the werewolf as Stephan’s replacement seems a bit dubious. Having a monster on board didn’t really work out all that well. And wouldn’t the new recruit be a little reticent about killing other werewolves? ——————————————–
THRILLING NEW GRAPHIC NOVEL
If you enjoyed this article by C. Michael Forsyth, check out his latest work. Vampires take over a women’s prison in the graphic novel Night Cage. Imagine ‘Salem’s Lot meets Orange is the New Black.
Speaking of our hairy pals, the author of this review also penned the highly acclaimed horror novel “Hour of the Beast.” Hour of the Beast is available in hardcover and softcover at Amazon.com. But you can save $4 by clicking HERE! The Kindle version is just $7 and the Ebook is a measly $5. Be the first on your block to read this bone-chilling tale — before the movie comes out.
MASKED AVENGER: Mystery woman faces death if captured.
By C. Michael Forsyth
SHAMIRZAD, Iran – Iranian authorities have issued a fatwa – a death warrant – for a burqa-clad mystery woman who beats up clerics who scold ladies for immodest dress!
Since September, 14 holy men have been beaten to a pulp by the veiled vixen – enraging leaders in a nation where women are supposed to be subservient. Known only as the Mystery Virgin, she has been likened to the swashbuckling masked avenger Zorro.
“Because she’s covered head to toe, none of the injured victims have been able to identify her,” says Iranian journalist Davood Jobrani of the People’s Report.
“Authorities are frustrated – and concerned that if the Mystery Virgin is not captured soon, disrespectful behavior could spread among the female population. They fear we might have women running around in blue jeans and high heels. The imans have launched the mother of all manhunts for the assailant.”
Iranian law demands that women abide by a strict dress code that bans Western clothing. Those who break the rules risk public reprimand by the “morality police,” clerics or alert male citizens – and for serious breaches can be carted off to jail.
The first known attack took place in the northern town of Shamirzad. According to Iran’s official Mehr News Agency, the Mystery Virgin pummeled the cleric so badly that he needed hospitalization.
Respected religious leader Hojatoleslam Ali Beheshti told reporters he was on his way to pray at a mosque when he encountered a young woman and warned her that her ankles were partially exposed.
“She responded by telling me to cover my eyes, which was very insulting to me,” still-shaken Beheshti recalled. When he demanded she cover up, the Mystery Virgin told him to “put a lid on it.” Then she punched him so hard he hit the ground.
OPPRESSED Muslim women in Iran are forced to cover themselves head to toe in a garment called a burqa — or face cruel punishment.
Since then, more than a dozen clerics in the area have reported similar incidents in which they criticized women for non-Isamic dress or conduct and were severely thrashed for the unsolicited advice.
“I saw a woman reading an American fashion magazine in the park and noticed that she was wearing nail polish,” Arash Hadandi told Iranian TV. “I ordered her to put away the magazine and scolded her for her shamelessness. Out of nowhere a second woman appeared and told me to shut up.
“I said, ‘How dare you? Go on your way or you’ll get a good caning.’
“She replied, ‘The only one who’s getting a beating today is you.’ The harlot knocked me to the ground and kicked me until I was unconscious.”
Hadandi suffered a broken nose and two fractured ribs in the brutal attack.
News of the Mystery Virgin’s exploits has spread throughout the country, along with wild rumors. Some Iranians believe the two-fisted superheroine studied martial arts, or perhaps picked up tricks from bootleg Jackie Chan DVDS, in clear violation of Sharia, Muslim holy law.
“She delivers blows so rapidly and her roundhouse kick is so powerful that she may indeed have received some special training,” said Police Inspector Mahoud Rostami, who is leading the investigation. “Or it could merely be that rage has given her abnormal strength.”
HUMILIATED: This cleric was beaten within an inch of his life, then stripped of his robes, authorities say.
Adding insult to injury, two of the victims were left stripped to their underwear. Clergyman Farid Karimi denounced a woman he spotted on the street as a “prostitute” because he could make out her curves through her burqa. The Mystery Virgin came to her rescue, taking down Karimi with a lightning fast blitz of jabs and uppercuts.
“As I lay sprawled in the alley, she said, ‘I don’t like your fashion sense either,’ and yanked off my robes,” Karimi told newsmen. “As I tried to cover myself she disappeared into the gathering crowd.”
Karimi, who was found to be wearing women’s undergarments, now faces criminal charges himself. But it is the elusive Mystery Virgin whom authorities are determined to bring to justice. If captured, she could face a trial before a religious tribunal and death by stoning.
The Mystery Virgin has become a symbol for the pent-up anger of downtrodden Muslim women, to whom she’s become a hero.
“They may condemn her in front of their husbands at the dinner table,” notes reporter Jobrani. “But when they are in the kitchen cooking and washing dishes, they praise her in hushed voices.”
SWASHBUCKLING Zorro, portrayed here by Tyrone Power, also defended the weak and oppressed.
Copyright C. Michael Forsyth
If you enjoyed this mind-bending story by C. Michael Forsyth, check out his collection of bizarre news, available on Kindle and in other eBook formats.
.
The author of this article also penned the highly acclaimed horror novel “Hour of the Beast.” Hour of the Beast is available in hardcover and softcover at Amazon.com. But you can save $4 by clicking HERE! The Kindle version is just $7 and the Ebook is a measly $5. Be the first on your block to read this bone-chilling tale — before the movie comes out.
HEADS UP: The guillotine remains a symbol of terror.
By C. Michael Forsyth
WASHINGTON — The illuminati, that shadowy cabal of conspirators who secretly manipulate the fate of the world, have reportedly hatched their most diabolical plot yet. They plan to spark a second Reign of Terror right here in America!
If the sinister scheme succeeds, up to 1,300 rich folks – many of the wealthiest 1 % of Americans – will be rounded up and beheaded, just like in 18th century France.
That is the bone-chilling claim of researcher H. B. Juldenback, one of the nation’s leading experts on the mysterious organization.
“The Illuminati believe that the redistribution of wealth in our economy that has occurred over the past 30 years, with more and more money concentrated in the hands of very few, is unsustainable and if unchecked will lead inevitably to a worldwide economic collapse,” the researcher explains. “To them, the solution is obvious: engineer a ‘popular uprising’ in which the ultra-wealthy are literally dragged from their mansions, off their polo ponies, tried and publicly executed.”
Juldenback has penned more than a dozen books and pamphlets on the Illuminati since 1987, every single one of which he says has been suppressed “by their puppets in government” and are now available only through the black market. He claims he learned of the chilling plot via a turncoat Illuminati member. The unnamed source is afraid that the plan might “get out of hand,” much like the last go-around, according to the expert.
While few Illuminati researchers agree on how many members the group has or who they are, all concur that it was behind the French Revolution that erupted in 1789. The revolt culminated in the Reign of Terror in which more than 16,500 people, most of them hated aristocrats, were executed by guillotine between 1793 and 1794.
“Most historians look back on that era with horror,” Juldenback explains. “Even the Illuminati admit that the bloodletting extended a bit farther than they originally intended. But on balance, they regard it as one of their greatest triumphs. They point out that unlike England, France never again had to worry about a parasitic class of bluebloods – the aristocrats were simply gone. The bloodshed was unfortunate, but in the minds of the Illuminati, that was a price that had to be paid.”
COULD IT HAPPEN HERE? The Reign of Terror was the bloodiest episode in French history.
The groundwork for the uprising has been laid with a skillful manipulation of public opinion, orchestrated by key illuminati figures.
“A certain Illuminati member has spent the last year traveling the country drumming up hatred for the rich – suggesting that the poorer half of Americans are lazy, hopeless good-for-nothings,” the researcher maintains. “He’s bragged about his fancy cars and mansions; his wife has flaunted her prize horses; he’s challenged rivals to huge bets as if money meant nothing to him. In short, done everything possible to spark a class war.
“It’s always been hard to get Americans to hate the rich – because the vast majority actually think they could be rich someday themselves. Illuminati member 72 has finally convinced people that the rich and poor are enemies.”
The Illuminati’s ulimate goal is to usher in a New World Order.
Juldenback admits he doesn’t know exactly when or in what city the rebellion will begin, but says the onslaught will flare up so abruptly, government officials will be unable to stop it.
“Details of the plan are known only to the very highest illuminati leaders – called The Exalted – but my source tells me that social media will play a role in getting the word of the uprising out quickly. It will be like a flash mob, but far, far more massive and deadly.”
He believes the second Reign of Terror is scheduled to burn itself out within six weeks.
“The first Reign of Terror had a built-in ‘self destruct’ mechanism,” he points out. “Those who oversaw the trials and executions of the aristocrats were themselves eventually accused of treason and sent to the guillotine.”
The Illuminati have been cooking up conspiracies since the 1700s and perhaps as far back as the Renaissance, some expert say.
While guns are normally the weapon of choice for Americans, the guillotine will be dusted off and used again, as a powerful symbol of mob justice.
“It is an instrument of death that strikes fear into the hearts of most wealthy Americans,” says Juldenback. “They despise anything French except when vacationing there or hiding out there during dangerous times.”
As in the original Reign of Terror, trials will be held in which the super-rich are judged on their treatment of the less fortunate, according to the source. A beloved Hollywood actor like Tom Hanks would likely be spared, while a pampered and frivolous figure like Paris Hilton would most likely be beheaded.
GREEDY, arrogant loudmouth Donald Trump could face the guillotine.
“A man like Donald Trump who’s become a living symbol of greed would almost certainly be condemned by the mob,” the researcher suggests.
PAMPERED Paris Hilton might be among the first victims of mob justice.
Many members of the illuminati are people of extreme wealth, but they’ve cleverly insulated themselves from the rebellion in a variety of ways. One computer software mogul has donated so many billions to charity he has become a nationally revered figure. Another giant in the high-tech industry faked his own death a year ago, Juldenback claims.
Says the expert, “It’s the same trick that Marie Antoinette, now known to be an Illuminati member, used after fanning the flames of rebellion with comments like ‘Let them eat cake.’ ”
Copyright C. Michael Forsyth
If you enjoyed this mind-bending story by C. Michael Forsyth, check out his collection of bizarre news, available on Kindle and in other eBook formats.
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The author of this article also wrote the terrifying horror novel Hour of the Beast.
Click HERE to order and snap up your copy for $4 off the Amazon price. Reviewers are calling the book “gripping,” “terrifying,” “sexy” and “a good meaty read.”
CREEPY critters are a cinch to create with gene-splicing.
By C. Michael Forsyth
ZURICH, Switzerland — Halloween is around the corner and you know what that means. That’s right, another annual gathering of the world’s top genetic engineers as they parade their kookiest creations at the Frankenstein Awards.
Each year, scientists present life forms they’ve created through gene-splicing. Past winners have included a goat-spider hybrid, a camel with the head of a pig, a bouncy, meowing marvel playfully dubbed the Katgaroo, and last year’s recipient of a Victor in the Most Frightening category: a wriggling, legless poodle with a dash of earthworm DNA.
“The Frankenstein Awards is an opportunity for genetic engineers to get out of the lab, let their hair down and show their creative side,” explains Swiss science writer Julien Anliker.
The Parade of Monsters held on October 31 is the climax of a three-day convention featuring panels, lectures and late-night karaoke.
This year’s presentation is expected to be livelier than ever because for the first time hybrids with human DNA will be included in the competition. Teams of researchers from around the world have been laboring in secret, each hoping to blow away their colleagues with a dazzling new living wonder.
“The Brits have reportedly been working on a human-hamster mix they’ve nicknamed The Humster,” said Anliker. “The Greek team, led by Professor Demetrikos, is going with a cultural theme this year. It’s rumored they’ve been developing a life form inspired by Greek mythology, perhaps a centaur or a minotaur. That’s one of the most eagerly anticipated entries.”
WE CAN make a real minotaur, so why not?
While in past years some critics have denounced the awards ceremony for trivializing genetic research, participants insist that they learn a lot from cultivating their colorful creations. And the scientists point out that DNA manipulation is a boon to mankind.
Dr. Boris Petrovsky of Russia predicts, “One day soon, we will wipe out many genetic diseases such as cystic fibrosis, discover a cure for cancer, and perhaps engineer a race of superior humans that will serve as the replacement species for homo sapiens.”
CENTAURS figured prominently in Greek mythology.
Copyright C. Michael Forsyth
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CHAPTER ONE: MOM AND DAD
The treacherous full moon darted through the clouds, sometimes fully illuminating the onrushing road and sometimes casting it into blackness.
Jeff was putting the pedal to the metal, trying to make up for lost time. So their lime-green Taurus barreled ahead, fearlessly plunging over hills, around bends, and into one pool of darkness after another. As they swerved around one particularly hair-raising bend, Elaine braced herself and let out an involuntary yelp of terror.
“Slow down! You can’t see what’s up ahead,” she pleaded.
“One driver to a car. I believe that’s one of our family rules, isn’t it?”
Jeff didn’t exactly snap at her, but he adopted that stern, I’m-the-man tone he employed on occasion to inform her that a conversation was over.
She knew well enough that being told how to drive was one of his pet peeves, and so she’d held her tongue for the past 20 minutes. But he was really scaring her now, twisting and turning through this unfamiliar, serpentine road hemmed in by dense pines.
On top of that, she really, REALLY had to pee — and no way was she going to ask her new husband to pull over for a rush into these murky, uninviting woods.
In a sense, of course, she was to blame, because she had been the one who was late for the ceremony. This was the bride’s prerogative, her maid of honor had assured her. But delays had piled on, one on top of another. The band showed up late, and then her Uncle Jack (AKA Mr. Amateur Shutterbug), insisted on taking his own “artsy” shots of every single pose the wedding photographer set up. As a result, they said their goodbyes and left the reception two hours late. So instead of taking a leisurely ride up to the lodge in New Hampshire in broad daylight, they enjoyed only a brief spell of gold sky at sunset. The rest of the trip had been under this fickle moon.
The honeymoon spot would be idyllic, swore her maid of honor, who had indulged in carnal delights of epic proportions in its valentine-shaped Jacuzzi with her boyfriend a couple of years back. A remote clutch of cozy log cabins by a lake, each with its own fireplace, Elaine’s friend had described it.
The romantic drive north through the New England countryside as the leaves turned was supposed to have been a prelude to an unforgettable wedding night. Instead, it was this wild ride through the dark, at once monotonous and unnerving.
Elaine didn’t know why, but an ineffable sense of melancholy came over her and she began to cry. Jeff reached over, stroking her hair with the back of his hand.
“I’m sorry,” he said and flashed his signature Tom Cruise grin. Somehow he always knew how to make things right again. When Jeff was around, you always knew that things would be okay.
It sprang in front of the car — and before Elaine could get a syllable of warning out of her mouth, they hit it dead on.
“Oh God!!” she shrieked, bouncing up and down like an excited child.
There was the awful bumping sound of the body tumbling over the roof of the car. Jeff hit the brakes hard and the car skidded, did a 180 and spun off onto the shoulder.
It had been the biggest dog she’d ever seen, nearly the size of a colt. It must have been a… a… what was that breed that looked like an oversized German shepherd? A mastiff?
“Are you all right?” Jeff was saying. He’d been repeating the question for a few seconds, shaking her. His words only now registered.
Her heart pounded like the proverbial jackhammer, and she felt a burning pain in her chest. Had she suffered a heart attack? No, she realized, it was where the shoulder harness had bitten into her. Elaine nodded. Her swimming head ached faintly, too. She wondered if she had thumped it on the dashboard, although she had no recollection of having done so.
“I better see if he’s all right,” her husband said gravely.
“Are you sure? It might panic and bite you.”
“What?”
“The dog, if it’s alive.”
Jeff’s brow furrowed, and he looked puzzled.
“Must be the shock. No, hon, it’s a man. A stark-naked old man. He practically jumped right out in front of the car.”
“No, no, no. It was dog, a big one, like a Saint Bernard but taller.”
Jeff looked at her as if she was crazy, then released his shoulder harness.
“Either way, I’ll take a look. Even if it’s someone’s dog, we can’t leave it lying in the road.”
“The hell we can’t,” Elaine replied. “You’re not getting out of this car!”
Jeff flicked on the dome light.
“Look in the glove compartment. I think there’s a flashlight,” he commanded. Elaine hesitated.
“Come on, come on,” he persisted.
She popped open the glove compartment and, frowning dubiously, passed him the heavy-duty black flashlight. He flicked the light on and off and back on, testing it as if trying to buy a moment’s time. Then he swung open the door, and Elaine shivered at the rush of frost.
“Wait,” she said. Everything was happening so fast; she needed time to think. Jeff turned back to her.
“What, honey?”
“This is so strange. Maybe we ought drive to a gas station and call for help.”
“Now come on, be reasonable. You know we can’t do that. The poor bastard could be bleeding to death.”
He climbed out and hunched down, pointing the light ahead, and squinted into the distance. Jeff looked handsome and heroic in his tux, with his jet-black hair and square jaw line. The moon was creeping out from the clouds now, but seeing ahead was no easier. Jeff’s flashlight couldn’t penetrate the dense fog enshrouding the road.
The car’s headlights were still on, but did little to add to the illumination. In fact they generated a blinding haze. Jeff hesitated and in that instant, Elaine knew that he, too, was afraid.
“Kind of like something out of Chiller Theater, right?” he said with a weak chuckle.
Elaine realized that the absolute last thing her new husband wanted to do at that moment was walk down that road, and he was forcing himself to do it by sheer will power.
“Lock the doors,” he told her. “Just my luck the guy is some kind of escaped nut, not an old-timer who wandered off from a nursing home. Running around naked in 30-degree weather! Yeesh!”
He slammed the door shut and she hit the power locks.
Jeff started walking gingerly toward the approximate spot of the collision, probing the gloom with his pinpoint of light.
“Hello! Hello! Are you all right?” He vanished into the glare and the fog.
The former Elaine Morgan, now Elaine Stern, turned off the dome light and used her fist to wipe away frost to see through the windshield. She could make out the beam of her husband’s flashlight dancing in the fog an extraordinary distance away.
Moments passed and instead of her heart settling down, it began to pump furiously. The radio was still on, tuned to an oldies station and playing Billy Joel’s “Only the Good Die Young.”
Right. As if the situation isn’t eerie enough already. She was getting seriously antsy now. Well, I’m not just going to sit here like some bimbo, Elaine decided. She scooted over into the driver’s seat, wrestling with her white taffeta wedding dress. Her six-inch heel found the brake and she threw the car into drive, figuring to creep forward and maybe cast the headlights onto the road so Jeff could see what he was doing.
Then came a scream. No, to call it a scream was to dignify it. It was a shriek, a shriek of sheer terror as high-pitched as a she-goat’s at the moment of slaughter. But it wasn’t a goat — it was her husband’s voice, still recognizable though contorted with agony and fear.
Elaine began to scream, too, in helpless panic. “Jeff, Jeff!”
A slash of crimson splashed across the windshield, as if a bucket of blood had been hurled at it haphazardly. She recoiled, burying the back of her head against the headrest.
Something the size of a soccer ball bounced on the hood of the car and spun around. Suddenly Jeff’s face was staring at her through the windshield, drenched in blood and eyes wide open. His open mouth puckered up against the glass.
It was his face and nothing else. His head had been swiped cleanly off his body. No, not cleanly. There were jagged ribbons of bloody flesh dangling like strips of confetti from his throat.
Elaine’s screams hit the high octaves now, raw screams of disbelieving horror. An ax hadn’t taken off Jeff’s head. It had been savagely ripped off like a slice of bologna torn by hand. And suddenly, the hand that had taken off her husband’s head was there.
A hand, covered with coarse brown fur and ending in cruel, curving talons, swiped the head away so it rolled off the hood of the car. The head landed with a sickening thump like a spoiled pumpkin. Then the hand — the paw – twice the breadth of a man’s, flattened against the glass.
It balled into a fist and Elaine knew that in half a second it was going to come crashing through the windshield for her. Go! Go! GO! a tiny voice screeched deep inside her head.
Her hands and feet took over, slamming the car into reverse while stomping the accelerator. The thing on the hood tumbled off as she hurtled backward.
A bear! Not a dog, a bear, she thought as she pictured that huge paw against the glass.
Staring straight ahead through the windshield, she could see it rise up, seemingly unhurt. But, of course, it wouldn’t be hurt by the spill. The Thing had already taken the full brunt of the car ramming it at 70 M.P.H., hadn’t it?
Silhouetted in the glare of the headlights, it stood upright in the general shape of a man but with shoulders as broad as a bull’s and a colossal head, much too big to be human. It bounded toward her with preternatural speed, jerkily, like an actor in a silent movie.
No, not a bear — not any animal of this world. Elaine was flying in reverse at better than 80 M.P.H. but The Thing was keeping up, effortlessly, like a fit jogger on a morning run, coming after her to do exactly what it had just done to Jeff. Jeff, who a scant three hours ago had been holding her in his arms as they danced to Nat King Cole’s “Unforgettable.”
Have to, have to turn around, Elaine said to herself. Her thoughts were now pared down to such staccato bursts. Between the tears cascading from her eyes and the oppressive fog, she was half-blind.
She wrenched the steering wheel clockwise, hand over hand, trying to make a U-turn. The car spun, screeching, and pitched up onto two wheels.
Black. Black. Black.
When Elaine opened her eyes, all was tranquil and she was leaning against the car door. There was no sound but the serenade of cicadas. She groaned.
The car was in a ditch at a 45-degree angle, lying on the driver’s side, the smoking hood crumpled against a tree. The back window had shattered and even the radio was dead. For a moment everything was still and Elaine sensed that she was waking up from a nightmare.
I must have fallen asleep at the wheel, she reasoned. Of course, yes, the wedding is tomorrow. I fell asleep on the drive to Mom’s. Her groggy brain sought to reassemble reality.
But, like Humpty Dumpty, her world could not be put back together. No. She was in her wedding dress, and looking at her hand, she could see she was wearing a wedding ring. And on the windshield was that awful slash of crimson. Oh, Jeff! My Jeff!
Their two years together came rushing back: Eating pizza together on his living room couch; the passionate quarrels; going to her first hockey game and yelling her head off even though she was clueless about the rules; making love into the wee hours.
A hand — THE HEAD-RIPPING HAND — smashed through the passenger window, sending shards of glass flying everywhere as it reached greedily for her.
Elaine squealed and launched herself into the back seat as the massive, shaggy form crowded through the window, a long and ape-like arm clutching for her. As the huge, stinking beast poured into the car, she clambered over the back seat and squirmed out of the shattered rear window.
“Eeeh-aaaaw!” It bellowed like a mule. It wasn’t a howling sound at all, she noted. Surprised — because by now she had a pretty good idea what it was.
She crawled out on the trunk on her hands and knees, bloodying her hands on broken glass. Then she felt something stop her.
The Thing had snatched her wedding gown and was reeling her back in like a fisherman drawing in his net. She felt herself being sucked back toward death.
This was one of those dresses with a detachable train — another suggestion from her maid of honor. But Elaine, tipsy on champagne, had danced in her full dress all afternoon. Her trembling hands clawed behind her, found the snaps, and detached the train.
The bottom of the dress flew off, flapping like a ship’s sail in the wind. She was free!
A moment later, Elaine was blindly running along the ditch, freezing in the icy air, her stiletto heels stumbling over stones. The moon was hiding again, making it too dark to see in the gully. So she scrambled out by grabbing fistfuls of grass and dirt. She kicked off her shoes, then bolted headlong along the road, screaming at the top of her lungs. She and
Jeff had passed a few cars on the road earlier, hadn’t they?
“Help! Help! Someone help me!”
But there wasn’t a car in sight. Not another soul for miles. No human soul. She heard sounds close behind her, terrifyingly close –- The Thing’s rasping breath and its padded feet scuffing the asphalt. In desperation, she took refuge in the woods. It was a safe bet that was The Thing’s home, she knew, but there was no other option. Elaine ran through the forest, hopping over fallen trees, and crashing headlong through bushes that scraped at her face and shredded her gown.
In the blackness, she could hear The Thing barreling through the bushes behind her like an elephant. You can’t outrun something like that, she thought. You can’t even outrun a dog or a bear, can you? Even something natural.
She ran smack into a tree, bloodying her nose. She grabbed the trunk, slid around it and crouched down. Yes, hide, hide, she told herself. You have to hide, like as a hare pursued by a fox.
For a moment, everything was still again. She sank very low, shivering from both cold and terror. Then she could hear it again, making its way stealthily now through the branches, telltale snapping of twigs beneath its hind feet.
Now the moon was coming out again and a shaft of blue light penetrated the canopy of the forest. In that strange faerie light, she could make out its head — almost the size of a stallion’s — about 12 feet away.
She could see its black snout twitching as it tried to sniff her out. An odd bit of trivia jumped out at her, read in a children’s book a lifetime ago: that a dog’s nose is 10,000 times more sensitive than a human’s. But how keen was the smell of this Thing, that was not a dog and not a man? Not a wolf and not a man. A wolf and a man.For now she had little doubt what was stalking her.
She squatted behind the tree unable to move, trembling, her body practically seizing. It took a step toward her, then pointed its twitching, sniffling snout slightly away.
It hesitated. It might move away — granting Elaine a few more moments of life, or it might stride toward her, meaning instant death, torn limb from limb, butchered and beheaded, like Jeff.
That’s when she finally lost control of her bladder. A stream of urine poured out, puddling beneath her. Elaine experienced a peculiar flash of shame at this loss of control over her own body — and then raw panic as she realized the acrid smell or the tinkling might alert The Thing.
The immense head suddenly snapped in her direction.
The moon eased out from behind the clouds. As The Thing came leaping toward her, for one microsecond as it flew through the air she could see it clearly, in all its glory.
Like something out of a comic book, she thought.
It tackled her and she fell back on a muddy hill of leaves, finally free to let out a full-volume scream. It lay crushing her down and she could smell its foul breath — the stench of rotting food mixed with its ghastly body odor, the worst combination of animal and human. She pushed against its chest, burying her fingers in a thick mat of hair, but it was like trying to hold back a tumbling brick wall.
She finally stopped screaming. It would be over in a second she knew. The jaws yawned impossibly wide and came down within an inch of her face.
Elaine muttered feverishly a prayer she hadn’t uttered since the age of 14: “Lord, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil…”
The moon vanished behind the clouds, casting them again into total darkness.
“I will fear no evil. I will… fear… no… no…”
Silence. Her tongue was finally paralyzed by terror.
The Thing stopped, just lying on top of her like a Saint Bernard shielding an avalanche survivor. It was as if it were waiting for a cue.
As she lay there, panting, reason started to come back, knowing that it could not be what it seemed. A man, a man in a costume, a madman yes, a lunatic who had killed her husband. A nut, just as Jeff had said, a nut in a mask. A hoary, horrible wolf mask and some kind of rubber suit, like that backwoods prankster who impersonated Bigfoot. She lay trembling under the man or monster, whichever it was, waiting for death to come.
Then, sickeningly, she became aware of its male member, nuzzled against her abdomen. Nauseated by this intimacy with her husband’s slayer, her own killer-to-be, she tried to wriggle away but she was pinned down firmly.
And now she could feel its shaft stiffening.
The Thing purred — a soft, almost human moan — and to her supreme horror, she realized what was coming next. The phrase “a fate worse than death” came to her mind, and now, for the first time in her life, she understood it clearly. For she would rather die and be sent to be with Jeff right now than THAT.
“Oh, God no!” Elaine screamed and struck the massive chest with a fist. It was like punching a suit of armor. She crossed her ankles and locked her legs together. No way was that going to happen. Better to be, to be ripped apart, yes, shredded by those sickle-like claws, than that!
“No, you fucking DON’T!” Elaine shouted.
But with one swift swipe of its shaggy arm, The Thing flipped the bride onto her belly and she felt sharp leaves raking her face.
Powerful hands grabbed her hips and hoisted them up, forcing her buttocks to jut obscenely in the air. In a split second, her wedding dress and slip were bunched up at her waist.
R…I…PPPPP! Cruel talons raked away her lacy white Victoria’s Secret thong, leaving her naked below the waist.
Elaine scurried away on her hands and knees, but The Thing yanked her back, slamming her upraised, fully exposed backside against its groin.
Her face buried in the leaves, she screamed into the earth as the creature from the woods ferociously plowed into her.
Its hairy haunches slammed into her rump again and again as it frantically pumped her.
SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!
The sound filled her with disgust. And with every thrust she bucked forward, letting out a gasp of pain that sounded lewd and shameful to her own ears.
The worst part of it was not the indescribable physical agony, nor was it the degradation of being taken by something part animal. It was the certain knowledge that she would never, ever, be able to tell anyone about this no matter how long she lived — and the loneliness that she inherited at that moment.
She cried again, for the last time in her life.
It went on for an eternity, the noises sometimes more bestial, sometimes more human. Finally, it let out an unearthly howl, half the cry of an animal and half the bellow of a debased man who had long since lost his soul, releasing a geyser of seed into her. But by then Elaine heard nothing — mercifully, she had long since sunk into unconsciousness.
CHAPTER 2: DOUBLE TROUBLE
Elaine Stern bore two sons, twins, but not identical — indeed, different as night and day. Jason, the elder by five minutes, was small and frail and needed glasses by the time he was four. He was fearful of animals, especially big, black dogs. He would literally cling to his mother’s skirt tails and weep if he were separated from her for more than a few moments.
Joshua, on the other hand, was long-haired and wild, always scampering over furniture like a little ape — or, as one neighbor put it more generously, “like baby Tarzan.” His grip was so strong that if he got your index finger in his grasp, you simply could not extricate it, try as you might. No playpen could hold him; toddler gates made him giggle; bookshelves were his ladders.
He didn’t utter a word until the age of three, and the speech therapist who helped to haul him, kicking and screaming every step of the way, into the world of speaking society, marveled that he “had many of the attributes of a feral child.”
Elaine raised her sons with love and devotion, equally, and they never saw the grief in her eyes or understood her strange, interminable bouts of silence.
When the boys were five, Elaine awoke one winter night with a certainty that something was amiss. She tiptoed into their nursery where the two slept in twin beds, surrounded by Disney-themed wallpaper.
Joshua was missing from his bed.
Breaking into a cold sweat, she rushed out and searched the house, running from room to room crying out his name with ever-increasing urgency. Finally, she threw on her parka, grabbed a flashlight, and headed out the back door. It was February and below freezing, less than 23 degrees.
A hundred yards into the woods she ran, dreading what she would find, but all the time knowing what she would find.
There he was, sitting in a clearing, staring up at the moon. She gazed at her son, there in the snow dressed only in footed Spider-Man pajamas.
You would think the mottled gray crescent was speaking to him, he was so transfixed by it. And what secret message was it transmitting?
Oh yes, for a moment, she thought of it: leaving the boy in the snow to freeze to death. Let the night take you. Perhaps that would be kinder, she thought. They say freezing is an easy death; that you drift off into a gentle sleep abundant in pleasant dreams from which you never awake.
But then a mother’s heart took command. Elaine took off her parka and swept him up in it, then trudged back through the 18-inches of snow to the house.
As she tucked the tot back into the bed, Jason sat up in bed, wide-eyed and curious.
“What’s going on, Mom?” he piped up.
That’s when she told him for the first time, the words she was to drum into him on an almost daily basis for the next 13 years:
“You are the older one; you have to watch out for your brother. You have to protect him because no one else can.”
The tables turn on an identity thief in the latest thriller by C. Michael Forsyth. To check it out, click HERE.
In Hour of the Beast, a young bride is raped by a werewolf on her wedding night. When her sons grow up and head to college, things REALLY get out of hand.
“MY EYES ARE UP HERE, PITIFUL EARTHLING.” Breast augmentation is now commonplace among female space aliens, experts say.
By C. Michael Forsyth
Feeling inadequate compared to well-endowed Earth women, female extraterrestrials are turning to breast implants in increasing numbers, UFO investigators report. Scores of eyewitnesses who’ve had close encounters in the past two years report seeing lady space aliens sporting humongous headlights.
Abductee Ryan Hettles of West Virginia claims that the female E.T. who conducted experiments on him as he lay immobilized on a metal slab was at least a 38-DD.
“They were huge, but at the same time high and perky as a teenager’s, which is what made me suspect they might not be natural,” he told researchers. “And the thing was, she kept leaning over me as if she wanted me to get a real good look at them.
“Her skin was a grayish green and she had a big, bulging forehead. People asked me if she had black, almond-shaped eyes but to be honest, I don’t even remember seeing them. If I hadn’t been paralyzed, I think I would have been tempted to reach out and touch.”
Experts call such accounts a dramatic change from reports dating back to the 1950s that describe gray-type aliens as neuter, with no external genitalia or secondary sexual characteristics. “Mammary glands are either absent or appear to be merely vestigial,” according to a classified Air Force document leaked in 1996.
BEFORE: In years past, female aliens were virtually indistinguishable from males.
A leading UFO researcher believes E.T.s are opting for breast enlargement because decades of observing pop culture images of busty Earthlings have made them insecure and envious.
“Women undergoing cosmetic procedures to resemble those in a society they’ve come in contact with is actually a common phenomenon,” notes Dr. Harold F. Gluckenbaum. “We saw it in cases of Japanese women who had their eyes ‘fixed’ to look more American in the decades following the World War 2, or immigrants from the Middle East who undergo laser hair removal to get rid of their so-called unibrows.
BOMBARDED by images like this one of Star Trek’s Borg beauty Seven of Nine, many female visitors to our planet are now dissatisfied with their bodies.
“What is intriguing to me is that normally females from a less-powerful society imitate the dominant culture, not vice versa. You’d expect alien females from a vastly superior civilization to look down on Earth women, not seek to emulate them. It suggests that some aliens have been hanging around our planet so long, they’ve been brainwashed into accepting our standards of beauty.”
Dr. Gluckenbaum’s theory is borne out by the 2006 case of two Georgia fishermen whose pickup was intercepted on the road by a saucer-shaped craft.
“Three aliens with spindly bodies and long arms got out. The shortest one seemed to be the leader,” recalls Earl Furgam, now 48. “My cousin Bobby gave the small one a friendly wave and said, ‘We’ll take you to our leader if you like. We don’t want any trouble, sir.’
“Soon as the word ‘sir’ came out of his mouth, the alien looked real frustrated and stomped its foot. It pulled this gun out that looked like it came from Star Wars and fired a blue ray that incinerated Bobby on the spot.”
“Afterward I figured that most likely the leader was female. But how were we supposed to know that? She was flat as an ironing board.”
FEMALE E.T.s have also resorted to butt implants, this top secret Air Force photo suggests.
Copyright C. Michael Forsyth
If you enjoyed this mind-bending story by C. Michael Forsyth, check out his collection of bizarre news, available on Kindle and in other eBook formats.
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AND ON THE HOUR OF THE BEAST FRONT… The Halloween FREE POSTER special is here!
This month only, purchase a soft or hardcover copy of Hour of the Beast at the Freedom’s Hammer Productions website and we’ll mail you a FREE poster featuring the glorious cover art. Click HERE to order and snap up your copy for $4 off the Amazon price. Reviewers are calling the book “gripping,” “terrifying,” “sexy” and “a good meaty read.”
This beautifully rendered, sexy poster by artist Martin McKenna normally sells for $29.
This beautifully rendered, sexy poster by artist Martin McKenna normally sells for $29.
With Halloween around the corner, you’re racking your brains for the perfect gift for that special someone. Why not get them a copy of the acclaimed horror novel Hour of the Beast? And we’ll throw in a sumptuous full-color poster featuring the dazzling cover by Martin McKenna FOR ABSOLUTELY FREE. That’s a $29 value!
Just click HERE and order only the book. We’ll mail you the free poster with your purchase. Hurry, this offer is good only for the month of October.
While you’re at the site, you can find a synopsis and hear the entire first chapter read by the author – plus check out the Author page to read the 50 best Weekly World News stories ever written, all without paying a dime. That’s right. Zero, zip, nada.
Horror Fiction Review calls Hour of the Beast a “fast-paced, rip-roaring, action-packed, sexy college romp.” PS: at the site you’ll be snagging your signed copy for $4 OFF the Amazon price. This is like stealing, but legal!
GENEVA — A defecting Russian scientist has surfaced with a mind-bending account of what REALLY occurred when he and his colleagues went missing for five days in a mysterious lake 12,366 feet beneath the Antarctic ice.
Dr. Anton Padalka told authorities in Switzerland that the researchers discovered a bizarre and deadly life form dubbed Organism 46-B – a highly intelligent octopus-like creature that claimed the lives of three of the team members.
But the government of Russian president Vladimir Putin claimed that “nothing of scientific interest” was found – because the former KGB strongman hopes to weaponize the organism.
“The discovery of such unusual life in Lake Vostok was the most important scientific breakthrough in decades, but we were ordered not to divulge it because of Mr. Putin’s sinister scheme,” the whistleblowing geologist told the Swiss.
It was in early February 2012 that members of the Russian Antarctic Expedition succeeded in the drilling through more than two miles of thick ice to Lake Vostok – a project that took more than 30 years. Because the freshwater lake has been sealed off from the rest of the world for between 15 and 34 million years, scientists had predicted they would find new species that had evolved far differently than any seen before.
“According to our research, the quantity of oxygen there exceeds that on other parts of our planet by 10 to 20 times. Any life forms that we find are likely to be unique on Earth,” Sergey Bulat, the project’s Chief Scientist said on Russian TV as the geologists were drilling down.
Previously, extremely weird creatures had been found in deep-sea vents off the coast of Antarctica including hairy-chested yeti crabs that feed on gardens of bacteria they cultivate on their bodies and carnivorous, seven-armed sea stars that can catch and kill those crabs.
Just as the eight man team neared the lake all communication with the outside world mysteriously ceased. As days crept by and the researchers failed to respond to increasing frantic efforts to reach them by radio, fellow scientists worldwide feared the worst.
“No word from the ice for 5 days,” Dr. John Priscu, a professor of ecology at Montana State University and head of a similar Antarctic exploration program grimly told Fox News at the time. “I can only imagine what it’s like.”
Or maybe he couldn’t. Dr Padalka claims that during this time, he and his colleagues were fighting for their lives in the lost world deep beneath the earth’s surface.
“We encountered Organism 46-B on day one as we were conducting a preliminary dive in our low-temperature wetsuits,” he recounts. “It disabled our radio, which we later learned to our alarm, was intentional.”
Octopuses like this vitrelladonella richardi are known for extreme intelligence.
Although the creature has 14 arms instead of the usual eight, it kills in a similar manner to an ordinary octopus — seizing its prey, injecting it with paralyzing saliva then dismembering it into small pieces with its beak. But Organism 46-B has another trick up its sleeve.
“It is able to paralyze prey at a distance of up to 150 feet by releasing its venom into the water from an organ similar to its ink sac,” explained Dr. Padlaka. “Tragically, my colleague and life-long friend Dr. Vindogradov was killed this way. He tread water wearing a blissful smile as the organism approached him. We watched helplessly as it used its arms to tear off his head, then popped his remains its mouth. It was as if it had hypnotized him telepathically.”
The 33-foot-long man-eater also boasts extraordinary camouflage that helped it stalk the researchers.
“Many species of octopus can alter their appearance, usually to avoid larger predators,” Dr. Padalka explained. “Sacs of colorful pigments called chromatophores allow them to change colors, and by contracting their muscles they can blend in with the smooth ocean floor or a craggy coral reef. The well-known mimic octopus can contort its boneless body to take on the shape of a sea snake or stingray.”
But the shape-shifting abilities of Organism 46-B sound almost diabolical.
“It shaped itself into the form of a human diver. We thought it was one my colleagues swimming toward us in scuba gear. By the time the closest scientist realized what it was, it had grabbed him and torn him to bits.”
If an arm of an ordinary octopus is cut off, the severed limb will crawl away – sometimes even seize prey and place it in the mouth of the octopus. Experts say that’s because each arm contains a cluster of neurons – essentially its own brain. The arms of Organism 46-B demonstrated a chilling knack for operating autonomously.
“After our sole female researcher chopped off one of the arms with an ax, the severed limb yanked the weapon out of her hands,” recalled the scientist. “That night the arm slithered onto the icy bank where we were sleeping and strangled her.”
The experts believe that not only does the octopus regenerate its limbs, the brainy severed tentacle may be able to form a new octopus.
Octopuses are extraordinarily intelligent, able to negotiate mazes, use tools and even build structures with Legos. The newly discovered entity is in a class by itself.
“From the way it adapted each time we changed our tactics, we became convinced it is at least as intelligent as an average human,” Dr. Padalka revealed. “If we were not all Ph.Ds, I fear it would have in the end outwitted us.”
Miraculously, the eggheads were able to capture the creature in a tank. After the five surviving scientists made their way to the surface, the program’s director ordered that the bore hole be immediately plugged. The geologists expected to be honored internationally for their amazing find. To their great disappointment, however, the Russian government claimed that the team had found no life in Lake Vostok – and denied that divers had even entered the water.
“There’s nothing much down there, I can assure you,” according to a statement by the chief of the Vostok Research Station, A. M. Yelagin. The director of the Russian Antarctic Expedition, Valery Lukin, admitted that the plug had been put in place but called the precaution “routine.”
U.S. and British experts were puzzled by the announcement.
“It’s a little bit of an anti-climax,” geologist Dr. David L. Meckenroy of the U.K. said on TV at the time. “It’s hard to believe we were so wrong about there being unusual life down there.”
COLD AS ICE: Russian President Putin is known for ruthlessness and secrecy.
Dr. Padalka claims he fled his native country in July after learning to his horror that the government is planning to put the discovery to military use.
“Some species of octopus lay 200,000 eggs,” he pointed out. “Imagine if they were deposited in reservoirs and lakes across North America?”
The Russian government calls the whistleblower’s claims preposterous.
“It is laughable. Ho, ho, ho,” declared Mikhail Belochkin of the Bureau of Truthful Information. “It sounds like something you might see on one of your science fiction TV channels. The Cold War is over, my friends. If our scientists made a discovery of such magnitude, do you seriously doubt that we would share it with the world?”
Copyright C. Michael Forsyth
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If you enjoyed this mind-bending supernatural news satire by fiction writer C. Michael Forsyth, check out his new project…
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THRILLING NEW GRAPHIC NOVEL!
In the graphic novel NIGHT CAGE, vampires overrun a women’s prison–and to escape, four surviving inmates must fight their way through an army of the undead. Picture ‘Salem’s Lot meets Orange is the New Black.
READ VOLUME ONE
If you found this mind-bending story by fiction writer C. Michael Forsyth entertaining, you’ll love Volume One of his graphic novel Night Cage,in which vampires take over a women’s prison.
If you enjoy reading fact and fiction woven artfully together check out new the thriller Houdini vs. Rasputin, written by the author of this article.
If you enjoyed this mind-bending article by C. Michael Forsyth check out his collection of bizarre news stories, available on Kindle and in other eBook formats.
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AND ON THE HOUR OF THE BEAST FRONT…
Nice review of my novel “Hour of the Beast” was just posted at Parlor of Horror. Reviewer Michael Knight calls it “a fast-paced horror-thriller with lots of action, suspense, and comedic relief.”
The author of this article also penned the highly acclaimed horror novel “Hour of the Beast.”
Hour of the Beast is available in hardcover and softcover at Amazon.com. But you can save $4 by clicking HERE! The Kindle version is just $7 and the Ebook is a measly $5. Be the first on your block to read this bone-chilling tale — before the motion picture hits the big screen.
Bram Stoker wrote the grandpa of all vampire books.
Bram Stoker’s kinsman reclaims the famous character in this gripping sequel.
By C. Michael Forsyth
The story of Dracula ends with the blood-drinking fiend destroyed and newlyweds Jonathan and Mina Harker living happily ever after.
Or does it? In the book Dracula the Un-Dead, an exciting sequel to Bram Stoker’s classic written by the author’s great-grandnephew Dacre Stoker, the tale of terror continues to unfold.
I had the good fortune to run into Dacre at the Horror Writer’s Association’s Bram Stoker Weekend, an annual gathering that pays tribute to his famous forebear. A courtly resident of South Carolina, he was quite generous with his time. After his presentation on Bram, we chatted about the extensive research that went into the novel. We traded books, and I’ve finally had a chance to sink my teeth into this juicy vampire yarn.
The book is set in 1912, about 25 years after the events in Dracula, and the band of heroes who put the vampire down are in a sorry state.
Jonathan Harker, once a paragon of Victorian virtue, has been reduced to a whoring, alcoholic wretch. He’s tortured by his inability to sexually satisfy his wife the way that her superhuman “dark prince” could.
Mina, forever tainted by her sip of Dracula’s blood, remains eternally young like Dorian Gray. Guilt-ridden, she counts her youthful appearance as a curse, not a blessing.
Dr. Van Helsing, the wise and fearless vampire killer, is now a frail, vulnerable old man terrified of death.
Dr. Seward, once the esteemed head of the asylum that housed Dracula’s bug-eating flunky Renfield, is himself a drug-addicted lunatic.
Aristocratic Arthur Holmwood, who was forced to stake his fiancée Lucy, is a bitter recluse who blames his former friends for her fate and is driven by a death wish.
IN HAPPIER TIMES: Jonathan Harker, played by Keanu Reeves in “Bram Stoker’s Dracula” finds that middle age is “totally bogus.”
New characters are introduced, most prominently Elizabeth Bathory, a real-life relative of Vlad the Impaler, the historical Dracula. The 16th Century noblewoman was the most prolific serial killer in history, making dudes like Jack the Ripper and Ted Bundy look like pikers. The Bloody Countess tortured and killed at least 650 servant girls, bathing in their blood in a quest for immortality. Here, she too is a vampire – and a far more vicious one than the gentlemanly Count Dracula.
BLOODY COUNTESS: Elizabeth Bathory slaughtered at least 650 young maidens — for their blood.
Also taking the stage is Basarab, a handsome and charismatic actor who is Bathory’s hated foe.
Details from the original are cleverly woven into the novel and supporting characters like Renfield and Seward are fleshed out with interesting backstories. Arthur Holmwood, usually little more than an uptight prig in movies, is a fully realized character who’s led a colorful life of adventure. Even Quincy Morris, the Texan who almost never makes the cut in film versions, is given his due.
Usually just an upper-crust square (as played here by Cary Elwes) Lucy’s fiance Arthur emerges as a swashbuckling hero.
Dacre and his co-author Ian Holt, in addition to having access to family lore, dug deep into original sources to find nuggets that enrich the sequel. Dacre traveled to the Rosenbach Museum to comb through Bram Stoker’s notes. Among the fascinating tidbits he uncovered was the character sketch for a detective Bram toyed with including in Dracula but ultimately abandoned. Dacre resurrects Inspector Cotford in the sequel.
Equally painstaking research into early 20th Century London is evident in the authoritative descriptions of locations such as the Lyceum Theater that bring the setting vividly to life. Real people of the time show up, including boozing stage legend John Barrymore — and, surprisingly, Bram Stoker himself!
TOO WISE TO LIVE? Dr. Van Helsing (Everett Sloane) had the will power to resist Dracula in the 1931 Bela Lugosi movie.
Yet despite the loving attention to detail, Dracula the Un-Dead is not slavishly true to the original in that it inverts Dracula’s nature, reimagining him as a Byronic hero rather than a monster. In a sense, the book is not a sequel to Dracula as Bram Stoker told the story so much as a sequel to the story as DRACULA would have told it. (It made me think of the kids’ book My Side of the Story, in which Sleeping Beauty is retold from the witch Maleficent’s perspective.)
MR. NICE GUY? Dracula (portrayed by Gary Oldman in “Bram Stoker’s Dracula”) saw himself as a romantic hero misunderstood by medding male mortals.
In turning the Victorian worldview upside down Dracula the Un-Dead is likely quite different from the sequel Bram Stoker would have written. But who cares? Do we really need another follow-up to Dracula that carries forward the plot on its trajectory in an easily anticipated way? We’ve already seen movies and comics in which Mina’s son Quincy Harker is an elderly hero waging a crusade against the undead.
Here instead Quincy is a naïve young aspiring actor who puts his dreams of stage success above all else and fawns over his idol Basarab. (Quincy is so clueless he makes Jimmy Olsen look like Albert Einstein). That’s only the first of many surprises the book offers. Co-author Holt is a screenwriter and the fast-paced, action-packed novel is perfectly suited for a movie adaptation.
IN PAST follow-ups in comic books and movies, Quincy Harker is often a gutsy old vampire slayer.
I asked Dacre whether the Stoker clan was still living off “all the Dracula money.” He gave a wistful smile and said no. Sadly, he explained, the family lost the U.S. copyright to Dracula through a clerical error early on and it’s been in the public domain ever since. They haven’t been paid a dime by Hollywood since the 1931 Bela Lugosi movie and unlike the kin of Tarzan creator Edgar Rice Burroughs, have had no control over the wildy popular character and his many — often embarrassingly stupid — incarnations. One of Dacre’s goals was to reclaim Dracula for his family.
“I think Bram would be proud that a family member has taken this initiative and finally done justice to the legacy he created,” he writes in the afterward.
IN THE BLOOD: Dacre Stoker, great-grandnephew of Bram Stoker with C. Michael Forsyth, author of Hour of the Beast, at the Horror Writers Association convention.
IN A RELATED STORY…
PRISON life becomes even more hellish when a vampire epidemic erupts in a women’s prison.
I’m excited to announce the launch of my first graphic novel, Night Cage! The premise of the horror story is simple: Vampires take over a women’s prison. Just imagine Orange is the New Black meets Salem’s Lot.
The project is being funded through Kickstarter. Folks who jump on the bandwagon will get a boatload of goodies and rewards, ranging from advance copies of the book and exclusive art, posters and T-shirts to a chance to be drawn into the graphic novel as a character!
Please check out the video out HERE, and share the news with all your social media friends!
PRISONERS fight for survival against a bloodthirsty army of the undead in the graphic novel Night Cage.
ON THE HOUR OF THE BEAST FRONT…
I attended Dragon*con 2012 in Atlanta to promote my horror novel Hour of the Beast and pick up tips on independent filmmaking. Some great panels on subjects ranging from movie pre-production and distribution to the future of black science fiction. The highlight was Stan Lee talking to a packed ballroom. The comic-industry giant is feisty as ever, his brain still bubbling with creativity. Of course, I didn’t completely ignore the gazillion gals in skimpy costumes. Some were marvelously imaginative, others not so much. You’d think a guy would never get tired of seeing women in that barely-there bandage getup from “The Fifth Element,” but after number 30, I did!
STAN THE MAN
DEJA VU ALL OVER AGAIN
SHREK’S GAL
LADY IN RED
The author of this article also wrote the acclaimed horror novel Hour of the Beast. In the opening chapter, a bride is raped by a werewolf on her wedding night. Then things get out of hand.
Hour of the Beast is available in hardcover and softcover at Amazon.com. But you can save $4 by clicking HERE! The Kindle version is just $7 and the Ebook is a measly $5. Be the first on your block to read this bone-chilling tale — before the motion picture hits the big screen.
In Vengeance, a man does the unthinkable to strike back at the vampires who destroyed his family.
By C. Michael Forsyth
I finally got a chance to read the book Vengeance, the first novel by Robert Cruchfield. I picked up a copy after serving on a panel with the author at the Undead Con organized by the Anne Rice Vampire Lestat Fan Club.
The back story here intrigued me. Crutchfield was a U.S. soldier fighting overseas during the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan when he began reading Anne Rice’s vampire series in the base library. He was so inspired, an idea for a vampire novel of his own came to him. In a fan email to the author he mentioned what was then a vague aspiration to write. To his surprise the mistress of the macabre emailed him back within a few days and encouraged him to put his story on paper. And so he did.
The plot revolves around Jayden Endsley, a high school football coach In Las Vegas whose family is decimated by a pack of vampires. To seek revenge on the ruthless bloodsuckers, he does the unthinkable: He allows himself to be converted into a vampire so he can take the gang on. Before long, Jayden’s surviving family members join him among the ranks of the undead.
The book is fast-paced, well-written and many of the action sequences are especially vivid. The scene in which Jayden’s family is set upon by the vampire crew is genuinely horrifying. I liked the idea of an ordinary middle-class family suddenly becoming vampires. And there are touches of humor. After her conversion, Jayden’s teen daughter Katie comes out of the movie “Twilight” complaining about the corny manner in which vamps are portrayed.
My biggest complaint about the book is that after Jayden turns into a vampire, has no qualms about murdering innocent people. Nor does he think twice about converting loved ones – even his teenage daughter. This threw me for a loop because the hero’s personality appears to make the human-to-vampire transition intact.
There’s also one glaring plot flaw. The vamps target Jayden because he’s inadvertently come into possession of a book prized by their kind. Jayden, who knows the book is valuable and has it tucked away in a safe, has a chance to bargain for his family’s safety, yet inexplicably, he doesn’t do so. The vampires, likewise, could simply drop in on the Endsley household and use their mind-reading skills to get the book from Jayden. But they insist on doing things the hard way.
JESUS would be unlikely to condone the spilling — or drinking — of blood.
The book treads into controversial territory: Vampirism is linked to disciples of Jesus who consumed the Savior’s blood at the Last Supper.
This isn’t the first time an author has had Jesus mix it up with the undead. Previous writers have picked up on the similarity between elements of vampirism and the New Testament themes of blood-drinking, supernatural powers and return from the grave.
In some books, Jesus himself is a vampire, such as Shadows and Saints and The Last Days of Christ the Vampire. In other variations on the theme, Judas becomes a vampire, as in the movie “Dracula 2000,” or the soldiers who crucified the Messiah are cursed to walk the Earth forever as nosferatu. Sometimes, Jesus bats for the human team, most famously the movie “Jesus Christ, Vampire Hunter,” a bizarre musical comedy about the Second Coming.
What I found a bit disconcerting in this book is how Jesus and his followers are portrayed. Hopped up on the blood of Jesus and endowed with super strength and speed, Saint Peter and other disciples take bloody revenge on those who put him to death, launching a sadistic killing spree that leaves Pontius Pilate, Herod and scores of others dead.
When Jesus returns from the grave and learns of the bloodbath, he tells Peter, “I cannot say I condone it.” You’d expect our Lord to take a firmer stance on mass slaughter! And you’d think if anything, drinking Jesus’ blood would make you more peace-loving.
Nevertheless, on the whole, I’d call it a successful and entertaining outing from a first-time author. Keep an eye out for Robert Crutchfield’s name. I have a feeling he’s just warming up.
The author of this article also wrote the acclaimed horror novel Hour of the Beast. In the opening chapter, a bride is raped by a werewolf on her wedding night. Then things get out of hand.
Hour of the Beast is available in hardcover and softcover at Amazon.com. But you can save $4 by clicking HERE! The Kindle version is just $7 and the Ebook is a measly $5. Be the first on your block to read this bone-chilling tale — before the motion picture hits the big screen.
C. Michael Forsyth is the author of "Sir Arthur Conan Doyle & Harry Houdini in The Adventure of the Spook House,""The Blood of Titans," "Hour of the Beast" and "The Identity Thief." He is a Yale graduate and former senior writer for The Weekly World News
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