Tansy Undercrypt

Marilyn stepped forward bravely when the police arrived. She looked at the shocked, sad faces of her family and burst into tears. They had never seemed to mind the stares and whispers of others; didn’t even notice how cruel people could be. The neighborhood children were by far the worst, with their nasty rhymes and mean chalk drawings; she had grown to hate them. “it was me, not Eddie,” she sobbed to Aunt Lily, “I fed those little bastards to Spot under the stairs.”

Nicole Girtman of the Geek Girls Book Club told me today that Stephen King is writing a sequel to “The Shining”.  Apparently, this new book features Danny as a very messed up (and I think we understand why) psychic of 35.  Holy buckets.  I don’t know whether to sit very still or run in circles.

Billy went blind in one eye at age 3 (BB gun pellet); it went all milky. That’s when the real sight found him (his grandmother said). At 8, a drifter came begging for a meal and almost got in. Billy’s mother rose to answer the knock. “He’s holding the wood axe from the shed behind his back,” her son whispered, meeting her gaze with his left eye now clear as the other. “He’s real evil crazy, Ma.” The eye began to frost again and Kaylene turned away from the sound with a shudder.

The next time she appeared, the parlor had been returned to the splendor of some 184 years before. His research had been meticulous, his taste exquisite. “For you, dear Beatrice,” he whispered. “Please consider staying on here … with me. I take such delight in your company.” He bowed his head for a moment before continuing. “I shall not pressure you, of course; I know that I am not a handsome man.” She went to him then, taking his rough hand tenderly in her ghostly one.

“The house was trying to kill her. She was absolutely right about that.” Clark was stunned. “You’re joking?” “No, not in the least; it’s alive and, it would seem, entirely vengeful. The vines in the carpet tried to trip her down the stairs, the shower curtain to hold her down and drown her, the pillows to suffocate her, etc. Ultimately, what it needed to succeed was someone to help direct it, think ahead, plan the steps, guide it.” “Who on earth?” Clark asked, incredulous. “The one person who would know it best – the butler did it.”

Mark Danielewski’s House of Leaves is the hottest property in horror right now, so I queued up my request at the library and waited with glee. The story at its heart involves a house that is bigger on the inside than the outside, and it is truly terrifying. Danielewski has Lovecraft’s gift for describing the oppressing gloom and icy terror of vast spaces; this is brilliantly done. But this is also a tale within a tale within a tale, dropped into a dizzying construct (e.g., pages printed backwards, upside down, with only one line on the page, and reams upon reams of footnotes that form a kind of side plot). I understand that the art direction of the book itself mirrors the labyrinth described in the core story, but I found it cumbersome and too distracting. I found myself skipping huge chunks just to keep my reading continuous on one storyline, revealing that I’m kind of a purist when it comes to delivery of the goods.  Now I know.

From me, “House of Leaves” gets a Reaper Rating of 3: Timely Departure.  An incredible literary debut and an amazing premise that really delivers in a construct that’s difficult and distracting.

I used to run a book club called “Something Wicked”, where a small group of us would read works of dark fiction (we’d pulled at random out of a hat) and meet to discuss them over coffee every couple of months or so.  It was fun, and sometimes I wish it were still going.  I’ve considered resurrecting it online ala Geek Girls Book Club, so that there’s no real coordination – just the chat.  Hmmm.

Other perils aside, there was no crime in the village. Once, a lone highwayman had set up his camp in the forest, determined to take the riches of the road. They tried to tell him that only one coach traveled the Borgo Pass – the midnight carriage of Castle Dracul, a black team whipped by a driver whose face had never been seen. They tried to warn him, but a fool and his delusions of money are not soon parted.

“Whatever paradise ultimately awaits us, old friend,” Iwani said to the dying gorilla, “first, be blessed with the freedom you should have always had. Go in peace.” He met the zookeeper’s gaze and was gone. She prayed, then, for comfort and to activate the enchantment she’d placed on his microchip. Otobo woke in the fog of early morning on a lush bed of leaves. Shadows drew near. He touched the others shyly to see if they were real and then, together, he and his new family moved silently into the deep jungle.

It was a tedious and difficult job, building the mined trench around the grounds, but Herrick was resolved to protect the house from any kind of zombie advance. When rumors of the dead rising first came to them, he and Madame had a brief conversation and came to immediate agreement. He was taking special care to fortify the western parcel. That’s where they’d put the troublesome guests the first time – no real desire to see them again.